I recently drove 2,500 miles pulling a tiny cabin on wheels from Washington to Ohio crossing Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, Iowa, Illinois and Indiana.  I am compelled to name all of those states because it was a long, long drive as you can imagine.  Due to the weight of the tiny cabin we could only drive 50mph the whole way!  It is a beautiful country (I have now seen every square inch of it), and at least there was no hurrying!  The piece below describes the night that the truck broke down.  I was pretty terrified.  If I learned anything it is that I am too independent and I need people; connections are really important.  This is creative non-fiction if I have to call it something. I tried to do something called “ultra talk” which is a kind of story or poetry that wraps a couple stories together at one time.  I didn’t nail it or anything, but I hope you like it.  And if you can or would, let me know who you would call or who you would remember in your heart when you need assurance?  Please enjoy!

Connected:

Our pickup truck broke down one night in Wyoming about 50 miles from the nearest place with people or lights. Our movement forward was swallowed, suddenly and wholly, by the complete darkness and the howling wind.  The truck’s draining headlights offered very little relief as I pulled crookedly off the road.  I had about 10 feet of dim vision before me, where the dark blended with the nothing.  I could not tell if I was sitting next to a mountain or an open field, that’s how dark it was.  I began to panic.

I quickly turned off the radio thinking that might help.  The static-filled sound of Pat Benatar losing a piece of her heart only amplified my anxiety.  I needed to think, or worry, or take action and that required immediate silence.  The sound of her voice was replaced by the wind though, which reminded me of my position at this point: I am small, powerless and insignificant.  I had to fight against all of this to get out of the truck.  A squall pushed me sideways as I tried to join my friend who was already looking under the hood. 

Getting out of the truck was a senseless action because I have no knowledge of mechanics.  I felt terribly helpless, but in doing this meaningless thing I confirmed for myself that we were really stuck and needed help.  So within a few minutes I had direction for another action: I called triple A to report our emergency.  They promised to have somebody there within an hour or so.  I was honestly surprised they could come at all, even within a day.  We seemed so far away from everywhere.

While we waited for a tow truck I noticed the silence between my friend and I.  We are two aimless souls really, sharing time and space occasionally, and providing something like purpose, company or entertainment to each other.  We’ve never shared a nightmare.  We are in this one together though, I knew that. I only hoped that our circumstance wouldn’t get way worse, like if we got hit by a speeding truck or captured by bandits, or stranded indefinitely…that would be way worse.  I have no idea what his only hope was.  He seemed to stay busy at first doing responsible things to make it seem safe.  He gave me stern instructions too, on what I should do to help.  I couldn’t otherwise move really.  In that moment I was afraid of all kinds of things: being unseen, lost and blind to name a few.  And I was tired.

I felt sharply disconnected in this situation, and not just from him but from everyone and everything.  I had gone instantly away in my mind.  I don’t know where to, but I was gone.  I may have been in shock I think, and I am not sure if I was remembering to breathe.  I hate when I disconnect.  I noticed that my friend was using his phone, probably letting his mom know what was happening.  I had met her a couple days earlier and concluded that she is smart and trustworthy, and they are very close.  It reminded me that I have no one to call except my kids. And I didn’t want them to know that I was terrified and would likely die soon on the highway in Wyoming.   I decided unconsciously I believe, that sometimes it’s ok to borrow a connection.  In this moment I borrowed his. I could see having the knowledge that somebody cared made him able to move through this with something like calm, surrender, or confidence.  Somebody was waiting for him to check in, it makes a difference in a time like this.  Or maybe he is more of an adult than me, but I don’t think so.  We would be ok, eventually I’m sure.

While I waited I looked up and tried to appreciate all those stars in the sky. I didn’t like them at all, there were too many really and they reminded me of my insignificance, and I was cold.  I drifted off in my miserable isolated thoughts, but then this:

I run home in my memory, rounding the corner of my yard

Returning from a sleepover, deprived of sleep and upset

by something one of my friends said or did when I was exhausted

I am a little girl, barefoot (as always) and only relieved

When I see the steps that lead up to my kitchen door

Where everything that was there before, is still there

 I run quickly over our gravel driveway and it hurts my naked feet

But I am tough for a moment, intent on getting home. 

I climb the steps past a milk box and a golden-flowered bush

Reaching quickly to swing the screen door open,

I enter the room in one extended, hurried motion

It slams behind me, announcing my safe arrival, at last.

 The kitchen is familiar and it’s so good to be home

The window and radiator, the table and chairs

Belong here like I do

In this room painted yellow, by my mom

Who stands near the sink, busy with something, but happy to see me

I exhale, I am connected

Although I struggle to loosen my tension when I am upset or afraid, I can bury my head in the memory of this feeling of being where I belong. That and the knowledge that I am, or certainly was, cared for.  Stuff like this is right here in my heart, apparently forever.  I just take a minute running blindly through worst-case scenarios when I get really frightened.  Life doesn’t always “work out” I know, but understanding that people love me in the middle of it sure does help.

Thankfully a tow truck guy named Colby came and took us back to a town we had earlier passed.  It was only a twisted or broken belt and he fixed it the next morning, a miracle.  So we didn’t die in the darkness or freeze.  Those were only feelings I guess, caused by my panic and exhaustion probably, and by the otherwise sturdy old truck that we had pushed too hard, trying to get home.