Keep walking, Mike, just keep walking. One foot in front of the other, just like Dad always says.
Sigh. Easier said than done.
Rain hammered down from clouds like lumpy concrete as the wind did it's best to push me into the ditch edging the highway. My jacket and hat kept most of me dry, but from the knees down I was soak. Though my toes had pretty much gone numb I could still feel the squelch of water in my shoes at every step.
Shrugging I tried to shift the straps of my backpack to a more comfortable position, but it was a futile exercise. What didn't ache from exertion ached with the cold. The temptation to give up was strong. To turn around and go back. Go home. The knowledge that a hot shower and soft bed would be waiting for me, made going on almost unbearable. But the the sting of the rain against my black eye remind me why that wasn't an option.
One foot in front of the other, Mike, one foot in front of the other.
A mile passed, then three, seven, twelve. The clouds grew darker and the wind blew colder. The headlights of passing cars and trucks gave brief flashes of the road ahead as their tires kicked up rooster tails that threatened to soak me even further.
By the time night fell my back and shoulders felt like they'd fused solid and my stomach was growling in protest. I needed to rest, to get off my feet. But worried that if I did, I wouldn't be able start again. So I ignored the discomfort, the pain, and pushed on.
I counted my steps, passing cars, and mileposts, anything to keep my mind occupied.
It didn't help much. The growl turned into a queasy emptiness within the hour. By the time a second hour had passed the empty feeling had become a knot of pain that only tightened as time went on.
When the lights of a truck stop came into view it was like a blessing from heaven. And just as far away.
Breaking into a jog I bit back curses as my legs protested every step. My body might hate me now but my stomach would thank me.
Only a few trucks occupied the lot as I half ran, half limped up to the diner, thinking that nothing had ever looked so beautiful as the neon 'open' sign that hung in the window. Pushing through the door I held back a groan as the warmth caressed my numb cheeks. Slipping off my pack I slid onto a stool at the counter and almost cried at the relief of pain. It was so blissful that I didn't notice the middle-age waitress until she was placing a menu in front of me.
"Hey, there," she said leaning on the counter. "What would you like?"
"Huh?"
"What would you like?" she asked again, slowly, but with a smile.
Oh. Right. Food.
"Um, I'll have the..." at this point I didn't even care and jabbed my finger down on the menu at random. "...Soup and Sandwich."
"And what kind of soup would you like?" she ask, scribbling on her pad. "We have Tomato, Chicken Noodle, and Vegetable Beef."
"Tomato."
"Okay. This will be right out."
Huh, that actually turned out better than I thought it would.
Immediate concerns taken care of I slumped in my seat and enjoyed the warmth as it seeped into my mostly numb frame. It felt so good to not be cold I had to start fighting the urge to just lay my head down on the counter and take a nap.
Crap! I hadn't thought about that.
Where I was going to sleep tonight? I had enough cash in my pocket to cover the meal, but not nearly enough for a room at a motel. And with the current weather, curling up under a bush wasn't even an option.
Elbows on the counter I dropped my head into hands. Racking my brain for a solution I ignored the rest of the diner. Barely even taking noted when someone dropped onto the stool next to me.
"Rough day?" a gruff voice asked, shaking me from my thoughts.
Looking up I met the gaze of a tall, raw-boned man, his dark eyes framed by crowsfeet.
"What?"
"Sorry. Not really any of my business, but you like you've been put through the wringer, son."
"I guess I do," I said, looking down at my dripping clothes and filthy sneakers.
"You must be heading somewhere awfully important to be out on a night like this."
"Yeah, I am. Though it's proving a lot harder than I thought it would."
"Well, if you're willing to listen to an old man's ramblings," he said as my dinner arrived. "From experience, the things that truly matter are always worth the effort to attain them. So just ask yourself. How important is this?"
"Very," I replied without even having to think.
"Then remember that when things get tough."
I didn't know this guy from Adam but as I wolfed down my sandwich and soup, I found myself turning what he'd said over in my mind. They were such simple words. And yet...I'd felt their weight in my gut. Reminded me a little of the things that Dad use to tell me, helping to lift my flagging spirits.
This was going to be trying, but I could do it. Just had to put one foot in front of the other.
Pulling out my meager funds I paid for my meal and slid off the stool, legs stiff but better than they had been.
Snagging my pack I shouldered it and turned towards the door.
"Just a moment, son," the old man said before I could leave. "Where are you headed?"
"Oregon," I said, not entirely sure where this was going.
"Long way to walk."
"Don't have enough money for the bus," I said with a shrug.
"Well, if you don't mind waiting, I can could give you a lift in my truck as I'm already heading that direction. Though if you prefer walking."
"No, no, that's...uh, I mean...actually," I said tripping over my own tongue and had to pause and take a breath before I could answer. "A ride would be appreciated. Thanks," I said dropping my pack and slid back onto the stool.
Dad always said one foot in front of the other. But he never said I always had to take those steps alone.
Sigh. Easier said than done.
Rain hammered down from clouds like lumpy concrete as the wind did it's best to push me into the ditch edging the highway. My jacket and hat kept most of me dry, but from the knees down I was soak. Though my toes had pretty much gone numb I could still feel the squelch of water in my shoes at every step.
Shrugging I tried to shift the straps of my backpack to a more comfortable position, but it was a futile exercise. What didn't ache from exertion ached with the cold. The temptation to give up was strong. To turn around and go back. Go home. The knowledge that a hot shower and soft bed would be waiting for me, made going on almost unbearable. But the the sting of the rain against my black eye remind me why that wasn't an option.
One foot in front of the other, Mike, one foot in front of the other.
A mile passed, then three, seven, twelve. The clouds grew darker and the wind blew colder. The headlights of passing cars and trucks gave brief flashes of the road ahead as their tires kicked up rooster tails that threatened to soak me even further.
By the time night fell my back and shoulders felt like they'd fused solid and my stomach was growling in protest. I needed to rest, to get off my feet. But worried that if I did, I wouldn't be able start again. So I ignored the discomfort, the pain, and pushed on.
I counted my steps, passing cars, and mileposts, anything to keep my mind occupied.
It didn't help much. The growl turned into a queasy emptiness within the hour. By the time a second hour had passed the empty feeling had become a knot of pain that only tightened as time went on.
When the lights of a truck stop came into view it was like a blessing from heaven. And just as far away.
Breaking into a jog I bit back curses as my legs protested every step. My body might hate me now but my stomach would thank me.
Only a few trucks occupied the lot as I half ran, half limped up to the diner, thinking that nothing had ever looked so beautiful as the neon 'open' sign that hung in the window. Pushing through the door I held back a groan as the warmth caressed my numb cheeks. Slipping off my pack I slid onto a stool at the counter and almost cried at the relief of pain. It was so blissful that I didn't notice the middle-age waitress until she was placing a menu in front of me.
"Hey, there," she said leaning on the counter. "What would you like?"
"Huh?"
"What would you like?" she asked again, slowly, but with a smile.
Oh. Right. Food.
"Um, I'll have the..." at this point I didn't even care and jabbed my finger down on the menu at random. "...Soup and Sandwich."
"And what kind of soup would you like?" she ask, scribbling on her pad. "We have Tomato, Chicken Noodle, and Vegetable Beef."
"Tomato."
"Okay. This will be right out."
Huh, that actually turned out better than I thought it would.
Immediate concerns taken care of I slumped in my seat and enjoyed the warmth as it seeped into my mostly numb frame. It felt so good to not be cold I had to start fighting the urge to just lay my head down on the counter and take a nap.
Crap! I hadn't thought about that.
Where I was going to sleep tonight? I had enough cash in my pocket to cover the meal, but not nearly enough for a room at a motel. And with the current weather, curling up under a bush wasn't even an option.
Elbows on the counter I dropped my head into hands. Racking my brain for a solution I ignored the rest of the diner. Barely even taking noted when someone dropped onto the stool next to me.
"Rough day?" a gruff voice asked, shaking me from my thoughts.
Looking up I met the gaze of a tall, raw-boned man, his dark eyes framed by crowsfeet.
"What?"
"Sorry. Not really any of my business, but you like you've been put through the wringer, son."
"I guess I do," I said, looking down at my dripping clothes and filthy sneakers.
"You must be heading somewhere awfully important to be out on a night like this."
"Yeah, I am. Though it's proving a lot harder than I thought it would."
"Well, if you're willing to listen to an old man's ramblings," he said as my dinner arrived. "From experience, the things that truly matter are always worth the effort to attain them. So just ask yourself. How important is this?"
"Very," I replied without even having to think.
"Then remember that when things get tough."
I didn't know this guy from Adam but as I wolfed down my sandwich and soup, I found myself turning what he'd said over in my mind. They were such simple words. And yet...I'd felt their weight in my gut. Reminded me a little of the things that Dad use to tell me, helping to lift my flagging spirits.
This was going to be trying, but I could do it. Just had to put one foot in front of the other.
Pulling out my meager funds I paid for my meal and slid off the stool, legs stiff but better than they had been.
Snagging my pack I shouldered it and turned towards the door.
"Just a moment, son," the old man said before I could leave. "Where are you headed?"
"Oregon," I said, not entirely sure where this was going.
"Long way to walk."
"Don't have enough money for the bus," I said with a shrug.
"Well, if you don't mind waiting, I can could give you a lift in my truck as I'm already heading that direction. Though if you prefer walking."
"No, no, that's...uh, I mean...actually," I said tripping over my own tongue and had to pause and take a breath before I could answer. "A ride would be appreciated. Thanks," I said dropping my pack and slid back onto the stool.
Dad always said one foot in front of the other. But he never said I always had to take those steps alone.
