Reprinted from Instagram.
You sure are a long way from home the man said to me as he stared at my license plate. He cocked his battered, flat-brimmed trucker hat back and scratched his head. He seemed genuinely confused. Who was this stranger and how did he get here? Why did he get here? Is he lost? It was as if my license plate were on a spaceship instead of a Jeep.
It’s my first time here. I came out to get away.
He gazed at the ground. Get away? It had never occurred to him before. There was a calmness to him. A peacefulness. He was a simple man, but not a simple man. He was thoughtful and kind and warm and slightly amused. It took me a moment to realize he felt sorry for me.
I have a cousin in New York. He said it like I might know her. From grade school possibly. He said it like it was an old wives tale. Like maybe he heard about it somewhere once from someone but wasn’t sure he really believed it. He said it to make me feel less of an outsider.
Yeah. I’m trying to figure out what to do with my life. It hung in the air as we both contemplated what I had just said. Perhaps he had an answer. He didn’t say so if he did.
Well, this is a nice place. I hope you find what you are looking for. It was not a passing comment meant to fill the dead space.
I stared at the lines of his face. His eyes were crystal blue and deeply set. His hair wispy and matted beneath his propped up hat. He was older, heavier. Weathered but not worn. He was looking at something off in the distance. As was I, I suppose.