Instructions Not Included

18Oct09

I wake up and feel like a Mack truck hit me. These dumb, crazy sheets, I think to myself.

Too lazy to do laundry the night before, I used old linens from the back of the closet: a silly satin set I swore I’d never use. Every turn sent the sheets flying. Lying down made the pillows pop out from under my head. I wrestled with these annoyances all night, and sleep came only out of sheer exhaustion.

I get ready for work and notice how dark it is outside. Darker than usual for this hour. It’s probably going to rain. Or maybe we’re having an eclipse. Or maybe it’s so friggin early that God isn’t even awake yet, having hit the snooze button and rolled over in his decidedly un-satin bed made out of angel dust, memory foam and other heavenly things.

My 9-yr old boy stumbles into my room waving a miniature toy. “Mom, what if my GI Joe crouches in this position with his SA-80 rifle? Would that work?”

Because I wore a uniform for so many years, he expects me to understand anything military related. I fail. I don’t know a carbine from a carburetor. It must be either love or hope that prevents him from understanding Mom was more Beetle Bailey than Blackhawk Down. I kiss him goodbye and trudge off to work.

Once in my padded cell, I decide my main task is to finalize my business trip to North Carolina. I am excited. A good friend lives near the Blue Ridge Mountains, and I will finally get to visit. I add a couple of vacation days to my itinerary for my various drives between Fayetteville, Raleigh and Asheville.

A co-worker expresses concern over my unfamiliarity of these places and the 600 miles I’ll be driving across the state. My supervisor laughs and shoots me a glance.

Last year, during a trip to Maryland, he learned two basic facts about me: I relish long road trips, and getting lost feeds my yen for the unexpected.

When he brought a Tom Tom into our rental – my first-ever encounter with a GPS system – I was immediately contemptuous. This new-fangled device with its digital maps was about to sabotage my sense of adventure.

“Shut up!” I barked at its commands.  “Don’t tell us what to do!”

But still we got lost. As my supervisor panicked and pushed buttons, I laughed and praised the gods of calamity. The unplumbed roads were often the most interesting. And I much preferred finding the way on my own terms than obeying an omniscient robotic voice named Debbie.

Several months afterwards, we found ourselves wandering the Cabrillo Highway somewhere between Half-Moon Bay and Pacifica, California. No Tom Tom allowed. I was eager to dart over to San Francisco, undeterred by the setting sun. We could still make our appointment in Monterey by morning.

He laughed at me. “Are you crazy? Do you want to keep your job?”

“Not especially,” I sighed. “But I have to.”

My job was a rut, and he knew it. I longed to find a way out soon but making that break was unspeakably hard.

We stopped at a small gas station to fill up for the long drive back. There was a huge line of cars, and we were directly behind the reason: a gray hatchback filled to capacity with knickknacks and home furnishings. A flea market on wheels.

Cars honked and patrons stepped out to see what was the delay. The hatchback driver, a frazzled woman in a brown woolen shawl, simply waved at us wearily. Inside the car, our conversation switched from life’s transitions to the disheveled aggravation ahead of us.

When she finished at the pump, she walked over to our car and handed us two long-stemmed red roses. “I’m really sorry,” she whispered. “I’ve had a terrible day.” She walked back to her car and drove off.

I was stunned. Up until then I hadn’t even considered her circumstances. What if she had been evicted?  What if she just escaped an abusive relationship? What if this was her first day of a new journey? Without a map?

I realized we’re all trying to find the guts to make a break, scripted or not.

At my desk, I stare at the map of North Carolina, thinking about the lady who had the guts to break away. I see the crooked purple line on the Google map, the turn-by-turn directions, the estimated travel times. It shows me snapshots and street views of intersections. It gives me the option of an alternate route.

It tells me quite a bit. But not everything.

: : : : : : : : : : :

Filed under: Musings   |  7 Comments
Tags: a day in the life, breaking free, creative writing, Inspiration, life, Matador travel writing, Matador U, memories, Misc., Musings, Random, Rants, reflections, road trip, taking risks, thoughts, Travel, vignettes, work, Writing