I drove back to Massachusetts from Georgia on Memorial Day weekend. I had graduated from college with a master's degree a week earlier and planned to relax for a while before moving back home, but my husband rushed me to leave. I loaded my black footlocker with books, piled clothes, my laptop and printer, and a few fragile items into my back seat. My husband had only had his driver's license for a year and although I taught him to drive obeying the rules of the road, he had thrown out all of my teachings as soon as he received his license. The anxiety produced from passenger seat riding was enough to make me want to drive the entire way home.
We drove north through Georgia, into South and North Carolina, then into Virginia. The highway finally gave way to views of mountains in the distance and I asked my husband to take pictures as if I hadn't ever seen green land before.
He had his first knee surgery just a few weeks prior and complained about being cramped up in the front seat, unable to recline with all of the things in the back. He controlled the CD player, as he always did, and kept putting in albums he knew I didn't like to listen to. He complained that he couldn't get comfortable, couldn't sleep, and that I had to stop too frequently to go to the bathroom. Unable to handle the thought of him driving on a regular day, let alone in an annoyed mood, I resolved to drive the entire length home in one straight shot. By hour eight I decided we would stop at a nice restaurant to stretch our legs, fill our stomachs, and refresh ourselves before setting out for the final ten hours. When I suggested this to him he responded, "Why bother? We won't be able to find a place you can eat in anyway. Let's just stop at a gas station." Had this conversation happened today I would have ignored him and found a place to eat in my GPS, but back then I kept quiet, pulled off at the nearest gas station, and angrily walked through the aisles trying to find something that would be remotely appealing and didn't have meat or milk products. I don't know what made him think I'd have an easier time finding food in a rest stop than I would in a restaurant. I ended up with a Pop-Tart (something I never ate) and a water. For the past few hours the only thing keeping me driving was the idea of a warm meal. I lost all desire to continue straight through and in another hour even conceded when he offered to drive.
He drove for an hour, complaining that he was tired and I'd waited too long to ask if he'd take over. He said he couldn't see and squinted over the steering wheel. We stopped in Woodstock, Virginia. Once settled in the hotel room, we crossed a dangerous road on foot to another gas station where I again scoured for some type of sustenance. I purchased a packet of microwavable rice that would be ready in 90 seconds. I don't remember if we even had a microwave, but I remember eating it directly from the package.
The second day, I drove the remaining ten hours home while he alternated between complaining and sleeping. We arrived back at rush hour and my GPS took us through Central Square-- one of the most heavily trafficked areas in Cambridge. Having spent the past two years driving on the empty, wide roads of Georgia I nearly had a panic attack as bicyclists swerved between cars and four lanes of traffic cluttered the road. I remember thinking how all of the street markings needed to be repainted and I was constantly finding myself in the wrong lane, or seeing people create their own lanes. The last stretch of our trip was prolonged even further when a car in front of us got into a minor accident. I blindly cut people off, figuring they'd see my Georgia license plate and blame it on me being a southerner.
I moved in with my brother for a summer when I first got back home. He'd just gotten married and bought a new house. His wife was pregnant with my niece. My husband came back in August, but moved in with his sister. By September I lost hope in finding a full-time job and had to move in again with my parents. Less than a week after I moved in with them I found a steady job at a car dealership and was hired as a substitute. There's nothing like being back home to make you realize why you left in the first place and light the fire of action beneath you. I found an apartment we could afford and we moved in the first day in November. I had lived in four different places in less than six months. I covered every inch of white space on the CORI check that was required of new teachers. The post office must have thought I was crazy or a fugitive with all the address change requests I filled out. With each new address, however, I received moving coupons in the mail. Since we already owned all of the furniture and furnishings we needed, I never used the coupons. Instead of putting them in the recycling bin, I kept them filed away with all of my important papers. Although there aren't many of them, it's still good to get rid of something that is no longer useful.
No comments:
Post a Comment