It is after dark. A tall black shadow speaks to me on the sidewalk near a small, neat park.
“Haven’t seen you ’round here the last couple days.”
“Haven’t been around. I know you?”
“No but you seen me.”
I look more closely at his face but at night with his black skin melding into the surrounding darkness, all I can see are the bright whites of his eyes and grinning teeth. It’s a little like staring at the Cheshire cat after he’s vanished. I can’t see so I guess. “You the one been sleeping over under that bench?” Pointing. This isn’t where I sleep but it’s on the way and I often come here to rest and smoke before moving on. I vaguely remember his voice though I don’t remember ever speaking to him.
He is staring at the gas station across the street. I ask, “You looking for somebody?”
“Hopin’ to see someone I know, can get a cigarette off of. But I don’t see nobody.”
I give him a cigarette. “Don’t tell anybody I did this or I’ll have to give everybody one.”
The tall man’s name is CJ and when we sit to smoke he begins talking and doesn’t stop for the next hour, pretty much. He has been on the road for 13 years, traveling around. “There ain’t a city in this country I ain’t been in,” he brags early on. He’s exaggerating but not, I think, by much. “I cain’t sit too long. Git restless, want to be movin’. I like movin’, tho’ sometimes I sit for long as a year. Been in San Diego this past year.”
His speaks clearly and well – no mushmouth – in a charming Southern drawl as he tells me where he’s been, about the time the two alligators damn near ate his leg off near Orlando, about the 2 weeks he spent riding around in a furniture truck helping a guy deliver who was working alone and willing to pay him for his aid and his company. First stop was Nashville, then Augusta, Charleston, Memphis, Dallas…. The city names roll on just like his truck.
He knows every shelter in every major city, every place to get a meal (“Truck stops. They take care o’ ya. Lordie, they kept feedin’ me til I couldn’t eat another bite. ‘Here, man. You eat. Take some mo’ o’ this chicken.’ Eat real good at truck stops.”), every place the police snatch you up or leave you alone. “Thirteen years, you learn somethin’ ’bout the road.”
His voice is pleasant to listen to, smooth, quiet, friendly. I suppose I’m half mesmerized. It’s not a bad life, traveling, to hear him tell it. He has the right attitude for it. He takes what comes, grateful for the adventure. “Miss having a family?” I ask. “Roots, kids, all that?”
His mood and his voice darken for a moment, then he releases the darkness with a sigh and flash of teeth. “I got a daughter in Miami. I be goin’ down there to see her and my grandkids next week. She says, ‘Dad, I’ll send you the money for the bus’ but I tell her, ‘You keep your money. Take care of those kids. I’ll find my way the way I want.’ And I’ll get there, too. I always do. Spend a few days playin’ with my grandchildren, sleepin’ in a big bed, eatin’ good. Then I be on the road again. That’s the way I live.”
I haven’t been having much luck finding a steady job or settling down. Maybe I should just chuck it and take up the traveling. I can find some day-work, more if I really concentrated and got lucky. I think. I don’t really know since I’ve been focused on getting a steady job and settling someplace.
Maybe CJ’s right. Maybe I’ve been going at this thing bass-ackwards.
The Departure
It’s early in the morning on the day I leave. My brother brings me and my pack to the bus station in his pickup. It’s snowing lightly and the road shows the tracks of cars through a patchy fog of thin white flakes. I slept last night but not well and not for long. I’m keyed up.
The bus is to take me to Boston’s South Station where I will catch a train for New York City, then change to another train for Pittsburgh. My first online contact lives in Pittsburgh, though in barely 2 weeks he will move to Vancouver. It’s a little out of the way considering The Plan calls for going South before winter sets in, but Gary (as I will call him) has been a friend to me and I really want to meet him before he gets out of reach.
My brother hugs me and presses some money into my hand before I board the bus. “Love yah, bro. I know you’re going to be alright. Stay in touch.”
“That’s what the celphone’s for.” I hug him back. He’s several inches taller than me, and it’s an odd feeling.
As the bus pulls away I wave to him through the window. He’s still standing there, snow falling on him and his hand raised in benediction, when the bus pulls into the road and I can’t see him any more.
