This little tale is not about unexpected adventures or catastrophic events but a short tale about a personal journey. A journey that had no destination but one I hoped would help me ,if not live at life’s edge at least bring ,once more, into view it’s horizon.
My journey started one morning a small town nested in the mountains. A place of such tranquility that I had to leave.The randomness of my thoughts, the greyness of confusion that filled my mind felt out of place in this tranquil and picturesque valley. I sat for a moment in my car and looking out through the window. All I could see were mountains and a road that seemed to disappear off in the distance… A voice far off in the back of my mind urged me on.I put my 86 Oldsmobile with the four almost new tires into drive and drove off into the horizon heading south along a road that never seemed to end.
A small town appeared seemly out of nowhere.It was a bleak place,or perhaps it was the bleakness of my thoughts.Built into the granite hills each house stood precariously on the side of the mountains that were their foundations. A short coffee break and off I was heading once more south.
In a restaurant near the railroad track that ran along the edge a town I sat looking out the window at the snow capped mountains,drinking what would be one of many coffees, wondering about my day. A short drive? For just an afternoon? I looked at my car wondering if the if the four almost new tires would carry me back.
I looked around the restaurant trying to amuse myslef. I hadn’t found the answerers I was looking for, the darkness of those grey clouds still floated around in my mind.The clock that hunge on the wall gave me the time.It was a simple o’clock that did nothing more than give the time and did little to help me decide… A short time latter I looked once more at the clock perhaps hoping that some how something had changed.For a moment I stared at the clock.How could this be! The clocked hadgiven me back an hour. A moment of puzzlement ran through the cloudiness of my thoughts. If only it could give back more.
Whatever brought me to this town,to this restaurant, it would be a conversation with a lady, whose movements, whose eyes and whose voice had given me an impression that it was she who was its rigthful owner and she that would convinced me to keep moving southward.South towards the ocean. A drive that would in her estimation.take no more than an hour. An hour,only an hour’s drive to stand next to the ocean and see the city lights dancing on the the water. I arrived quite late that night.
My first thought was to find a restaurant close to the ocean where I could might eat and look out over the ocean,what turned out for me to be no small task. Round and round I drove the confusion that filled my mind helping little.I’m not certain how many times I drove through the city nor how many times I cursed my decision to drive so far south in a car whose only wish was to stand on soft winter hay and rest it’s tired feet.Eventual fatigue set in and I simple stopped and decided to stay the night.
The next morning somewhat groggy from a sleepless night in my motel room I found my way to Becky’s dinner and ate what perhaps was a breakfast which may have in all likelihood resulted in a visit to the hospital, I left this coastal city in my 86 Oldsmobile,with the four almost new tires heading home,arriving late and somewhat tired from the drive through the mountains and the horrifying noises that were coming from the engine.
A few weeks later I got back into my car, with the four almost new tires, drove back to this coastal city determined to seethe city lights dancing on the ocean. With the aid of the hotel clerk ,a friendly taxi driver, I found my self eating at J’s Oyster bar,not a stones through away from Becky’s dinner and the Atlantic ocean.As I looked out over the ocean at the lights slowly moving over the water,a calm began to settle in my thoughts.