had the weirdest feeling, as if my Mom could see the future or something. It was as if she really understood. I thought the phone call would be a lot of guilt about how she was going to miss me.
“Thank you Mom, I love you.”
“We all have specials gifts Jordan. You are taking a journey to find yours, so please, make the most of your time.”
“Bye Mom, see you soon.” As I hung up my Blackberry and pulled out safely onto the highway, I couldn’t help but wonder why that conversation had been so easy. Although it had been a strange conversation, it wasn’t unlike others I had had with her, as if she were trying to tell me something without actually saying it. I had many conversations with my parents over the years that somehow managed to hang in the rafters waiting for moments of boredom, or idleness to replay themselves; for instance, when I first started dating.
They had sat me down and explained the intricacies and value of finding the right person to share my life with, as they had found each other. I guess they were hoping that I would take my time and find someone special to love and cherish. Unfortunately, to their utter disappointment lately, or so it appeared, I had been single way too long. My belief was, if I could not find someone like my dad, I would not settle for almost good enough.
I admired and loved my father immensely; he treated my mom, as well my sisters and I, with only kindness and respect. He was intelligent, hardworking, and handsome, but when it came to personal matters, he was shy and reserved.
I laughed even now remembering his analogy of the perfect relationship; a relationship is like a basketball game he explained. The balance of power is delicate; each person carries the ball of power for a short time, and then must pass it to their partner, so the partner can carry it for a while. If you are in a relationship that feels like you have the ball all the time, or never, you need to call a time out and inform your teammate about the new rule changes. He continued to tell me that if one person carried the ball of power too long, then that person had too much control in the relationship. The partner would eventually feel resentment or bitterness, and things would finally fall apart if the situation were not rectified. I recall nodding my head at him hoping he would think I understood, but of course how could a relationship actually be like basketball? I appreciated his effort, although I had never had a relationship long enough to consider his theory.
My mom then took her turn and explained that relationships are like a plant, they need to be watered and nurtured, or they will eventually die. If you leave your plant out in the cold, it will shrivel and die quicker. Relationships require emotional effort from both parties to keep them thriving and healthy. I remember how uncomfortable I felt when she continued to talk, moving on to the subject of sex.
“The rule of thumb is,” she explained, “if a man is selfish in bed he is usually selfish everywhere else.” I laughed hard when she said that. Thinking about my parents having sex was hard enough to believe, let alone that my dad was good in bed. I needed to change my focus. The way my thoughts were headed was disturbing.
When I looked at my parents’ relationship, I never expected to find one like it. I always thought I would probably have to settle. My parents had an amazing partnership. They had been married almost thirty-two years and they still behaved like teenagers in love.
My attention shifted back to the present. The road started to curve as I traveled through the steep mountain pass. It was hot and dry out, and the drive was tedious. It was kind of like traveling in slow motion, which always feels like a form of torture when I’m tired. I found it easy for my mind to wander to the past as I drove forward.
I remembered a time when my sister, Isabelle, and I went shopping. I met a guy who was really nice and good looking. He was friendly and asked me many questions regarding my family. I was flattered until I realized, sometime later, that he was interested in Isabelle and not me. He called me repeatedly about his chances of dating her, until I stopped answering his calls. I was consistently passed over by men for other women in my life. I am well aware that I suffered from the ugly duckling syndrome; there was a time I hoped I would outgrow it but unfortunately, it never happened.
Glancing at the side of the road, I noticed a green sign that indicated a gas station and rest stop twenty miles ahead. I had been on the road for several hours and I decided I should stop for a leg stretch, a bathroom break, to top up my tank, and to get some snacks for the road. I pulled into the gas station and saw that it was busy. I had about a ten-minute wait ahead of me, so I parked my Jetta behind a black pickup truck.
The man fueling up in front of me was good looking and tall. He seemed to carry the energy of a typical, self-absorbed male. Since my last boyfriend seven years ago, I thought all men were that way. I had not let my guard down since that failed relationship, which explained why I was still single. He had just driven up to the diesel pump before I pulled in, so I knew I had a few minutes to visit the facilities before it was my turn.
After my bathroom break, my thoughts were only on snacks. I wanted to pick up the usual comfort food that helped me through any tough time. Those little packages of euphoria, deep chocolate brownies; they helped me deal with most of my emotional burdens. There is something about putting a chocolate brownie in your mouth; it has that calming effect. Everything looks a whole lot brighter after a few of those little round cups of heaven. I thought about some of the side effects that I would notice later as I tried to stuff myself back into my jeans that I was wearing a week ago. My motto now is one small bag of four per week, and only if the situation is dire. Today, on the other hand, looked like a double bagger.
As I paid for my stuff and headed for the door, a flash of light caught my eye. It almost looked like someone had flashed a camera light at me. I looked around, but saw nothing of the sort. I glanced over my left shoulder, as I was making my way out the door, and noticed an older gentleman standing on the sidewalk. I looked again to make sure my eyes were not playing tricks on me. He was a native man, about fifty or so, and he was wearing an old ragged jean jacket, white shirt, and black jeans. When I took a second look, he was holding the door open for me, all the while looking me directly in the eyes. It was nice to see that chivalry had not died years ago, as I assumed it had.
He was a huge man with three feathers in his long brown hair. I had never seen anything like this in my life. When I pay attention to people, very few people ever look me in the eyes unless they are trying to sell me something. I stood on the sidewalk, and thanked him for his help with the door. I could not help but be mesmerized by his eyes. They had a very peaceful and reassuring look about them. I remember seeing a similar sparkle in my grandfather’s eyes when he teased me as a child. This man’s eyes were full of passion. I was unsure how long I stood there, with my mouth open and my mind running ahead of me, when he finally spoke.
“Jordan, I am to give this to you.” He held out his hand, fingers closed and palm down. “The stone is called a Larimar. It is said to bring luck and healing.”
I stared at him, dumbfounded for a second, before I could form my words properly. When I heard the words coming out of his mouth, it took my brain a few minutes to register. I was never sure what was stranger, that he spoke to me at all, or the fact that he knew my name.
“How do you know my name?” I asked in surprise.
He gave me a coy smile, and his eyes seemed to light up like high beams on a car.
“That is the name on your necklace.”
I reached up to my neck; I could feel the cool metal with some relief and laughed. Of course, I was wearing my name necklace. How could he have known my name otherwise?
He still had his old, wrinkled hand held out to me. Out of politeness, I held out mine. He placed a rock into my palm. It was not like any rock I had ever seen before. I looked down and noticed the color and egg shape. When I looked up again, he was gone; there wasn’t a trace of him in sight. I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed, but people were minding their own busines
s.
I stood there staring at the smooth stone. It was a greenish-blue, and it was the size and shape of a robin’s egg. Luckily, it turned out not to be as breakable as an egg, because I promptly tripped on a cement-parking stall and dropped it on the pavement. Finding my balance, I watched it roll away from me on the hardtop. When I picked it up, I was surprised to find that it hadn’t been damaged by the fall.
I quickly placed the gift in my pocket; it was my turn to use the pumps. The entire time I filled my car I couldn’t help wondering about the native man and the stone he had given me, for no apparent reason. It all seemed very strange. He hadn’t given me a chance to say ‘thank you’, or ‘what is this for?’ How could he move so fast? I didn’t even see him go. Maybe he was a lot younger than he looked. My thoughts continued as I got back into my car and pulled out of the gas station.
The Dream
About an hour later, I decided it was time to stop for the night. I thought the next inn or hotel would do the trick. It was all I could do not to pull out my newly purchased map to make a plan and see where I would be staying. I think they call this letting go, or going with the flow, but it seemed a lot harder to do than it looked. My mind was verbalizing incessantly, ‘make a plan, make a plan’, but I was trying to allow fate to choose for me. It did. The next sign I saw said, ‘Cozy Cabins for Cheap’. Cozy and cheap - two words a girl likes to hear when she is paying for herself. This would be the perfect place.
After pulling into the parking lot and getting my motel key for the night, I headed to my room. I opened the door and thought I had stepped back in time to the brown and orange 70’s. There was even a yellow shag rug, which I am sure had endured without replacement since the place was built. The smell of stinky sweat socks greeted me just inside the door. Trying to hold my breath, I walked over to the window and opened it wide. I was finally able to breathe. The price of the room fit my pocket book easily for one night, so I would have to tolerate the look and smell of the place.
After deciding I would be staying here despite the smell, I grabbed my duffle bag. Thank God for my perfume, “Beautiful”. I sprayed it around and hoped the yucky smell would lessen. After all, the stench couldn’t possibly get any worse. After the first spray the odor seemed to dissipate somewhat, and was replaced by something nicer.
I decided to skip dinner, since my stomach was uncomfortably tight. I wasn't sure if the tightness was anxiety, or just the overall stress of the journey into the unknown and unplanned. I opened my package of four brownies and filled the void. When the first one entered my mouth, a warm, relaxing sensation washed through my system.
I spread out the map on my bed to examine it, but only to find out my exact location. After careful assessment, I convinced myself that I could still plan and be spontaneous at the same time. This is another one of those moments that I could lie to myself to feel better about my situation. Thinking about it, I put one finger on the place I was at, closed my eyes, and placed another finger on where I was going. After opening my eyes, I congratulated myself; I was headed to the west coast.
I felt the relief hit me. I had family there and could stop in for a visit to try to bring some normalcy to my trip. I showered quickly, as the hot water disappeared all too soon, and crawled into my warm jammies. There is nothing like something soft and flannel against your body to make you feel warm and comfortable.
I finally remembered the stone. I leaned over the side of the bed, grabbed my jeans, and
Soul's Journey Page 3