Finding Home
Sarah Collins
Copyright 2017 Sarah Collins
All Rights Reserved
Table of contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 1
Dylan drives past Idaho’s state welcome sign. Great Potatoes. Tasty Destinations.
“What the hell,” she mutters under her breath, chuckling softly.
This marks the third year of travelling, well living really, in her 1974 Volkswagen Bus, though it’s much more akin to the size of a regular travel van. She bought it right out of college, deciding to leave the confines of day-to-day materialism that almost everyone she knows has bought into. Instead of graduating and holding down a regular 9-to-5, she bought herself a retro van and hit the road. Even after all the breakdowns, the death of her 12-year-old pup, and sporadic loneliness that sometimes plagues her, she still knows this is the best decision she ever could’ve made.
She runs a hand through her short, black hair as she hopefully heads towards something to eat. Her hair used to be long, past her breasts, but became impractical to keep on the road. She didn’t love it short at first, but now she can’t imagine herself any other way. It makes her slightly-large jaw look sharper; her harsh features look statuesque. It’s what she likes to call fierce—something she appreciates while traveling alone on the road.
This is her first trip to Idaho, and she can’t believe how beautiful everything looks. Her other van-dwelling friends described the beauty at one of their bonfires in the desert, but she never fathomed this. The snow-capped mountains, deep blue lakes, greener-than-green grass and hills. It’s so beautiful, in fact, that she’s almost loathe to stop on the outskirts of Twin Falls instead of coasting further into the state like she originally planned. Her growling stomach, however, forces her to pull in the tiny parking lot of a classic looking diner that nearly every town in every state has. The real American gothic, she thinks.
She parks in middle of the lot so she can keep an eye on her van while she eats. The last thing she needs is someone stealing her home and transportation in one fell swoop. There were a few close calls at first, but now she’s smarter and manages to keep her things safe and secure pretty easily.
After a quick glance in the rearview mirror to ruffle her hair, Dylan hops out of the van. Her feet and legs throb from supporting the newfound weight, used to driving for the past four hours straight. She flexes her toes in her shoes, puts her keys in the pockets of her shorts, and walks up to the diner door.
Norman’s Diner looks just as old inside, but surprisingly clean. The mixture of breakfast and burgers hit her nose instantly, as well as the strong, burnt hint of coffee. Her stomach grumbles once again, for good measure, and she’s glad she decided to stop when she did.
Being alone for most of the past few years has taught her quite a few things. She pulls on that knowledge and sits at a corner booth in the back of the restaurant, tucked away from the few patrons scattered around the eating bar—even though the cushioned red stools and kitchen view look quite enticing. No one needs to know she’s travelling alone, so she tries not to parade it around.
Like all diners, Norman’s Diner décor pulls straight from the 1950’s and the menu is a little more than sticky in her fingers. Eating out in public isn’t something she does often, but when she does, she goes for some cheap greasy food. By the time the waitress comes over, she’s already picked out at least four things she wants to devour.
“Good morning,” the waitress says. She’s cute enough, though at least four years younger than Dylan. “What can I get for ya?”
“I’ll start with some coffee, two eggs over easy, and some toast,” Dylan says. “Oh, can I add some cheese to the eggs?”
“Of course,” the waitress jots it down quickly. “That all?”
“Add bacon and some sausage too actually,” she replies. “I’m clearly feeling pretty funny hungry.”
“Not a problem.” The waitress grins, then walks across the small diner to the kitchen. Her voice can be heard over the patron’s as she calls back the order to the cook.
While she waits, Dylan pulls her phone out of her pocket and checks for any missed calls or messages. Nothing. She isn’t surprised by it now. After the falling out last Christmas when she told her family she wasn’t done travelling yet, she doesn’t hear much from them anymore. Her friends, most travellers now too, rarely use their data for texts or phone calls. Around once every two months they plan a get together back in the California desert where they’re from—it’s a blast, really—but they usually save the socializing for then.
Her food is brought out quickly, and she’s finished eating even quicker. The eggs were mediocre, but the bacon was superb. Crunchy yet buttery, much better than she could make herself. While she’s good at cooking on an open campfire, she still has a lot to learn when it comes to cooking in her makeshift van kitchen.
There’s no reason to dally around at a booth in a diner when there’s no one to talk to—just eat and get back on the road as quickly as possible is her motto. There’s a lot to see and even more to do. She doesn’t want to waste her daylight in a sticky diner booth.
At the counter, the same waitress rings up her ticket. “How was everything?”
Dylan smiles slightly, not showing her teeth. “It was great. Thanks.”
“Glad to hear it,” the woman replies. “It’ll be $7.43.”
“Can’t beat that.” Dylan smiles fully this time, handing over a ten. “Keep the change. Have a good one.”
One-time meetings fill her life. She doesn’t mind it, though. There’s always something to learn from people, regardless of how long or short she knows them. The late-spring breeze hits her bare legs as she steps outside. It feels better than she expected. She walks towards her van—
“Hey!” She yells, quickening her pace towards the vehicle. “What are you doing?”
A woman, tan with medium-length dark hair, freezes instantly next to the old Volkswagen van. Her hand hangs mid-air, holding a camera. “I’m sorry,” she starts, her eyes widening. “I was just—“
“Being a total creep?”
The woman gasps. “What? No! I’m a photographer. I saw your van and I couldn’t resist. You just don’t see these anymore.” She smiles slightly. “I suppose I should’ve asked first.”
“Damn right you should’ve,” Dylan replies, still slightly on the defense.
“My apologies.” The woman senses the tension and sticks out her hand. “Naomi.”
Dylan takes a deep breath. She needs to chill the hell out. It’s not often a beautiful woman admires her van and then asks for her name. She finally sticks her hand out, rough from climbing and camping and general vanlife things, to shake the soft one in front of her. “Dylan. Sorry, I get a little paranoid about my van.”
“I can imagine,” Naomi replies, looking at it. “It’s amazing. Is this the original paint?”
“Hardly,” Dylan snorts. “I spent about two months refinishing it. Used to be this god-awful orange color. I swear I still see it in my nightmares.”
They share a small laugh. Naomi reverently looks back to the van. “Well it’s beautiful. I’ve always dreamed of escaping the real world and traveling into lands unknown, or whatever that corny slogan is.”
Dylan nods. She hears this nearly everywhere she goes. If everyone would just give up their jobs and do it already, she’s convinced they’d all be happier people.
“Do you mind if I take a look inside?”
Dylan is slightly taken aback. She’s shown her
van-home several times before, but usually at her own suggestion. No one has ever been so straightforward about it…and she can’t say she hates it the brashness. Especially not from such an aesthetically pleasing woman.
“Sure,” she answers, grinning slightly. “Just promise you aren’t going to kill me or something once we’re in there.”
“Oh, that would be a plan wouldn’t it? Kill traveller, take the van, live the life I’ve always wanted,” she starts. At Dylan’s widened eyes, she laughs heartily. It’s deeper than expected, but no less wonderful. “I’m joking, of course.”
“I hope so,” she says. They walk around the white van, stopping in front of the side door. Dylan pulls it open, revealing everything she considers home. “It’s nothing fancy, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”
“Wow,” Naomi practically coos, stepping forward to look further inside. This is amazing.”
The outside of the van deceptively belies how much space there actually is on the inside. A full-size bed fits flatly in the very back, a small counter with a sink and double hot plate stand on one side, a small table that doubles as a desk on the other, and a shit-ton of little hidden compartments for all of her things. When her dog was alive, he even had a little nook under the bed all to himself. Dylan decorated the van simply, in whites and very few colored accents, which means it always seems cleaner than it really is.
“It’s absolutely perfect,” Naomi says after long moments of staring. She turns to Dylan. “Do you mind if I step inside?”
Dylan feels her heart skip slightly. It’s been so long since she’s had someone else in her van, and even longer since a very attractive woman asked to crawl in it.
She rams her hands in the pockets of her shorts. “Sure. Go ahead.”
Naomi steps inside, walking immediately to sit on the edge of the bed. Her short legs barely reach the floor, and her face is covered in a child-like wonder as she looks around the space. The top isn’t even expanded to the full height, but there’s still plenty of room for Dylan to stand inside without touching the ceiling. “I mean it. This is totally perfect. If I were you, I would never leave.”
Dylan smiles. “Why don’t you get one? Seems like you’d love it.”
“I definitely would. Unfortunately, I’m stuck in the run of things. Work, bills, work, more bills,” she sighs wistfully. “It’s a horrible cycle. I wish I could just jump right out of it and go away. See the world, see people. Take amazing photographs. Just…be myself and live.”
“Well if you need any help,” Dylan starts, “I’m your girl. I know the ins and outs of just about everything now.”
“Good to know.” Naomi smiles at her, and then continues her assessment of the inside of Dylan’s moving home. The nooks and crannies, the decorations—she absorbs every detail from floor to ceiling. “How long have you been driving around like this?”
Dylan shrugs. “Few years. Not nearly long enough to see what I want to see, though.”
“That’s amazing.” Naomi stares at Dylan, long and hard. Intensely, dazzlingly, enough for Dylan to feel the electricity in the air. After an awkward beat, she licks her lips, smiling. “Can I take a photo of you? With the van, of course.”
Dylan doesn’t really care what this woman wants, she just knows she’s a little bit entranced with her already. “Sure.”
Naomi gracefully clambers out of the van and places Dylan where she wants her. Her soft hands touch, turn, and pull at Dylan until she’s leaning against the van in the perfect position. They stand so closely that Dylan can see every beat of Naomi’s heart in her neck, smell the headiness of her perfume. Dylan swallows thickly when Naomi steps back to look through the camera.
“Hold on,” Naomi says.
She walks closer again, using her hand to ruffle Dylan’s short hair into place. Their eyes lock, Dylan’s blue with Naomi’s brown. Naomi’s lips part. Her hand slows on Dylan’s scalp.
Dylan nearly takes a step forward before catching herself. She grins to break the moment. “How do I look?”
Naomi doesn’t bother hiding her awe. “Perfect.”
Damn. Dylan has to stop herself from inviting the woman to come with her right here and now.
They end up keeping the side door open to showcase the inside of the VW bus and all its glory. Dylan leans up against the passenger side, smiling widely as Naomi holds up her camera.
The sound of three clicks can be heard. Naomi pulls back the camera to flip through the few photos she took.
“Wow,” she murmurs to herself.
“Get one?” Dylan asks, closing the gap between them.
“Oh yeah,” Naomi says. She holds out the camera. “Look.”
The picture is crisp, every detail coming to life on such a small screen. Dylan’s smile could light up the sun standing there, arms crossed and leaning back against her prized possession.
“That’s awesome,” she finally says. “Mind sending me a copy?”
“Sure.” Naomi grins. “If you give me your number.”
Smooth, Dylan thinks. With a smile, she pulls out her phone. Maybe she’ll start getting some notifications on it now after all.
Chapter 2
Driving down the narrow Idahoan road, Dylan’s thoughts stray to Naomi rather than the beautiful landscape sliding past her windows. They had lingered together, swapping numbers, as long as they could before the awkward shifting became too heavy. Neither, it seemed, were ready or willing to say goodbye.
Eventually Dylan made the excuse of getting back on the road. Naomi touched her arm, searing it with her warmth, before walking back to her car to get back to work before her lunch break was over. Dylan managed to get her number, but she hopes that’s not just an empty promise. It’s been so long since she’s had a real, honest conversation with someone on the road that she doesn’t want the opportunity to slip through her grasp.
She arrives at the Centennial Waterfront Park around five o’clock. It looks like a great place to explore and potentially stay the night, so she whips into a parking spot as far away from any visitors roaming around. At first, it was a real struggle to find somewhere she felt safe enough to park. After three years, though, she can spot places as easily as recognizing her own face. She looks over to the passenger seat, and her heart clenches.
“Miss ya, old buddy,” she says more to herself than anything.
Her dog passed nearly a year ago, and she still struggles with the loneliness that brought. He was her first and only dog; she picked him out during the midst of a particularly hard year of high school. As corny as it sounds, he became her very best friend. It’s funny how having one other living creature, despite being one that didn’t talk, could change the dynamic of her entire life. Maybe she’ll get another soon, even though she knows it’ll never fill the Davie-size hole in her life.
Dylan hops out of her van, stretching her legs slightly. It’s been a few hundred miles since her last inspection, so she walks around her van checking for anything askew. Tires, solar panels, bike rack…It looks good enough, so she takes off on a trail closest to her parking spot. If she finds somewhere nice enough, she may even come back to get her tent and spend the night outside instead of in the parking lot.
The temperature outside feels great, and the views look even better. Who knew Idaho would be so beautiful? Rolling hills, snowy mountain-tops, rocky overhangs, and slow-moving water pass by as she makes her way further into the park. She dips under tall evergreens, and steps over jagged rocks on the path. It’s beautiful out here. Freeing. Idaho is shaping up to be a pretty great adventure after all.
She walks until the path gives way to an open expanse of water. It’s so clear that she can see straight through to the bottom. It looks clean enough to drink. A semi-circle of mountainous rock and foliage encases the edges about a half-mile in the distance. A few yards away she sees a family playing on the rocky shore, splashing around in the water and chasing each other.
“Why the hell not,” she mutters, bending o
ver to yank off her socks and shoes.
The water laps up coolly on her feet as she wades ankle deep into the crystal blue water. It’s been a while since she’s stepped in water this clear. Tiny minnow fish dart to and fro around her toes. She looks around, trying to find a neat rock or something worth putting into her collection jar. It’s somewhat of a lame hobby, she knows, but there’s just something about taking pieces of every place she visits with her that makes her unexplainably happy.
She keeps any stickers she finds from local stores—Phoenix, Nashville, and Charleston to name a few. A blue voodoo charm from New Orleans caught her eye, as well as a scrap of fabric from Buffalo, New York. If it speaks to her, as lame as that feels to say, she keeps it in a box in her van.
Although she’s been on the road for three years now, she never expected to make it past six months. But the longer she goes, the more she learns about herself and the world around her. She did things she never could’ve imagined—swam through water in the Grand Canyon, rode streetcars in San Francisco, danced in America’s largest Pride Parade.
Dylan’s met some people along the way whom she’ll never forget. Molly, an engineer, showed her how to rig up the solar panels on her van in Texas right when she didn’t think she could afford to power her van anymore. Eric, a transman, taught her more about acceptance and love than she ever could’ve imagined while they swayed around a bonfire in Colorado. Jericka, a hitchhiker she picked up in Kentucky, made her realize that she could live off of even less than she already did. Then there’s Lily, a woman who broke down institutionalized racism in a way Dylan never understood before. Of course, Dylan doesn’t have a white heritage, but passes enough to receive the privilege a lot of her Native American family doesn’t get to have.
It’s not all good times and rose-colored glasses, though. In Reno, someone broke into her van and stole her stash of money and laptop. Her van broke down not once, but twice while driving across Kansas. In Illinois two of her tires went flat and she didn’t have enough money to replace them, causing her to stay there an extra four months working as a waitress to save up enough to fix them.
Finding Home Page 1