by Ray Gorham
She gave him a dismissive look, then crawled back into the lower bunk and turned her back to him, pulling the blanket tight around her narrow shoulders.
Kyle watched Louise as his heart slowed to its normal rate, then turned back to the front and picked up where he’d left off, minus the drumming and earsplitting vocals, with memories and worries about his parents and brother and wife and children filling his mind.
Louise and Kyle waited in the truck until a little after noon, when the sky finally started to clear and the wind died down. Together they left the shelter of the semi behind, with Louise perched carefully in the cart and Kyle straining against the handle. Kyle’s joke with Ed about pulling a rickshaw no longer seemed nearly as funny. When the unlikely pair had set off three days before, Kyle had tried to have Louise walk, but that had worked for only about a half mile before it became apparent that because of her age and condition, she would only be able to walk a few minutes at a time before becoming too exhausted to continue. So, a half hour and a half-mile into their journey together, Kyle had been forced to repack his cart to make a place for her to sit. And there she rode, while he strained at the handle.
“It sure is muggy,” Louise said from the cart, the first complaint coming less than three minutes into their day’s travel.
“I know Louise. It rained,” Kyle answered, trying to sound pleasant but no longer caring very much if he did. “It will probably be muggy like this for the rest of the day.” He had grown numb to her ability to find the cloud to every silver lining, and while he wasn’t expecting a reward, at the very least he didn’t want to hear her constant complaints: the food, the heat, the wind, the uncomfortable cart, how slow he was walking, not enough food, the smelly truck, nothing to read, and on and on. By this point, each new whine had become something of a joke to him.
Dalhart was about eight miles ahead and, to Kyle’s inexpressible relief, was where Louise was headed when the attack had occurred and where Kyle would soon be able to deliver his passenger to her family. The temptation to abandon Louise on the side of the road the first night had been strong, and had she been headed much further north, he would have left her somewhere in Texas without a second thought, or at least that’s what he told himself. However, because so many people had been willing to help him, he had decided he could put up with a cranky old lady for a few days.
Six hours later, and three days after finding Louise, Kyle halted the cart on the north side of Dalhart in front of a cream-colored, stucco house adorned with a gray, armadillo-shaped welcome sign that hung to the side of the front door. He knocked, waited, and was about to knock again when he heard footsteps. A short, heavy-set, teenage girl cracked the door open and peered through the narrow crack. Kyle wondered to himself what she must be thinking, to find a strange, bruised and bearded man on her doorstep. The girl eyed Kyle and seemed poised to slam the door shut when Kyle spoke up.
“This is the Kennedy home, correct?”
The girl nodded. Kyle could see a man, likely the girl’s father, coming towards the door from a kitchen, his face wary.
“I found your grandmother on the side of the road. I brought her here.”
The girl looked past Kyle to the street where Louise was gathering what few possessions she had brought. “Daddy!” she called, turning towards her father.
The man had heard the comment, pulled the door open wide, and looked out to the street. “I don’t believe it,” he said to no one in particular, then stepped past Kyle and ran to his mother.
The girl called for her mother and older brother, and the family hurried outside to help Louise with her things. Kyle watched from the sidelines, musing that normally if a woman who’d been missing for two weeks had been found and returned, the family would’ve been overcome with emotion and barely able to contain themselves, an event worthy of a live CNN broadcast. This celebration was reserved. They hugged and talked, but there were no tears and no big displays of emotion. It was almost business-like in manner, as if they were actors in a play that no one really cared about.
Louise’s son approached Kyle. “I need to thank you,” he said. “We’ve been worried about Mom for the past two weeks, but I didn’t know how I could find her, and….”
Kyle interrupted him. “Look, it’s been rough for everyone. You don’t need to explain anything. I’m glad I could do it.” Kyle extended his hand to Mr. Kennedy, who embraced Kyle’s hand with both of his.
“I’d offer you something, but we don’t have much,” he said, assessing Kyle’s cart.
“I don’t need anything. Besides, you have more people to feed than I do.” Kyle started to walk towards his cart, and Mr. Kennedy followed along behind. “You know, I could use a hammer though; my cart needs some repairs. And, if you’ve got a way to get me to Montana, I’d take that as well,” Kyle said over his shoulder. “Otherwise, I’d better get on my way.”
The man shook his head soberly. “I don’t have any way to get you to Montana, but I do have a hammer. Give me a minute.” Mr. Kennedy ran off to look for the hammer, and Louise hobbled over to offer her thanks and say goodbye, then walked to the house with a grandchild under each arm just as her son returned, leaving the two men alone in the street.
Mr. Kennedy handed Kyle the hammer. “Go ahead and take this with you. I have another one. Good luck on your trip. We’ll be praying for you.”
“Thank you. Good luck to you too. Things are tough.”
The man nodded in agreement, his expression obviously anxious.
As he swung his cart around and headed back towards the highway, Kyle wondered if he’d done the family any favors, giving them one more mouth to feed. With conditions already bad, maybe they would have been better off without Louise, as cruel as that sounded. He trudged towards the edge of town, hoping he hadn’t made the family’s predicament worse.
Staying near Dalhart for the night was an option that would have fit his schedule, as tired as he was, but everything about the town unsettled him. It had been a week since he’d passed through any big towns, and in comparison the overall mood in Dalhart was much bleaker. There were no children playing in the streets or in the front yards, and despite the rain, even the grass and trees seemed lifeless and wilted. Instead of the friendly waves and words of encouragement that had been offered earlier in his trip, people eyed him suspiciously and retreated towards their homes when he approached, much as the people in Lubbock had done.
Walking gave Kyle plenty of time to think, and the hopelessness of the Kennedy’s stuck with him for a long time. They were hungry and fearful, like so many other people, perhaps even his own family. With those thoughts haunting him, Kyle walked on into the night, wanting desperately to be home, not stopping until long after the sun had set and the darkness had fully engulfed him.
CHAPTER 18
Wednesday, September 21st
Oklahoma Panhandle
Day 19
Covered good ground today. I’m traveling alone once again after finding an old lady 3 days ago who, by some miracle, had survived for two weeks in the middle of nowhere. Yesterday I delivered her (Louise Kennedy) to her family, but their reunion was not the joyful experience I expected. Her granddaughter’s eyes have haunted me all day. She reminded me of the children from Africa you see on the late night TV commercials, hopeless and starving and waiting for someone to save them. The father’s expression wasn’t much better. I feel like rather than saving one life, I’ve endangered four others, or at least consigned them to more severe hunger than they would have experienced without Louise. It made me worry about how you are surviving. The biggest problem with walking is no longer the physical demands (not that my feet and legs don’t ache), but the time to think and worry and not know. Just the chance to get any news would be worth so much to me. This afternoon I met a man with a ham radio that was working. He said he’d been anticipating something like this for 20 years. I gave him a message to try to send but have little hope it will get to you. I will keep my fingers crosse
d.
Food is an issue, but there have been generous people along the way, especially some of the farmers. I have new respect for the toughness of the pioneers. Can’t imagine doing this on dirt roads. I’m in Oklahoma tonight and hope to be in Colorado tomorrow night. I wish all five states I need to cross were as easy as Oklahoma’s panhandle. Getting through Texas feels like a big accomplishment. Just wish I wasn’t celebrating alone.
I love you all.
Saturday, September 24th
Southern Colorado
Day 22
I’m sitting on the banks of a large reservoir, trying to catch my lunch. The weather has been good so I’ve been pushing hard, but my legs are feeling it. David, I wish I had you here with me. You’ve always had a knack for catching nice, big fish every time we’d go fishing, and I’d love a big fish today. I bet I’ve lost at least 15 pounds since I started walking, but it’s not a diet I’d recommend.
I visited with another walker (that’s what I call people like me) for a while this morning. He’s a truck driver, really a nice guy, and was heading to Albuquerque from South Dakota, a lot closer to home than I am. Kind of made me jealous. He just had a duffle bag and made me a little nervous as he eyed my cart. He’s hopeful that he’ll make it but has had a few bad run-ins; it’s sad how some people have become violent and threatening. We had a nice talk, and it made me realize how much I miss that. Since I dropped off Louise (the old lady in Texas), the longest I’ve visited with another person has been about 30 minutes, and then I never see them again. Even though there are a few people around, the loneliness is pretty strong. Jennifer, I know I never talked with you as much as you’d have liked, but I sure miss that now. When things get fixed, I’m not going to buy a TV, I’m going to spend more time with you and the kids, and with other people.
My face and arms have gotten pretty dark. I know you’d get mad at me for not wearing sunscreen, but that’s not really an option. I went swimming this morning, so I feel a little cleaner. I think it had been 5 days since
A slight tug on the line alerted Kyle, and he set his journal down to watch for more movement. Another tug, this time a little firmer, and he poised himself to haul in his catch. With another tug, he pulled his arms back and felt the firm resistance of something on the line. Grabbing his shirt off the ground, Kyle quickly wrapped the shirt around his hand, then the fishing line around that. He began to back slowly up and down the bank of the reservoir, his legs acting as the reel while he coiled the fishing line around his hand, watching while the water near the shore began to churn.
Kyle waited for the thrashing to stop. When he felt the line slacken and could see the fish calm, he pulled the line and lifted the fish into the air, landing it a couple of feet in front of him. He leapt forward and grabbed at the fish with his free hand, while corralling it with his other arm to keep it from flopping back to the water. With the fish secured, Kyle found a rock and clubbed his catch until it quit moving.
After two previous failures, this fishing success buoyed his spirits. Kyle carried the fish to the top of the slope that surrounded the reservoir, stopping where he’d left his cart in a cluster of trees that offered shade and fuel for a fire.
Kyle pulled out his knife and a box of matches and ignited the wood he had gathered earlier, then cleaned and prepped the fish while feeding wood into the fire, coaxing the blaze until it was large enough to cook his fish.
Despite the crude cooking environment, the fish cooked up beautifully, and Kyle thoroughly enjoyed his lunch. A little seasoning and an even larger fish would have improved the meal, but after more than two weeks on the road, the fish tasted as good as any he could remember eating.
With his stomach full, Kyle carefully wound the fishing line back around the spool it came on, a treasured gift from a talkative farmer back in Oklahoma. Kyle had found that many of the people he met were decent and helpful, especially those who were more isolated, as they seemed as hungry for fresh conversation as he was. Several families had given him extra produce from their gardens, and one kind woman had cooked him the most delicious omelet he’d ever eaten as she pumped him for information about the things he’d seen as he traveled.
Kyle kicked the fire down, then doused it completely with water from the reservoir, aware that there would be no way to contain an out of control fire, such as the one he’d witnessed in Lubbock. He wondered how bad fire season had been in the mountains, and how many towns and homes had been lost without the equipment and manpower to fight them.
Kyle finished his journal entry, packed the cart, and pulled onto the highway. The past few days he had pulled hard and was now well into Colorado. Yesterday he had pushed hard and gone just over forty miles, ten more than normal, but he felt it in his legs today. The terrain had worked in his favor so far, with most of the roads still flat and easy to walk. There were the occasional dips and rises, but nothing severe, and nothing that slowed him down much.
On the western horizon, however, loomed the Rocky Mountains, their peaks already capped with snow. Even from this distance, they taunted him with their size. As he got further north, Kyle had noticed that the nights were getting colder, and the days were growing noticeably shorter. He knew that in another month he needed to be ready to contend with snow, and the thought of that, even on a warm, sunny day, sent a shiver down his spine.
CHAPTER 19
Monday, September 26th
East Central Colorado
Day 24
If I’ve been accurate with the tally marks I’m scratching on my cart, then today is our anniversary. Happy 15th, Jennifer. It’s a gloriously beautiful morning, which is fitting for what this date means to me. I want you to know that I didn’t forget our anniversary, and that my heart is with you, even if I’m not. I wish, with all of my energy, that I could be with you instead of stuck in the middle of Colorado, but it’s not meant to be. I hope you know you’re still the girl I dream about every night.
Writing’s not going to get me any closer to home, so I’m going to get on the road. If you read this, I want you to know that my first thoughts today were of you.
I love you Jenn!
Deer Creek, Montana
Spencer was playing with a bucket of Lego’s in his room, and with David off working at the farm and Emma attending her second week of community school, the house was quiet and peaceful. On most days, Jennifer tried not to dwell on Kyle’s absence, but today she planned on getting emotional. She needed to have a happy cry. Finding the photo album she wanted, Jennifer got comfortable on the couch and flipped the cover open.
She smiled as the faces of two happy, love-struck, young people beamed innocently from the first page of the album. The picture had been taken in the reception hall of her childhood church, a last minute change in plans when Mother Nature had decided that to interrupt their outdoor group photo session with a bone-rattling thunderstorm was more important than getting the group outside for pictures. Kyle, in his tuxedo, and Jennifer, in her wedding dress, were surrounded by both of their families and the wedding party, all crowded between dinner tables at the end of the narrow hall.
Lightning had struck nearby a half-second before the picture was taken, and the expressions on the faces of their loved ones had been so fresh and alive that the picture had been Jennifer’s favorite and ended up displayed at the front of the album. The thing she liked the most about the picture was that, despite every car alarm in the parking lot blaring outside and the bridesmaids being in full shriek, Kyle’s eyes were riveted to her like nothing else in the world existed, and the biggest, warmest, most in-love smile she’d ever seen on a man’s face was spread across his. In the early years of their marriage, when they’d had a disagreement or when Kyle hadn’t been as attentive as she’d have liked, she’d pull out the album and take a peek at this photo, just to remind her that he really did love her.
Jennifer flipped slowly through the rest of their wedding album before moving on to the other albums that crowded the bookshelf, rel
iving the nearly seventeen years since she’d first met Kyle. The first picture she had of Kyle was from her freshman English class, taken with a friend’s new digital camera to show her roommate the cute guy who kept asking her out. The photo, showing Kyle as he was about read a paper in front of the class, had been tacked up on her dorm room wall for the final two months of the semester. It would have been a perfect photo, had it not been for her purse strap blocking part of the shot as she’d attempted to conceal the camera. After taking the picture, Jennifer and her friend had laughed so hard they had distracted Kyle, ruining his concentration as he kept checking his zipper, probably costing him a letter grade.
Other albums were filled with memories of vacations, birthdays, kids’ sports, and school programs. Jennifer loved to look through her albums, but this was the first time she had opened them since Kyle had been gone. Every picture of him was another reminder of his absence, filling her heart with loneliness until it was saturated and overflowing.
Spencer walked into the room, noticed her tears, and came over and gave her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek, then headed back to his room to play. Jennifer choked out a teary “thank you” as he walked away, then opened up the last album.
The most recent photos she had printed were from this year’s Father’s Day camping trip and showed Kyle packing up their tent as they got ready to head home Sunday afternoon. His face was sunburned and mosquito bitten, and his elbow was bandaged from a fall the day before, but despite his injuries, he was still mugging for the camera, with Spencer clinging to his back while David chased Emma with a grass snake in the background. Jennifer lingered on this picture for a long time, reliving the weekend over and over in her memory and wondering if they would ever have another day like that again.