Page 12 of Trucker
And while the place had a caretaker, I wouldn’t try to imagine what the gravestones looked like. The caretaker’s job was to make sure the landscaping was taken care of. Nothing else was on his job description.
Grunting, I crawled out of bed to use the bathroom before dressing in track pants and a t-shirt. After throwing some coffee down my throat, I gathered the bag I’d packed the night before and headed out the door.
It was barely morning—the sun was still kind of hiding beyond the tops of the trees. It was probably debating if it wanted five more minutes, like I would have killed for.
I yawned.
Groaning, I wanted to go back inside and back to bed. But if I left later, the sun would be too much.
Whimpering, I set my things in the trunk, tossed by purse to the backseat before climbing behind the wheel.
After starting the ignition, I gripped the wheel tightly with both hands, screamed to clear my brain from the fuzziness. After a few breaths to steady myself, I checked around my car before turning to leave the yard.
Pops loved me dearly and this was the least I could do for him and Nan.
Finding a parking spot, I climbed from the vehicle, gathered my cleaning supplies and flowers then made the five or so minute hike to where I’d chosen to bury him and Nan.
After I became an adult and was in charge of Pop’s estate, I had Nan moved for them to be side by side.
I’d buried them in an area Nan had always liked.
It overlooked the most beautiful view and was peaceful.
The sunrise from there is perfect—the dew turning to mist rising upward from the two. The sky was this beautiful yellow that became bright orange with the early sun—Nan would have liked that.
By the time I arrived, the exhaustion and thirst was out of control.
I had to have some water before sitting with my legs hanging off a slight cliff area to catch my breath.
“I am not in shape.” I panted then smiled. “I know, Pops. But that walk shouldn’t have taken it out of me so much.”
Thinking back to what my grandfather would tell me each time I told him I felt fat, I giggled.
“I don’t need to lose weight—just, get in shape a little.” I turned my head toward the angel over his tombstone. “Get things nice and tight, you know? So that a little trek like this one won’t kill me.”
I turned my head in the direction of my place.
There was a lone road that could be seen curving around the landscape leading up to the trees that hid the long driveway up to the house. About a year before, the town tried passing a law that said the road was no longer a part of the town and therefore my responsibility.
They didn’t understand that I was no fool and by the time I was done, they looked like complete idiots.
If they didn’t want to take care of the road, I’d just close it down and accessed my place via the waterway that it backed up on then hiked to my place.
I’d turn it into a private space and charge them to use it—I’d become my own small town not recognizing their laws or by-laws.
I’d be the bitch most of them thought I was but worse.
I don’t care.
As a child, I used to wander along the path on foot then find a place to sit and lean against one of those very trees that were older than me.
Sometimes I would fall asleep.
For the first time I realized how far from the town my place was—but the people in town left me alone to my weirdness, my silence and my loneliness.
Sometimes I even think I preferred it that way.
I didn’t have to deal with the silent questions, the disapproval and the whispers.
