THE
ROAD TRIP
Week 4
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DAY
26 – Thursday, April 8 HIGHLIGHTS:
Sam’s house We’d
pulled our curtains shut to make the room pitch black and didn’t
wake up until after ten-thirty this morning. After two insanely long days in the car, long
even for this trip, our bodies were starting to feel it. Lauren in particular, after almost a month
sleeping on economy motel mattresses with debatable support, was
reaching her apex of discomfort.
We sluggishly went about our morning routines, swore loudly
at our dribbly lukewarm shower then groaned our sore and tired muscles
back into the car yet again. The day was cold, gray and drizzly even at
noon when we checked out. The
thought of another bowl of oatmeal, or even another stale continental
breakfast, held absolutely no appeal.
Neither of us had the energy or motivation to drive around
in search of a local place still serving breakfast, so we stopped
at the first IHOP we came across. We talked very little as we sat there eating
our eggs and pancakes and drinking bad coffee in an effort to break
the inexplicable lethargy that had suddenly overtaken the two of
us. After breakfast, we walked back out to the
car, shivering against the cold and squinting against the mist that
was blowing in our eyes. We
made our way to the interstate, willing the car to warm up quicker
so we could turn on the heat, when Lauren tentatively said, “I’m
ready to go home.” I
hesitated only a second and said, “Yeah, me too.” It
had been an amazing month, no doubt. Actually we couldn’t believe that when we’d
first started planning this trip several years ago we’d thought
we could pull it off in only two or three weeks.
Two weeks would have meant an interstate sprint back and
forth. Three weeks would still have hurried us through
too many things. Four weeks
seemed the ideal amount. The
trip’s imminent end had always been far enough away that it never
bummed us out or made us feel rushed. But now as the end finally approached, we found
ourselves actually welcoming it.
After almost a month, we missed the familiar comfort of our
Philadelphia apartment. We
missed sleeping in our own bed.
We missed cooking over our own stove.
We missed blending our morning smoothies.
We missed daily Internet access.
We missed not having to live out of suitcases and bathroom
bags. We missed just sitting
on a couch and watching TV together. After almost a month of riding in cars, climbing
hills and lighthouses, hiking to waterfalls and ghost towns, posing
for pictures in front of silly roadside attractions and stately
geological wonders and spending most every night in single room
motels, yes, we had to admit we were ready for it to be over.
After visiting my friend Sam today, and the Henry Ford Museum
tomorrow, we made the decision to just keep driving, all through
the night if necessary, until we were home.
It
was just over two hours to Ann Arbor. I called Sam who directed me to her cute little
duplex in the decidedly suburban college district near the University of Michigan where
she was attending grad school.
Sam is an old friend from Maine.
We were academic competitors in high school who followed
widely diverging educational pursuits in college. I studied film and TV, moved to Los Angeles
and got jobs dealing with screenwriters, actors and movie producers
for barely more than minimum wage.
She studied… something to do with statistics that is so heady
and complex, I had a hard time grasping it whenever she tried to
explain. All I knew was
her degree was leading her toward a career in research, researching
things I didn’t even know people researched, for more money than
I figured anyone could ever earn researching anything. Sam and I have always had a deep and profound
respect for the other and everything they’ve worked for and accomplished.
She was one of the first people I told when I made my decision
to stop chasing the dream I’d been chasing since junior high and
move out of L.A. Somehow
I knew she of all people would get it. She’s one of the few people from high school that I’ve made a real
and genuine effort, and had a real and genuine desire, to stay in
touch with through all things. We
said our hellos and headed upstairs where we talked for several
hours, filling in the gaps for the years since we’d seen each other.
I introduced her to my wife and she introduced me to her
boyfriend, David – who has since become her husband.
Around dinnertime, the four of us took a walk through their
quiet neighborhood to a Polish restaurant they knew and loved.
Back at the house we stayed up until past eleven o’clock
just sitting and talking, Lauren and I filling up most of the conversation
with tales from the previous month. I filled them in on my days in L.A. and New
York, trying to be witty and sarcastic, making them laugh wherever
I could. I
realized something about my own
humor that night. Maybe it was the fact that Sam and David remained
so quiet during our conversations, letting Lauren and I do most
of the talking. Maybe it
was that I found myself listening to everything I was saying through
David’s ears, as someone who had never met me before tonight.
Whatever it was, I suddenly realized that every one of my
funny stories began with the words, “Oh my god, [insert person,
place or thing] really sucks.”
Hollywood people, L.A. traffic, New York subways, my ex-boss,
New Jersey jug handles, the trolley that ran next to our Philadelphia
apartment. They all, apparently,
sucked. I thought I was
just using them as the basis for some witty anecdotes, but all those
anecdotes, I realized, were based upon the fact that I strongly
disliked something. “Oh
my god, David must think I am the most negative person on this earth,”
I confided to Lauren after we went to bed.
I always thought I was just being funny.
Turns out, I’m just really, really pissed off.
I fretted over this revelation for several months until one
night I saw George Carlin in an interview talking about the common
thread that connects all great comedians.
I’m paraphrasing, but basically George said all these guys
see something really messed up in the world and they use their differing
styles of comedy to deal with it. Mind you I don’t consider myself anywhere in
the same league as the guys he was referring to, but it calmed me
down and I decided from that day on not to worry about how negative
I sound. If people are laughing, I know my negativity
isn’t bumming them out. And
as near as I can recall, Sam and David’s laughter seemed real enough. Sam
made up the pullout couch for us with blankets and pillows.
Unfortunately the thing was quite old, lumpy and sagged toward
the middle. Lauren, who
had woken up this morning in a good deal of back, neck and side
pain, had a thoroughly miserable night’s sleep, and I not much better.
To put it simply… it, well... sucked.
Yes, we were definitely looking forward to being home in
our own bed. Did I mention
we’d missed going to the chiropractor this month too? See that? I did it again.
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