Ronnie Van Zant wasn’t lying when he said the skies are blue down here in Alabama. It has yet to rain and it’s been over ninety degrees every day.
The eighteen hour solo drive to Alabama that started on Friday May 23, 2008 had me nervous. Many were telling me it was going to be exhausting, but more than anything I was afraid to fall asleep at the wheel due to having no one to talk to.
I left Pennsylvania with a stack of mix CD’s donated by a close friend of mine to keep me occupied for about nine hours of the trip and headed toward Maryland, West Virginia, and then Virginia. Once I reached Middletown, Virginia, I made a pit-stop at an Exxon gas station only to have some interesting conversation with a 275lb+, kind hearted, southern twang speaking male cashier.
Cashier: “Where’s you headed to with a full car laik that?” after taking notice to the packed car with the bike on the back, being pretty clear that I was headed somewhere for an extended period of time.
Me: “I’m moving to Alabama.”
Cashier: “Alabama?! A gal laik you juss maight git lost down there.”
And he was right. All that ran through my mind was, “I’m lost already just thinking about this summer. What the hell am I doing?” Other than building a close relationship with my father for the summer, I couldn’t quite understand my connection with southern Alabama for two months. What exactly could I possibly learn from this place? The kind cashier bid me farewell and I continued on my way through North Carolina and then to South Carolina, allowing myself to soak in the beautiful scenery and fresh air.
I turned on local radio stations (more specifically country stations) to keep myself amused, and the further south I drove, the more interesting the conversations got between the hosts. One station decided to have a contest, as many do, but this one was a bit unconventional. It involved basic math, which seemed easy enough, but this is what I heard…
“If ya’ll have a case’a Miller Lite & ya drank a six pack, how many beers to ya’ll have left.”
As any smart, beer drinking southerner would know, the answer is 18, which the call-in listener correctly answered after a four second pause. Needless to say, I got quite a laugh out of this contest as the beer problems got more “complicated” (“A case, then you drink a six pack, drink two more after the NASCAR race, and then another beer, what do you have left?”). How ridiculous.
By the time I entered Alabama on Saturday, May 24, I was sick of seeing boiled peanuts, pick-up trucks, and motorcycles, but the silence I experienced was indescribable. Not feeling obligated to keep conversation with a passenger was a new type of therapy, and allowing myself to have some time to think helped me unwind from and digest the high-energy year I just experienced in Philadelphia.
I had the chance to spend about five days with my dad before he left for Morocco, Africa for two weeks. Now, my time is spent reading Kurt Vonnegut’s “Welcome to the Monkey House”, a compilation of his short stories and ee cummings’ “i: six nonlectures”. I also force myself into the excruciating heat to jog (only to run into a three foot long snake and crickets jumping everywhere. I will take a video of this one of these days for your enjoyment) and ride my bike. The stray cat that my father has taken in as his own (which means leaving food out for him since my dad is unable to have animals in the rented townhouse) comes to visit everyday, along with the gecko that hangs out on the trash can on the front stoop.
My friends back home…I think of you constantly and wish you were here to keep me company as I have spent all of my time alone in this house, but hope your summer is treating you well. I’ll update soon with photos.
