Page 46 of Make Me Forget
Instead of wallowing, I hauled myself in the shower, and even there, I kept thinking about her. So many regrets. Would this be my life from now on? Turning thirty and spending all my time mourning the one who gotaway?
It could be, unless I made it moreinteresting.
Once I dressed, I went back to my truck and started driving west. Along the way, I stopped at any place that looked good or fascinating. Taking pictures on my phone. If I ever got the chance to see her again, I wanted to show her…if I could find myself after losing her, then she could find herself againtoo.
For the next year, I travelled back and forth across the mid-west, staying in hotels, eating bad food, running outside when the weather permitted to help stave off the effects of an awful diet and long driving stints. Without the bar to keep me in shape, I needed to make an actual effort towardhealth.
On the road, many women offered me hotel room keys with a drink and a smile. Mostly older, married women. And still my brain refused to consider anyone buther.
Weeks began to merge together, and all I seemed to do was eat, sleep, run, and read. Anything I could carry in my pocket while I wandered little town after little town. I told myself I wasn’t looking for her. Over and over, I repeated it in my head, all the while scanning the horizon for black leather and beat up boots. Even in one-hundred-degreeheat.
Once the urge to wander settled, I sat at my worn out map I acquired in Millennium. I kept it in my glove box and used it to find my way instead of my phone’s GPS. I circled the paper with my finger and closed my eyes before laying it down. A spot with a name: RidgleyPines.
It sounded like a soap opera name, but the map gods spoke, so I heeded. The drive would take about seven hours. Maybe this time, I’d find a reason tostay.
The town looked exactly how I imagined on the trip. Matching brick, pruned and groomed trees everywhere. A movie set was less well tended than this sleepy little town apparently known for itsantiques.
I parked in a lot near a hotel and stretched my legs as best I could. Once I showered and slept, another run would help ease the ache in my thighs from being stuck up under the steering wheel so long. I hated the driving most when it came to the longertreks.
I couldn’t see myself stopping anytime soon. The hotel had plenty of room, and I booked a suite for a week. Plenty of time to see what Ridgley Pines had to offer atourist.
As I walked down the sidewalks, I noted all the couples. Two by two everywhere I went. This had to be some Stepford thing. It creeped me out, and I hightailed it over to the farmers market to get some food before returning to my hotel tohide.
The fruit stands were great. Fresh, locally grown, and organic. I stopped at the exit and stared into space. What kind of man had I become? Someone worried about their mile time and fresh organic fruit.Damn.
Maybe I did need to go home. At the same time, I’d never had a hobby outside the bar, and running fell into the exercise/hobby category. Runner’s needed to eat healthy. I tried to reason with myself, trading in lies to keep from breaking down from one day to the next. Keep my eye on the road and don’t look back, the motto I adopted and attempted to stickto.
I went straight to my truck, avoiding the sundress wearing, husband wielding moms eyeing me from across the street. The lock stuck, and I cursed this old beast. She had 300,000 miles on her. In actual reality, I probably needed to get a newer model. Something with better gas mileage. It seemed obscene to junk her while she still sputtered to life at the turn of the key. The rust in the door locks…an entirely differentstory.
As I fought with the lock, trying not to break the key, a tingle went down my spine. I glanced up and looked around. Nothing out of the ordinary, but the lock gave in, and I threw myself in the truck and locked thedoor.
I wasn’t a superstitious man, but I also didn’t take unnecessarychances.
