Page 3 of Changing Lanes

Pulling up to the front door, I switch the ignition off to my 1970 C-10 Chevy. She’s a beauty, even with her age spots. Baby blue and white paneled with chrome accents and big mud tires. Country boys ride in style, that’s why trucks like mine are turning up in movies these days.

Mom is leaning against the screen door with her arms crossed over her chest as I take the last step onto our front porch. Her knowing look tells me I’m about to get an earful and rightfully so I suppose. Mom loves Ava as much as I do, but we both know Ava’s beating a dead horse.

“Please tell me you had enough sense not to sleep with Ava last night,” she says without hesitation. Damn, is it written on my forehead?

“Mom, there are certain things I refuse to discuss with you. Although Ava isn’t one of them, sex is.” Kissing her on the cheek, I brush past her through the door.

Fisting her hands at her side, she demands, “Why now? Who the hell bought your first box of condoms?” She’s right, she’s always been on top of my shit. Her words stop me cold, and I turn to face her.

“You. Thank you.” Looking at her, I think I see her for the first time. She’s always been strong as hell, but in this moment, even at five-feet-six, she looks fragile.

Her chestnut hair with light strands of gray is piled high on her head in a loose bun. What few wrinkles she has play around her eyes and mouth. Her green eyes have lost their sparkle; it’s been gone for years. The years she lost with my dad has changed her, made her a different person. I understand that better than most.

“You’re welcome. This is all we’ve ever had, Brannon. Me and you. So, I worry. I want your future to be as bright as we both know it should be. I love Ava, too, but you’ve got to do this for you.” Her features soften as she watches recognition of what lies ahead hit me.

“You’re right, again. Yes, we both love Ava. I promise I handled it. I told her the same thing I’ve said for six months; I love her but just as a friend. I think she finally understood this time.” Mom purses her lips, nodding slowly as she passes by walking toward the kitchen.

“We shall see. Come eat, you need to be on the road in less than two hours to make orientation.” She drags a chair away from the table before setting my plate in front of me. Biscuits and gravy with scrambled eggs and cooked apples. The bowl on the side is filled with grits, a southern staple. I may already miss my mom’s cooking.

I eat my fill and then some, enjoying my last day at home and quiet moments with my mom. The next few years won’t be easy, but if I can make it, graduating college will help us both. Our farm will benefit from my education, too; I have big plans for this place.

“Are you ready?” Mom stands on the front porch, her arms crossed over her body.

“Just a few more things, then to tie it off.” I watch her from the other side of the truck.

“Promise me you’ll call.” She wipes her eyes as she talks to me.

I stop everything to look her in the eyes. “You know I will.” Walking around the truck, I take the steps two at a time. I pull her into a hug. “Mom, it goes without saying, I’ll stay if you want me to.”

She hugs me for another minute, then pulls away. “No. You’ve done enough here, it’s time you do something for yourself.” She pulls me back in. “Please, be sure to take your time. Life is short but should always be enjoyed. Don’t do anything that will make you waste your time on regret.” She pushes me away, waving me back to work. Packing my truck bed, I tie it off with some rope.

“Brannon, I’ll always be proud of you. I love you.” She kisses my cheek. Hugging her tight, I kiss the top of her head.

“I love you.” I kiss her again. I jump in my truck and wave from the window as I drive down our farm road.

I’m on the road by ten, I should be in Blacksburg by three this afternoon. Unpacked and ready for freshman orientation by five, barring any obstacles. I’ve faced plenty of roadblocks and detours in my life, but I’ve tried to ensure this chapter of my life runs as smoothly as possible.

I have no time for reroutes. I need to get back home to help my mom with the farm. Some may think an engineering degree is farfetched for a farmer, but I have plans to make our place more efficient. My senior project garnering me a scholarship proved I have the capability.

As I drive Highway Seventeen, I watch as the palm trees fade in my rearview mirror. Living just a few minutes’ drive from the beach has always been great, especially having a farm. It’s such a contradiction, but that’s why North Carolina is a great place. Diversity will keep you on your toes.

I’m blessed to live on the border of North Carolina and South Carolina. Our farm sits off a rural route in Shallotte, North Carolina, thirty minutes or less to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. So, y’all come visit, we’ll give you down-home charm with the sand between your toes.

Hitting I-74 West, the traffic picks up and the hustle and bustle of the big city kicks my sense into overdrive. Beach season causes congestion back home, but this is a completely different adrenaline rush. Dorothy, we ain’t on the farm anymore.

The highway slows as I reach I-77 North, but the mountains create a sightseeing problem for me. Majestic, they have a blue tint to them. Once I merge onto I-11 North, I start to see signs for Blacksburg. My adrenaline kicks in and my stomach starts to flip.

The directions are quite clear; signs are everywhere directing new students to their dorms. Trees dot the campus with stately buildings lining the drive. It’s a big place, I’m just nervous. People are everywhere as I’m guided into the student parking.

You would never imagine the beauty of Virginia Tech’s campus until you walk the grounds. I am awe-struck. The architecture of the original campus stands out amongst the new, modern facilities.

It appears my roommate already claimed his side of the room. The mostly white room has dark wood beds resembling bunk beds, sitting on opposite walls. Matching small desks with no chairs, I’ll need to buy a rolling chair.

“Hey, how are you?” A tall, lanky guy with sandy blond hair enters the room carrying a box. He sets it down, turning to me. “I’m John Austin.”

“Hey, man. Brannon O’Hurley, it’s good to meet you.” I offer my hand, and he takes it with a smile.

“You need help?” he asks.