Absolution

Germ decided to leave the bus and continue with his original plan to go to New Orleans for Halloween. He invited a greenhorn named Zerg and I to go with him. I was sick of the drunk's antic by then and ready to leave. With Zerg being an artist, we;d already discussed making comics together so it seemed ideal to travel with him. To us the choice was simple. While the bus had its benefits, riding truckstop to truckstop was hardly a way to see the world.

Travelling with Germ instantly proved unbearable. While I appreciated his ability to talk to strangers it came with an inability to stop (ever) and even compelled me to grab his throat one especially hung over morning in Memphis.

We never made it to New Orleans. After a weekend in Memphis we found the next truckstop south wouldn't come until Mississippi so we crossed back over the bridge to West Memphis in Arkansas which proved unfriendly to hitchhikers due to its crime problem. Police removed us from every truck stop we attempted to hitch. In short, we were stranded. Stories of New Orleans being the nation's murder capital combined with our earnest inability to guarantee Zerg's safety (or that of his belongings) flowered his doubts to the point where he decided to return home and downgrade his pack and lighten his load before venturing off again. Germ decided to return home, as well, in order to retrieve his ID. While tempted to continue alone, I knew the rule of thumb. You don't go to cities like the Big Easy without people to watch your back. We got so close, too.

Reduced only to my swim shorts and a borrowed undershirt, I carried a leather dufflebag to replace my stolen backpack containing barely more than a deteriorating sleeping bag and a garbage bag that sealed the rest of my clothes away until they were safely lice free. I had already persevered well beyond what I thought myself capable of. While stories of the Devil's city scared Zerg home and the police harrassment in West Memphis pushed Germ into giving up, I remained willing. But not stubborn. New Orleans was always Germ's intention and I felt no need to pursue it without him. Only now I was in east Arkansas with nothing to do but hold a thumb out in the direction of home. Road anxiety set in quickly. No location I set to hitch from could satisfy me, and so I pushed to the next on ramp only to find it worse than the previous. And then to the next. And the next. I walked miles and waited hours. Frustration increased until I found myself screaming at people to cut me a break, declaring Arkansas a state of Assholes and Jaysis the King of them. Fire ants left burning bites up my legs and I exploded, marching to the Shell station to grab a beer and beg for a ride west from its customers.

"Sorry sir we don't sell beer on Sundays, Arkansas state law," the clerk informed me as I counted my change.

"What else could go wrong?" I vented, dropping my change on a table. No beer, nothing to curb this sick irritation. The fire ant bites still burned, and my dissatisfaction with this state fumed. No beer. Because of fucking Jaysis. Jaysis, the bastard son whose name was beaten into my skull by a brainwashing pastor during a pre-bumfeed sermon in Memphis. Jaysis, who I could thank only for tricking those dumbasses into feeding me in the first place. But that hardly excused him for refusing me a beer on a day like this one, just because it was fucking Sunday. How is anyone supposed to enjoy church with DT shakes?

So I ate a sandwich instead and grew coldly pensive. I considered my reasons for hitting the road, puzzled by my inability to manifest a ride, wondering what I was doing wrong. I remembered my resolve, to manifest or die, but now death seemed more likely that a mastery of manifestation. I queried what it meant to manifest properly, recalling Kevin Trudeau's teachings. It starts with a feeling. I felt frustration. I listed complaints, thinking I deserved a break and receiving fire ant bites instead. I recalled one of my aunt's advocacy of the question, "How could it get any better than this?" While earlier I questioned what else could go wrong. But my aunt's question seemed unthinkable. Still, I contained the power to at least list a few things to be grateful for. The sandwich I ate, the table I sat upon, the gas station that allowed me to sit there, the air conditioning provided relief from a scorching hot day, and all the possessions I had left. Then it struck me, all of these possessions were gifts. The more I thought about it, the truer it seemed. The clothes sealed away in a garbage bag were all kick downs. Even my swim shorts, the last piece of fabric I had to protect my lower half from nudity, only remained in my possession because I gave them away to someone that needed pants before my backpack was stolen and my pants got ruined. And my very life, that was a gift too. My body flooded with absolution. As Kevin Trudeau would phrase it, I switched channels. I stepped outside to have a cigarette and ask for a ride, filled not with enthusiasm but at least with acceptance. After a few minutes of rejection, the clerk stepped out to light a stogue up as well and I greeted her. She asked me if the police harassed me and I recounted the abuse in West Memphis that tore my group apart.

"Well if they come up to you just step inside okay? They can't do nothing unless we call them."

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

It wasn't much, but it touched me. After nearly nothing from the clerks but threats of police involvement if we remained on the premises, the kindness dropped my jaw. More than that, it fueled me to hold on a little longer, to keep going. I headed back to the ramp and stuck my thumb out proudly, feeling within me an impervious spirit. If one person could be kind to me in this God forsaken state, someone else could, too. The fire ants felt no more cause to touch me and I got a ride two cigarettes later. My driver even bought me a sandwich.