Let's start with just four stories, conversations, really. Books and conversations with folks I meet on the road keep me sane. I can feel and be invisible as a homeless person.
But, when they share, when they confess, when they reveal, knowing that they will never see me again, I know there was a reason our paths crossed:
Gary and JJ-
I did not meet JJ, she is 2 years old and her full name is Jessica Jo, her parents call her JJ.
JJ's Dad was getting new tires while I was stranded at Midas. We had a lot of time to chat. It was a group chat, 4 of us in Midas purgatory. Dad needed new tires because he and his wife have been doing a lot of driving lately.
The family lives in Kansas. JJ is in St Jude's Hospital in Memphis. She was first there for 5 months and then the family took her to St. Louis for a marrow transplant. Now they are back in Memphis, waiting. Waiting. Waiting.
One parent is allowed in the room. They never leave her alone.
And a bit further down the road--
Gary- maybe 65-70 years old. I met him at a reststop in Arkansas, the nice kind with staff and beautiful grounds.
As I got out of my truck, I noticed Gary struggling to walk, both the act of walking and the direction in which to walk were confusing to him. He fell to the pavement and got up, still staggering. I approached him. He could not respond to my questions, he was frightened and confused. ZERO scent of alcohol.
I notified the indoor staff and went back outside just as he fell into a deep hedge of bushes. He could not even begin to get out.
Two tourists, an older couple, one fortunately a nurse, came to help. Staff came out, We asked them to go back in a get a chair.
The story unfolded. Yesterday, Gary had gone to his doctor to get injections in his back for pain. He then got on the road and drove three hours to a job, slept through the night and got back on the road for the three hour drive home.
He stopped at the reststop and now had no idea where he had left his truck or why he could not walk or stand.
I am glad he could not find his truck. He was a stubborn ass. A nice one, but stubborn. We wheeled him inside.
Paramedics were called. He refused to let us call his wife, stating it would scare her and she would not come get him.
He retained his sense of humor when I asked if she did not like him anymore.
The paramedics took over and I went back to my truck, circled the lot and found Gary's truck. On my way back around, I saw the paramedics leaving, without Gary.
Fortunately, Gary was staggering in the opposite direction of his truck.
Keep JJ and family and Gary in your thoughts.
AT THE PILOT TRUCK STOP-
He is from St. Johnsbury. Crisp white hair and pale blue eyes that sparkle. He is standing a respectful distance from my truck, attracted by my Vermont license plate.
He is hauling maple syrup to a restaurant distributor. He is tired of snow, longs to move south. But. He tells me with pride of his successful son in St. J, who owns the trucking and towing business and still needs Dad as an employee.
We are both waiting out the rain.
As is Kimberly, 52 years old with 20 glistening braids to her waist. She dropped out of truck driving school because she could not get the hang of driving the big rigs in reverse.
She is on her phone and computer, charging both, while she searches for an expediting job that will get her close to NYC where her elderly mother resides.
She is back at 4:00 am when I go inside to charge.
Silver-cross man is there, too, another customer from yesterday. We are silent and chilly. Only I buy coffee. I sit down and regret that Kimberly left.
I have not seen silver-cross man eat or drink, yesterday or this morning. I am enjoying my warm coffee.
I offer him coffee. He declines. He explains that he has money, and a job for which he is grateful. He lives at this Pilot because the job does not pay enough for rent.
He was cold in his car last night, came inside at 2:00 am. We watch the morning news in silence and he leaves for work, wishing me safe travels. I wonder if he wears the cross to attract or repel.
More Micro Stories coming.
Thank you for sharing these lives.
I saw a bumper sticker one time it says something like “the shortest distance between two people is their story “. I love to be the recipient of people’s beautiful stories. Thanks for sharing.