Turning onto Highway 1 I know I am close to Camden. The Lupines are in bloom and line the sides of the road with blues and yellows beside forests of tall pines. There is a wildness I can’t identify, but I feel it. Is this really where I’ll find my soul? What even is a soul? I’ve never even thought about it. I’m looking for something I don’t understand, and I don’t know anyone! What was I thinking coming here? Why did I let myself get talked into this? It is too much! Then I think of what it would be like to sort through Travis’s things or clean the garage like he used to do. The fresh air and the freshness and wildness seem to call to something more profound in me as Martha’s prayer did. Could it be my soul?
I can hear a loud pop and a flop, flop-clunk and I feel the steering wheel jerk. “Great, just great! “Travis, I need you!” I shout out loud as though he might hear me. “Why didn’t I pay more attention when you changed tires? Why wasn’t I more involved with car stuff?” What do I need to do……start my flashers? “I feel so vulnerable and stupid,” I shout, eyes closed to the universe, “and I hate it!”
A knock on the window stops my one-way conversation, and my heart skips a beat. When I open my eyes, I see a motorhome on the side of the road, headed away from Camden. Unfastening my seatbelt, I prepare to get out of my car. Hopefully, it’s a nice retired guy; they are almost the only ones who help people anymore. I turn to see someone standing at my window. Oh, my word!
“I can help you change that tire.”
A bearded man with disheveled hair is peering in my window. I glance at my purse which holds my pepper spray and phone.