“I don’t want to ever be an article.”
I’ve been stuck on these words forever; for so long I’ve been without the ability to write. Was it that there was nothing to say? Too much to say? Perhaps it was just a mundane existence too pointless to share with you.
We spent most of our time in Fort Dodge, Iowa’s second most dangerous town. I have nothing to tell you about the place except that if you know me, you know how much I detest my hometown. I hate Dodge more.
The times at Two Creeks Clothing Optional Campground were far superior, though not without their moments. To get straight to the point, the relationship was amazing… for about three weeks. Then the fights commenced. And kept going, and going, and going.
“I don’t want to ever be an article,” he had said one day. I promised him he wouldn’t be. Maybe I’ll break that promise down the road, but for now, let’s just omit most of him, for he was a nothing, a nobody.
And so it was terrible for two long months after the initial three week honeymoon phase that faded quickly as his mask fell down and his true colours were revealed to me. Sure, some days were good, but most were disastrous.
After a series of events that shall be saved for another article – or perhaps never told – I left. I packed my bag, I got a ride from his friend to the highway, and I stuck my thumb out. As I waited for cars, few passing by, I sat on my backpack and cried, only to quickly stand up to stick my thumb out for the next car. Then, I would sit back down, and return to bawling.
I had left the man I loved, and I could never return. For the man I loved was but an act, and the man I had left was a monster.
I knew where I had to go to wait it out until my conveniently already booked flight to Canada a week and a half later: back to the campground where I had friends and a safe place to stay in the renovated bus we’d leased for the year. I knew he wouldn’t come, though he’d warned me to not even think about going to the bus. Buddy, you don’t know me very well if you think I’m going to listen to your sorry ass when my stubborn self has already made up her mind.
The days since my arrival have been strange; for hours I can hang out with different people from all walks of life, bonding and connecting with new friends. Then suddenly I hit a wall, and all I can do is hide back in my bus, crying, sleeping, staring at the ceiling, unable to socialize with the world outside, and praying no one knocks at the door.
But were we ever meant to be? Could I ever have made it work with someone who – although he enjoyed travel – was by no means a nomad? Maybe one day I’ll be able to answer that question, but for now I just know this: it never could have worked with this particular sedentary soul.
Just as suddenly as all my plans changed when we first met – from hitchhiking around the States and Canada all summer to staying in Iowa for a man I would fall madly in love with – they changed again with our breakup. My upcoming travel plans are spur of the moment, exciting, and intriguing. If he could halt my plans so quickly, what or who else can? What wonders are lurking out in the great unknown awaiting me that could not reach me while I sat in the dark dank basement of his father’s house day after day? Who will I meet? How will my plans drastically change – because they always do?
So off I go, saying goodbye to Two Creeks Campground in a few days for the season, off to Canada to see friends and family. I will then head on over to Hawaii, because I have some of the coolest damn friends on planet earth, one of whom decided to fly me out to see him. Afterwards? Vegas to visit friends from the campground. And then it’s off to… come on, can’t you guess by now where I’ll go? Winter is coming, after all.
Zipolite, my favourite place on earth, awaits me.
Who will I meet along my journey? What new lessons will I learn? For this was a giant lesson learned, though I can’t quite say exactly what that lesson was.
Regardless of what the future holds, here I go again.
On the road.
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