#214

Midwinter.

Advertisements for appliance repair dot the highway through the small towns along the state route. Population signs signaling anywhere from 350 to 4700. I’m not sure how many people must live in a place in order to get a sign. Some spots, a gathering of homes, no sign, maybe not even a gas station to stop for a bathroom break or a cup of coffee. Grain silos dot the horizon and remind me of the ones I saw in a Star Wars series. Rocket-shaped silver spaceships pointing up.

Buildings that once looked strong and sturdy now look like you could push them over with a feather. The damp, consuming the old wood, rotting it, and taking it into the earth. Roads that have been patched and mended for years. Roads that are barely roads.

Someone says that only recently have they extended the paved road throughout the area. When I was young, a lot of the roads were gravel and dirt, which made riding my bike difficult, at best.

The towns used to have four independent grocery stores; now, all gone, only to be replaced with Wal-Mart, the only place, really, to buy food. The Chinese restaurant remains one of the best, and it was busy on a Monday night when we went, recognizing several of the folks who came in for take-out orders, old friends from work, golfing buddies, or acquaintances.

I try not to be or sound bleak, but I can’t help it, and my mind rushes away from me. This is where I came from, where I got started, where I was raised. Back then, I left out of self-protection. Running away, a violent act of rebellion against everything that I saw around me. I knew it couldn’t hold me; it barely did during my school years. Running from what I could see and feel in the air, what the future would be like if I had stayed, as so many of my classmates did. And now, I can slip back in so easily, but I know instantly that I can’t stay.