2005-03-30 - 6:34 p.m.
We were walking along an interstate somewhere between Grants Pass and Medford, Oregon. It was during our homeless phase and my mother and I were changing locations, for what reason I'm not sure, but we were doing it none-the-less.
A young, homeless guy with a mental disability was with us, I think his name was Robert, but I can't be sure. I remember that Robert was one of the cleanest, most well-pressed homeless people I had ever been around and I often envied him for his clean clothes.
We walked along the road-side, not so much hitch-hiking as we were hoping for a mercy stop, like the one I would get months later; I'll have to write about that hike sometime. It was late in the afternoon and the sun was edging toward the horizon - the light turning all pinky-gold.
We looked of into a big field to the east of the highway and saw a huge, solitary tree near its center. It had an enormous trunk and massive limbs that stretch more out than up.
"We'll stop here for the night," my mother thought out loud. So we headed off across the field toward a house that looked like it belonged to the immense tree. My mom spoke with a lady who looked nice enough and she agreed to let us sleep out in the field under the tree for the night. How odd it must have been to meet travelers on foot asking for the kindness of a nights rest under her tree; it was, after all, not the 18th century or something. It was 1981, if memory serves.
We made a trip to a small local store for some food and then hiked back to the shelter of the waiting giant.
There wasn't much talk; we ate in peace and then laid out our beds. A sheet of plastic went down first, then a sleeping pad and finally the mummy sack, which I hated, because it made me feel claustrophobic. I took off my shoes, slipped into the bag, and laid back; my head and feet were slightly elevated because of the thick grass, but my rear got pretty close to the ground so that the bedtime gear formed a sort of bowl around me.
I don't recall the sunset, because I'm pretty sure that I fell off into sleep before the sun cleared the horizon.
Robert had taken up shelter in a highway overpass nearby. To any of you who may ever travel this way - overpasses are the way to go for a night-time stop. Up under the bridge, at the top of that cement slope you see as you drive under, there is usually a large flat area. There's plenty of room, you'll be well concealed from the elements, and it tends to be a very warm spot due to the traffic above and below.
I'm sure I had dreams, though I couldn't say what they were. I do recall something tapping on my forehead in my dream though and it caused me to stir and wake. My sluggish ears came around to the sound of heavy drops of rain falling from the sky like soft bullets. I opened my eyes and my sight confirmed what my ears alreay knew - it was raining hard. Big drops of rain fell, but seemed to land ever so gently on my head. I looked over to my mother; she was still sleeping, completely oblivious to the fact that she and everything about her was soaked to the bone.
I looked down to find that the bowl formed by my sleeping gear had filled with water, so that my rear-end was completely immersed. I worked my way out of the sleeping bag and woke my mother.
She was pretty surprised.
We gathered our things as quickly as possible and made it over to Robert's place and there we sat until the rain let up.
Sometimes the strangest moments make the fondest memories.
