I shoved an over sized air mattress into the bed of my truck. I cursed under my breath, as I let air out in short intervals. Eventually, the mattress slid in between the top of the wheel wells and the bottom of the camper shell. It was bowed and uneven.
“That’s going to get really uncomfortable really fast,” I thought to myself. I followed it up with a, “Fuck it,” as I slammed the tailgate and canopy closed.
The cab of the truck was stuffed with snacks, books, clothes, more clothes, every conceivable adapter for a car charger, disinfecting wipes, a ukulele, a camera, and this leather bound journal. I scrolled through my phone for the last and possibly most important preparation for a trip--music. Essential 90’s Rock seemed to fit my mood. Eddie Vedder started screaming through the stereo.
You know Cabin Fever is an actual medically recognized thing? I was supposed to be in Hawaii. If all had gone according to plan, I probably would have been surfing at that very moment. But when has anything ever gone according to plan? Instead, I was making my way West, as best I could. I drove around and up the peninsula passing small towns and forests and the state capitol. It didn’t really matter which road I took, as long as I was moving. I left the highway at random exits just to look around. You don’t mind getting lost, when things feel pretty lost already. I drove down country lanes. I doubled back. I got a dirty look from an old man in a small town grocery store parking lot for using it to turn around. I kept driving until the white light over country bridges gave way to gold. Campgrounds greeted me with big brown closed signs. I came across a small dirt lot next to a lake. “NO OVERNIGHT PARKING” was announced in metallic red and white.
“There’s overnight parking tonight,” I thought to myself, as I backed the truck up to the lake overlook.
A couple extra layers later, I was bundled in the back of the truck. I never did feel comfortable on an air mattress. The instability of the thing is disagreeable. Still, I nodded off quickly, wrapped in the comforting blackness of the place.
I woke up to the feel of cold, hard plastic truck bed liner on my back. An awkward shimmy to the tailgate gave me room to twist myself in every direction with a series of pops up my spine. The world around me was still covered in black except for a rich purple rising over the snow capped mountains. I watched from the tailgate as sun slowly cut through the crisp morning air. I sat on the edge flipping my pocket knife in and out. “Proverbs 17:17” was engraved on the side. Somehow I felt more alone that morning than a month of quarantine in my house.
I laid back down on the air mattress with my body only half supported. The time passed over me with the realization that this wasn’t a real road trip. Not like I knew it. There would be no friendly hostesses at diners. No casual conversations struck up at gas stations. No best friends made for the night over the bar of some local pub in a town no one has ever heard of. Over an hour went by. I sank deeper and deeper into the mattress, though the air pressure never changed.
“Even if I can’t change the state of the world, I can always change the state of myself.”
Suddenly, I felt the need to start moving again. I slid out of the truck bed, closing it with conviction before strutting around the vehicle. The turning key in the truck’s ignition felt good. The sound of the engine coming alive sounded sweet. And I drove.