Once Upon a Road Trip (10 page)

Whatever you do, please take care of yourself.

-Don

Good grief.

It wasn’t just what he’d said that she found so disheartening, it was what he didn’t say. Consistent with his last few communications, Don had ceased to mention anything about “When I get out of the Air Force...” It also hadn’t escaped her notice that she was now the one having to initiate all contact between them. The lack of personalization in his closure of the message also pointed to the same conclusion she kept coming back to — he’d given up on ever meeting her.

Either he’d found someone else to focus his attention on, or he was so down about having his service contract extended he was becoming despondent. The effect on her was essentially the same. She could either accept it, or be depressed over it.

As long as he’s okay, it doesn’t matter.

If she had to remind herself of that until her attitude lined up with it, then that’s what she intended to do.
 

Without answering either message, Angie pushed herself away from the computer and headed through the kitchen. Sandra had already set everything out for them in the dining room. A cup of tea and a little girl-talk seemed like the most inviting way for Angie to work through her muddled despair. She was sure now that missing her Detroit hostess was going to be the hardest part about moving on. 

June 15
-17
,

Be Flexible, or be Bent Out of Shape

I spent most of the day touring Detroit with Mark’s family. Mark’s dad gave a free history lesson along with the sightseeing.  The old, rich neighborhoods were particularly impressive. All in all, it was a highly educational day.

I’ve been enjoying great in-depth conversations with Mark’s mother every evening. For me, it’s kind of like having an extra mom. She’s fun to talk to, and she’s been very understanding. I just hope that I’m not excluding Mark in the process. 

Tonight I discovered that Don finally replied to my email. I suppose I made him worry with the last message I sent him. I’ve got to make sure I quit mailing things late at night when I’m feeling lousy. I’m relieved he seems to be alright, but I miss talking to him. I guess that must not be mutual though, or he would be putting more effort into keeping in touch.

Zak finally got back to me as well. It sounds like his attempt at explaining me to his mother didn’t go well. Honestly, I can’t blame the woman. Zak should have mentioned my visit a long time ago. I’m considering replacing his name with ‘Jerkface’ from here on out. If I’d known this would be such a problem, I never would have planned him into the trip in the first place. But at this point, I’m far from home and pretty much stuck in my forward momentum. I’m going to Ottawa. And I’ll either have somebody to show me around, or I’ll just have to wing it like a true American. Haphazardly. 

Status: Sore throat again, but the fever has been better the last few nights.

~Ang

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Standing on the front stoop, Angie returned Sandra’s warm parting embrace. The morning was bright and calm, in stark contrast to the mood that had been hanging over her as of late. She was as ready to hit the road as she was ever going to be.

Sandra had insisted on making Angie breakfast before she left, and was currently sparing no measure of maternal fussing. “You’re going to like Canada. It’s got some beautiful countryside, and they keep things very clean. But aside from the metric system, it’s not so different. In a lot of ways it reminds me of the U.S., twenty years ago. Just a bit more…French.”

“Thank you so much, Sandy.” Angie weighted her words with heartfelt sincerity. “I can’t thank you enough. You’ve all been amazing to me.”

  “No thanks needed. Just come back through again if you can!” Sandra’s soft face pinked with emotion. “Oh, I nearly forgot. Hold out your hands,” she instructed, delving into her pockets.

Angie blinked in confusion but did as she was told, only to have Sandra deposit handfuls of Canadian coins into her cupped palms. “Oh, you don’t have to do that!”

Sandra pushed her hands back toward her, adamant. “It’s nothing, believe me, we have so much of it sitting around. You’ll need it for the parking meters, if nothing else. Your credit card should convert anything else you need without any trouble,” she said, cheerily. “Just promise me you’ll let us know how things go?”

“Of course,” Angie said, funneling the coins into her pockets. “I’ll send you the same updates that my parents get.”

“Good.” Sandra beamed, clapping her hands together at her waist. “I’ll have Mark help you load up. He should be bringing down your bag.” The woman swayed aside through the open doorway and called up the stairs, “Mark?”

Mark came bounding down the staircase moments later, Angie’s duffel bag slung over his shoulder and Godot at his heels. The dog charged past him out the front door, galloping in playful circles around everyone’s legs. Angie bent to give the animal a farewell pat on the head before following Mark to her car. Flipping open the trunk, she gestured for him to toss the bag inside.

“Well I suppose that does it, my friend,” Mark said, clearing his throat as though he were about to make a formal announcement. He raised his right hand and splayed it, deftly holding the middle and index fingers apart from the pinky and ring finger in a V formation, a la Mr. Spock. “I believe Shakespeare put it best: ‘Love all. Trust few. Do harm to no one.’”

Angie chuckled. “You know, I think those are some pretty great words to live by. But, I think you’ve got your genres a little confused,” she said, indicating his Vulcan salute.

Mark quirked a fiery brow and shook his head in rebuttal. “On the contrary; not only are Shakespeare and Star Trek compatible, but I find them to be complementary. Symbiotic, if you will. His works are directly referenced in four episodes of The Next Generation. And Patrick Stewart was, after all, a veteran Shakespearean actor—”

Angie raised her own salute, cutting him short. “I’ll take your word for it.” She gave him a brief hug. “Your hospitality is greatly appreciated, but I’d better get going while I’ve still got a head start on the day.” She walked around the driver’s side of her car and dropped into the seat.

Mark locked his hands behind his back, peering through the open window at her. “You should have plenty of time to see Niagara. Assuming they don’t decide to search your car at the border. We’ve never been searched before, but then, we’ve never stayed for more than a day.”

“Okay, thanks.” Angie stretched her hand out the window to wave to him and Sandra before pulling away from the curb. She’d gone a block before she allowed herself to grimace, recalling the signs posted outside of the border crossing. The parts about having proper identification wouldn’t be an issue — it was the “no weapons” notice that concerned her. She wasn’t willing to leave her Bowie knife behind, for both sentimental and self-protective reasons. She’d spent an hour the previous day looking for the best place to conceal it in the event her car was searched. It currently resided under her seat, secured by the strap of the sheath. But she had no confidence this would outsmart an experienced border agent. She would just have to hope she wasn’t searched.

Being arrested was definitely not on her itinerary.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Next!” croaked a middle-aged woman from behind the processing counter.

Angie stepped up and laid out her I.D., along with the written note she was given before being diverted to the tiny customs building. “The man at the guard house sent me here.” 

The older woman wouldn’t have had a memorable face, if not for the puckered expression etched into a leathery tan. Her hair was short, ash-brown, and curled into meticulous rows. She wore a thick-framed pair of reading glasses, tethered to her neck by a colorfully beaded cord. Holding them pinched between two fingers, she whipped the glasses on and off as she scanned the note from the border guard. “Now, how old are you?” she demanded.

“Eighteen,” Angie answered, wondering why the woman hadn’t bothered to read the date on her driver’s license. “—and a half,” she added, immediately wishing she could take the words back. They rang of desperate immaturity.

Stay calm. They can’t keep you out of their country on suspicion of being a moron. …can they?

“And if I call your father to ask him about this, what do you suppose he’s going to tell me?” The woman challenged in a patronizing tone.

“He’d tell you that I’m exactly where I said I’d be, and to say ‘hi’ for him,” Angie said, maintaining her calm. Getting uppity would only make things worse. “You’re welcome to call. My dad would still be at work, but my mom is probably home. She’ll tell you the same thing. Do you have a pen and piece of paper?”

The woman scowled, crumpling her features enough to remind Angie of a wadded-up paper bag. She slapped a pen down on the counter between them and turned to peel off a sticky note. The phone beside her rang and she snatched it up. “Hello?” She paused. “Yes, I’ve got her right here and—” Her shoulders shifted downward. “Are you sure? …alright. Alright,” she huffed, setting the phone back down a little harder than necessary.

Angie held the pen poised and ready, watching the unfriendly clerk.

The woman snatched the pen from Angie and scribbled something down. “Take your things. You can go through.” 

“Thank you.” Angie forced a small smile as she gathered up the papers and I.D.

“I’m not the one to thank. Running around meeting invisible internet friends—” The clerk raised her voice in disgust for all to hear. “And I won’t be the one to blame either, when you get yourself killed.”

Angie stiffened and turned away.
I doubt they pay you to give your opinion to complete strangers, you ornery she-bat!

If the woman wasn’t the only thing standing between her and the rest of her trip, Angie would have happily said it out loud. As it was, she was glad to get out of the building without looking anyone else in the eye.

Chapter 7

It was well past noon, and Angie had only seen hints of civilization in the last hour as she neared Niagara Falls. The road skirted around a few small towns, which remained largely hidden behind the dense tree line. It seemed sudden when the forest began to break up to her left — dark, jagged rocks signaling a change in the terrain. These openings became more frequent until she’d entered the town of Niagara, its buildings cropping up on the right side of the road while the left side narrowed to follow the sheer ledge carved out by the Niagara River.

Seeing the curve of Horseshoe Falls ahead she slowed, scanning for a parking spot. Groupings of tourists were scattered on both sides of the road, following the sidewalks to her right and the cliff-side walkway to the left. The low roar of endlessly crashing water already filled her ears.

She passed a multi-tiered parking deck, where a white sign with red letting declared: “Parking $10.” Remembering her meager budget, Angie frowned to herself and drove on.

The road beside the falls ran out before she was ready, forcing her to turn right onto a side street. Parking garages became open lots. $8…$5... the fees were going down as she’d hoped, but she would  have quite a walk in exchange. Nearing three-fourths of a mile from the turn, she decided she could safely manage the next lot’s $3 fee from the pocketful of Canadian coins Sandra had foisted upon her. Fumbling with the unfamiliar currency, she bought a ticket from the lot attendant and started walking.

The sound of the falls registered in her mind, beginning as an ambient static and building to an unrelenting thunder as she neared its source. She picked up her pace. By the time she could see water, she felt the uncomfortable dampness of her exertion gathering along her forehead and at the nape of her neck. It made her look forward to the relief she expected to find near the water. With the sun at its highest point, the mist rising from the falls ahead hung against the translucent blue of the sky like a drifting, formless specter.

Angie wasn’t aware of how mesmerized she’d become until she heard the blaring rebuke of a car horn to her left. She’d begun crossing the road to reach the overlook without minding where she was going. She winced at her carelessness and broke into a jog, offering an apologetic wave to the green Suburban.

Inattentive teenager coming through...

Once safely across, she headed for the railing of the semi-circular, cement observation platform. She thought there should be a protective fence around it, but beyond waist level there was only a set of taut metal cables. She lifted herself onto her toes and leaned into the top railing until one of the cables pressed just beneath her collarbone in restraint.

Her most immediate thought was that Horseshoe Falls was aptly named. The massive carving of darkened cliff face bowed to her right in a sweeping, concave formation. It was as though some ancient Titan had taken a bite out of the earth and the Niagara River now poured into the chasm left behind.

The surface of the river above appeared blue-gray and perfectly smooth, up to the moment it reached the precipice. As the water succumbed to gravity, the transition it made was abrupt, violent, and thoroughly captivating. Down in the lower river she caught sight of a ferry drifting in and out of the billowing mists. Its deck was covered in tiny blue dots she guessed to be people clad in rain coats, enjoying the closest experience that could still be considered safe. 

The breeze shifted almost imperceptibly, sending a cool smattering of water spray against her cheeks. She closed her eyes and smiled as a tingling sense of awe dropped through her chest and shivered down her limbs. Even with her eyes closed she could still envision the vastness of the spillway and the raw power of its churning, as though the image was branded to the insides of her eyelids. 

“Magnificent,” she murmured in quiet admiration.

Angie opened her eyes and looked first to her left and then her right, realizing she wanted to see the reaction to this marvel on someone else’s face. She needed some reassurance that her wonderment wasn’t just a childish naiveté. To her unexpectedly deep disappointment, there was no one nearby. A feeling of abject loneliness struck her with an almost physical force.