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| The Door |
I held my breath until I heard the footsteps. I opened my mouth ready to resell my story but before the words could come I had to hold back a tug at my eyes. What was that?! I started to speak and noticed myself fighting the crack in my throat. This came out of nowhere, the day hadn't been emotional... guess I just really wanted a place to stay. Welp, emotion sells and we locked it down with John, Mary, and their fuzzy dog Sheba.
We plotted out a place for our two tents beneath a pair of trees. Steve and I set up the tents once again and our designated "Emeril Lagasse" popped a squat with a boiling pot at his pants... w-w-wait... I've got that wrong, Adam sat down to prepare "Knorr Pasta Sides" and prepare he did not. Poor three pasta packs into a cold pot of water BEFORE bringing it to a boil? Why yes, yes that's about how it went. Thank God Margo and G-ma pulled up around that time with blueberry pie, a knee brace, and icy hot: An answer to at least 2 prayers. And that was it, or that was at least the last of Margo and G-ma... they'd saved our asses a WHOLE lot... but I really felt we had our feet underneath us (minus the whole food prep thing) and I was pumped to see where we'd end up ALL on our own with nothing more than our blind naivity and unquestioned commitment to make it to Miami. No doubt there were crazy challenges ahead... hahaha, crazy challenges... but I knew we were up to it. We said our goodbyes and off they went. And then there we were, left to our own resources.
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| "You have to boil the water first Adam" |
Feeling slightly motivated to start taking care of ourselves and plan for better-off welfare: I scrolled through my cell-phone contacts and messaged a friend about contacts in Maine. She sent me a number of a boy that had lived on the east coast of Maine for the summer- I texted him and he replied with the info of a potential host mother for the next evening. Holy crap, I hadn't showered in 2 full days, it'd be 3 by tomorrow, and... and potentially... food?! REAL food?! Not granola, peanut butter, or mashed noodles? I said my prayers all sorts of real good that night, for tomorrow, I'd call Helen of Brunswick.
We plotted out a place for our two tents beneath a pair of trees. Steve and I set up the tents once again and our designated "Emeril Lagasse" popped a squat with a boiling pot at his pants... w-w-wait... I've got that wrong, Adam sat down to prepare "Knorr Pasta Sides" and prepare he did not. Poor three pasta packs into a cold pot of water BEFORE bringing it to a boil? Why yes, yes that's about how it went. Thank God Margo and G-ma pulled up around that time with blueberry pie, a knee brace, and icy hot: An answer to at least 2 prayers. And that was it, or that was at least the last of Margo and G-ma... they'd saved our asses a WHOLE lot... but I really felt we had our feet underneath us (minus the whole food prep thing) and I was pumped to see where we'd end up ALL on our own with nothing more than our blind naivity and unquestioned commitment to make it to Miami. No doubt there were crazy challenges ahead... hahaha, crazy challenges... but I knew we were up to it. We said our goodbyes and off they went. And then there we were, left to our own resources.
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