139. Somebody

The mountains and the hills disappear. Suddenly I’m back on flatlands looking at the country.

Miles and miles of farmland just passing by.

I don’t sleep. Instead I just stare out and wonder.

I wonder about tomorrow. And the next day. And the next.

Part of me feels like I can do anything.

Part of me is afraid.

Part of me knows I’ll always be this way.

Maybe I’ll find myself thinking back to these times as some middle-aged guy sitting there in his family room in a sunken chair with a beer belly and bags under his eyes.

Will I remember this guy, the one sitting in this car seat, thankful for every breath he takes?

Will I forget?

Help me, God, never to forget. Anything.

“You okay?” Mom asks.

I nod. And smile.

I wonder how old Mom feels. I know I feel old, and I’m not even eighteen.

The world is bright and open and endless, and I know something.

I know that somewhere out there, somebody loves me dearly.

Not just the woman driving this car, or the pretty blonde back in the Carolinas, or the man waiting for us in Illinois.

No.

This Somebody created the sun and the moon and the stars, and for some reason He created me too. And loved me.

I had to go all the way to a little town called Solitary, North Carolina to find that Somebody.

Actually, I think He found me.