I had had three nondescript rides since Texas, but the last one ended badly. Something this man said or did that made me get out of his car. I wasn’t scared, exactly; I just knew that going on with him would be a bad idea. I looked around the Okie gas station parking lot where I left him, and I decided I would walk for a bit. That was hours ago.
I was stuck walking through Kansas now, unable to find another ride. I walked through counties named for cowboys into counties named for Indians, and back again. The landscape could be remarkable and endlessly repetitive, by equal turns. I had seen incredible wild animals like snakes and armadillos and foxes. And I knew the putrid smells they made when they cooked on the blacktop as roadkill. I saw a wake of vultures at work on a meal, and I crossed the road with the powerful feeling that they could overtake me if they wanted to. I had been stared at by goats, and lowed at by cows, and chased a quarter mile by a three-legged dog, laughing my head off as I ran. And though I wasn’t ready to admit it yet, I knew I wasn’t looking for a ride anymore. I was happy just to be walking, happy to have control of that.
Everything in this place seemed to slow down to meet me. Kansas was flat and featureless, and the buildings were low and spread apart so that the eye drew up to the massive sky. I began to feel this landscape wrapping itself around me as I walked. Losing track of myself in the act of purposeful movement. I felt a quiet and a calm in my brain, and I forgot that I was walking at all. Snapping to, on my feet, several miles down the road. Almost laughing. I kept walking, walking through Kansas, walking.
But as the swirling sky began to darken, I thought of night and where I might sleep. There were blisters on my heels, and prickers in my muscles. I was thinking about my back and my neck. I was painfully aware of my hips and my knees. I had been following the name of a town, blindly, for hours. Hollywood, Kansas: written on the road signs; numbers punctuated with arrows. I had already passed three different high schools whose mascot was a funnel cloud with boxing gloves. What would the dark sky look like in the moments before it started to twister? What exactly should I be waiting for, and when would my last warning come?
All at once the sky opened up. Little rocks of ice were pinging off the road like marbles. I hustled into downtown Hollywood with the crashing rain all around me. People were scattering into buildings, into cars, whatever they had. I saw a woman and child standing under the awning of a general store, and I crossed the street to join them. Smiling crazily at God’s great destruction.
“I wonder if there’s a motel around here?” I asked, after a minute. I was tired from walking and wanted a shower and a bed. “Do you know?”
“Hmm,” the Woman said, considering the whole of downtown Hollywood in a glance. “You’re on foot?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, careful not to let my voice fall into a mimic.
“Well. Nothing real close, I don’t suppose. We’re waiting on my husband with the minivan, though. Why don’t you let us give you a ride.”
“Okay,” I said. “That would be great. Thank you.”
“Where you walking from?” she asked without suspicion.
“Texas.”
“On foot from Texas,” she said, seeming to accept the idea easily. “And where to?”
“Minneapolis,” I told her. “I have a brother up there. He runs marathons.” This wasn’t strictly the truth, but I liked the way it sounded.
The Woman smiled. And when the Man came around with the minivan, he smiled, too. He shook my hand as the Woman folded up her stroller.
“Michael’s on a no-kidding pilgrimage,” she said. “Traveling on foot to see his brother.”
“No kidding,” the Man said, and we all smiled.
This repurposing of my walk as a spiritual act felt important. I liked the encouragement of these Christians. I liked their easy excitement, and we fell into a friendly chatter as they drove me to the motel.
“They’ll take care of you here, son,” the Man said. “Good rates. Clean beds. Cable TV, too, I think.”
“Good, good,” I said. “That all sounds great.”
I liked being a walker then. I didn’t want the Man and the Woman to know that I’d been hitchhiking. That sounded dangerous and unsteady, and I was afraid they wouldn’t approve. There was no reason to worry them unnecessarily. It was better just to stick to the truth of the day. I had walked more than fifteen miles, from the tip-top of Oklahoma into Kansas. I was dirty and aching and red from the sun, and that was real.
They were kind to me, too, never questioning the idea that I had been on the road for weeks. I explained away the fact of carrying next to nothing. I told them about motels and friends-along-the-way, whatever. I told them I was on my second pair of sneakers and third different ball cap. They could see I had a backpack and a sleeping bag. What more could there be?
“It’s a kind of experiment in traveling light,” I said, and they seemed to recognize the virtue in this. “It’s surprising how little you really need.”
“Jesus used to travel tremendous distances on foot,” the Woman said. “Probably when he was about your age, too.” She laughed and said that I was in good company that way. It made me think of all the great figures in the Bible making pilgrimages. Traveling hundreds and hundreds of miles on foot.
“It’s faith’s great loss, I think. The fact that these kinds of pilgrimages have been taken out of worship, I mean.”
I nodded with her, smiling. The Woman had a way of making my life suddenly sound meaningful and richly plotted. I felt compelled to offer something of my own.
“By chanting the names of the Lord / And you’ll be free,” I said, grinning like a moron. “George Harrison wrote that.”
“Well, I think that’s just wonderful,” the Woman said, turning around from the passenger seat. “A Beatle sang that, huh? I thought they played for the other side.”
She smiled and it froze me.
“No, hon, that’s the Rolling Stones,” the Man said.
“Oh, right,” she said, and they both laughed happily. I smiled, thinking they were making fun of me now. But what did I care? I liked them both enormously. I felt safe in the back of their minivan, with their mute, happy Child. I looked at him again and couldn’t decide if he was a boy or a girl. Whenever he smiled it reminded me of both.
We pulled into the driveway of the motel, and I could practically feel the hot shower and the cold air-conditioning inside. I thanked the Man and the Woman effusively, and I tried to say goodbye. But the Woman wouldn’t hear of it.
“No, no, no, we won’t leave you yet. Just go inside and make sure they’re giving a fair rate.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s fine,” I said, not understanding this.
“No, no … Just go see,” she said. “We can always take you somewhere else.”
This was confusing, but I didn’t want to argue with her. I went inside the little glass lobby, where the manager told me that a single room for the night would cost $39.99, just like the sign out front said. I nodded and came back outside to say thank you, one last time. But the Man stopped me.
“Say, Michael. We’d like to invite you to stay at our house for the night. We could get you some dinner and it’d save you a little money for your traveling.”
“Oh, wow. Really?” I said. I never even saw it coming. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course, of course. C’mon. Hop back in.”
I got back into the minivan and smiled at the Child, who smiled back. These good people who wanted so badly just to help me. They wanted to make themselves of use, of service. I could almost see the appeal of a simple Christian life then. Living in a fixed place with a God, and a Mayor, and a nice red set of stop signs. Why not?
* * *
The Woman ran a bath for me, apologizing for the broken showerhead. But I didn’t care. It was the first time I’d taken a bath since I was the Child’s size, and it felt good to soak my body, so raw from walking in the weather. I lay back in the warm tub and thought about a level of trust that existed in these Christians, so off-putting and refreshing, both.
The Woman insisted on washing out my clothes in the machine. And when I got out of the bathroom, I saw that the Man had laid a fresh set on the bed for me. I felt strange about this at first, but they fit, and I decided that I liked the gesture. Studying myself in the full-length mirror, and trying to stand a little straighter in the Man’s outfit.
I found him out in the backyard, barbecuing chicken on the gas grill. We ate our dinner out here, on the back patio, like a Family. The Woman bowed her head and offered grace to the Provider, and the meal was served. I hadn’t eaten meat in five or six years, but I didn’t want to say no. I had come too far to be here, and it didn’t feel right to make a fuss now. I picked apart my chicken self-consciously, pulling out the bones and generally scattering it around the plate. I chewed and chewed to break down sinew and muscle and tendon, and I still nearly choked with a hasty swallow. I admired the simpler mechanics of the Man, who sucked the bone clean and even ate the fat. A method that was pleasurable in its thoroughness.
I watched the Woman cutting tiny pieces for the Child, who smushed everything into happy little handfuls. I was glad to be here at this table, and I took another ear of corn to show that my appetite was healthy and not peculiar in any way.
* * *
After dinner, the Child got sleepy or cranky, and the whole house turned in early with him. The Woman gave me the wooden bed that the Man had built special for the boy to grow into. I protested, saying I was happy on the couch, but the whole family insisted.
I lay there in the dark room, staring up at the ceiling, counting all the lies I’d told today. Lies to smooth things over. Lies to stitch things up. Lies to pad the truth. But wasn’t I also giving these people something that they wanted? The simple story of a traveler in need. This weary character undertaken on a whim. The act of walking itself was always totally sincere, of course. Everything else, perhaps, was not.
The thing that troubled me most was the fact that I was hardly troubled at all. I was only asking for a ride to the motel. Smiling and playing along as the Christians began to improvise. I never could’ve imagined any of this. Naked in the tub, and dressed in the man’s clothing, as I pretended to eat meat. I was just trying to keep my bearings.
I listened to the crickets and the bullfrogs chirping out beyond the shadows of the yard, and I let out a breath that had been sitting in my chest all day. I felt my eyes flutter and begin to close. And, all at once, my head drew a total and fantastic blank.
* * *
I woke up early the next day feeling stiff but determined. I dressed in my own clothes, and stuffed my clean-smelling laundry back inside my bag. I had the idea that I might be able to leave quietly, to slip out of the house unnoticed. But the Man and the Woman were already awake in the kitchen. Already drinking coffee and smiling. And I smiled, too, hurrying through my eggs and toast. I was conscious of overstaying my welcome now, but the Woman wouldn’t hear of it. She made a big deal of packing me a lunch, and slowing me down. And the Man, too, made sure to give me a wide straw hat to protect against the sun. There was even a first-aid kit waiting by the door, where I could see forty dollars folded neatly inside its clear plastic walls.
And, truly, I was touched by all of this. But too much generosity has a way of making me feel inadequate. I was troubled by my inability to repay these strangers anything. It embarrassed me to stretch the lie out today. I just wanted to say goodbye, and figure out where I was. This would certainly be another long day, I knew. Even if I caught a good ride straight off, it would still take me the rest of the week before I reached Minneapolis.
I started packing up and saying goodbye all over again, when the Woman touched my arm sweetly. “We still have to pray over your travels, hon.”
“Right. Of course,” I said, but I didn’t really know what this meant. It was just me and the Man and the Woman, standing in the kitchen. They each took my hand, and we made a circle, bowing our heads as the Woman began to pray. And not just some boilerplate blessing, either. Her voice was suddenly real with emotion. She was talking to me, about me, and that was strangely thrilling.
“Lord Jesus, we ask you to stand over Michael’s journey now. Make him clear of mind and fleet of foot. Be the wing under which he seeks his shield and shelter along the road. Clear the difficult path for him in safety and in light. And keep your hand always at his shoulder as he makes this long pilgrimage to be reunited with his brother…”
And she kept going. I was not expecting any of this, and it moved me. I stared at our feet on the shiny linoleum, trying desperately not to smile. This may be the most singularly strange and wonderful thing I’ve ever experienced. To be blessed by strangers in the middle of Kansas. It felt tremendous.
“Do not fear what they fear; do not be frightened of the uncertain road ahead. For we Christians walk by faith, and not by sight alone. For no one can harm the man who is eager to do good in the world.” The Woman inhaled. “Amen.”
“Amen,” we answered. I lifted my head and I knew, all at once, that I must keep walking. It was out of my hands. Only a fool would think to stop here.
I hugged the Woman, and I shook the Man’s hand, and I finally left. I was truly a walker then. Everything was lighter, and I was lighter, too. The Man’s hat was like a straw halo upon my head, imparting its conviction. This was a thing I could do for the Man and the Woman, I thought. This was the drumbeat that I felt inside my bones: Just keep walking.
And I did, for hours; but it was hard. Much, much harder on the second day. All the idiot joy was gone. It was hotter and drier, and I felt everything now. The pebbles inside my shoes; the spiders at the backs of my knees. I was sick and sweaty and lethargic, and my head just swam in the blurry heat. My legs felt rubbery and foreign to me as I walked with this snarl of distress painted all over my face. I could not believe how slow I walked today. Plodding, really. It was not the pain so much as the mental and emotional fatigue of not allowing myself to stop. I walked and walked, waiting for the pain to break.
Why did I keep walking, I wondered. Walking through Kansas, walking. It was for the Christians, of course. But that was a lie. This was an act of vanity now. Folly. Boredom. It was a morbid curiosity. An aesthetic masochism. This was the fallacy of misplaced romance. It was young legs. Pink lungs. An animal heart. And, all at once, it was a spiritual act again. It was personal. It was inarticulate. And that was enough to just keep walking.
As I went, I daydreamed about turning around and affecting that enemy pose. Walking backward with my arm out. And in my brain I did this. Smiling at the cars as they passed me. Rushing by in a blur. Objectively, I understood it. I knew how I must look today. Run-down and washed-out. I imagined myself inside one of those vehicles: passing a walker on the roadside. No, thank you, please. Not today, friend.
But wouldn’t it be strange and incredible if I did it? What if I just kept walking? I’d made it ten miles, through the morning, into some westerly Kansas county where they were Denver Broncos fans. I recovered my rhythm and I laughed out loud at my own fool ambition to walk two thousand miles, because I was doing it. Disappearing into Kansas. Hours turning into days; towns turning into states. There is a numb kind of thinking born of small repetitive acts. A slow anesthetic. I was losing track for miles. Losing time entirely. I disappeared into the walking like I was coasting on a bike. This was not me. The body has its own locomotion, and it was willing itself so now.
So much so that I hardly noticed the pickup truck that pulled off the road in front of me. Waiting there, idling, and it froze me. I knew, of course, that I must say no. I was supposed to tell the driver that I couldn’t; to say that I didn’t want to. I knew exactly what I was doing out here on the road. I was walking.
But that’s not what I did at all. No. I jogged after the truck quite willingly, almost laughing. I was giddy with my own good fortune again. This heathen absolution with its long hair and dirty smile. Rumbling metal and the soaked smell of gasoline. I nodded to the stranger as he unlocked the door, and it was over. Quick and dirty. I had done my walking and I was finished then.