The Road is The Same: A Stand Still Story

The I-40 that stretches east-west across mid America (it is actually at some points a similar route to old Route 66) belongs to big business-hauling rigs, wide-load 18-wheelers, and big, tweaked-out truckers, especially, it seems in the section running from Memphis to Little Rock.  That part in particular features shrunken lanes with crumbling edges, cracked overpass bridges, and not a single light. So with the recent time change, by the time I get out of class it is as dark as a Yucatan highway.

I know I’m just a little speck of tin on four wheels and a guest of these truckers when I drive my weekly route to Forrest City, but I am an ungrateful guest, especially after last night.

My first mistake was that I stopped at my pre-class stopping point again after class so my brain was on auto-pilot when I got on the highway because, ok, I was on the phone with my sister. I spent a good thirty five minutes rapping with her and even made a comment about passing the well know XXX Adult Truck Stop place a couple exits from Forrest City.

Everything was rolling along smoothly until I came to a stand still in the middle of nowhere, stuck in between giant semi-trucks, and lost cell reception. I’m used to it dropping here and there since Arkansas is spotty in certain country areas so I tried to just wait it out. After fifteen minutes I realized we were on a overpass and I could feel the road underneath swaying and shaking with the idling rigs and the cars passing under. Because I had no other entertainment I made up stories about the bridges collapsing and me getting out of my car in time to jump on top of a truck cab to ride it safely past all of the other vehicles smashing into the concrete after a 100 foot fall. I had another scenario where the bridge cracked right beneath my vehicle and the semi in front and behind me smashed me into the road and/or alligator pit below.

When thinking about my death was no longer entertaining I turned to self pity; I couldn’t help but think how unjust it is to get caught in a nighttime traffic jam after coming home from a twelve hour work day. We started moving forty minutes later before I could start texting people these thoughts. We were down to one lane, sure, but we were moving. I drove for another oh I don’t know? Thirty minutes before I noticed something on a highway sign that said: Little Rock 35 Miles

I had totally and completely been driving, not just driving but suffering, in the opposite direction of home.

Little Rock is a two hour drive from Memphis and it was almost 9:30pm and I hadn’t had but a touch of gross falafel from Kwik Check at lunch.  The highway exits off the 40 in daylight aren’t places where you want to hang out at, let alone after 9pm when everything around, except the XXX shops and the truck wash places, is shutting down southern style and you’re in a mentally imbalanced hypoglycemic road raged state.  I knew I had to toughen up and just get some gas, get some chemically-based fast food, and get on the road. I decided that I would pee my pants  instead of stopping at any trucker-shower Valero to risk an attack in the women’s bathroom.

Once the car was turned around in the direction of Memphis I felt less frustration and more blame. I studied the road for landmarks and signs that would prove I was a total idiot and had to have known I was going the wrong way for miles!  But all I noticed was the road is dark and the road is the same. The reason I thought I saw the XXX Adult Booty Palace marker was because there was another XXX Adult Booty Palace looking place going the other way. Same curves in the road, same lack of orienting signs like “Hey you are on I-40 WEST!!”, same delta casino advertisements, same Motel 6 signs, same some-times-marked lanes, same trucks riding my ass. I was riding the lost highway.

On my way back I was able to see the people heading west stuck in the traffic jam I had been in. Watching it from the other side I was pissed that the traffic flow seemed to be going much smoother than when I was stuck in it. I don’t know why I had to suffer and the worst thing that happened to those drivers was they had to break their cruise control.

But it is a metaphor, see? When you turn around and pass back over your memories of pain and despair it looks different, it looks like something you can handle. Something you did handle.  And you are happy to continue even on the dark, semi-truck-clogged narrow road ahead, because you are just happy to be moving.