Rapid City, South Dakota.

(Dear Mom,
I know that after reading the post where I had mentioned waking up in a suitcase, you were hesitant to continue reading. Somehow you had made it past my toppling toilet experience, but drew a line at passing out in dirty socks. I’ve come to terms with your decision to back-read these updates after you can confirm my good health, but I’m not quite convinced you’ve truly settled in not knowing which state I am currently traveling through. I’m willing to bet you check this page and at least to read the header; maybe skip to the end, hoping for a positive finish. So if that’s the case, if you are reading this before my visit home the final week of May, I’m ok.
But this one’s going to make you nervous.)

It is, in a way, similar to what I can imagine having a tornado crash through your hometown would be like. The photos won’t do it justice. Nor will the police report, unless they’ve found a way to capture the hollow feeling that eats away at ones stomach, the extreme disappointment that hovers above, waiting to crush you at any moment like an acme anvil. At first, it’s a rain drop, and the next udder destruction.

A call came in at 1:15 am. The second came at 1:35. The first e-mail came at 3, and an hour later the next. Then another. By 4:30 am I was wide eyed in bed with a notepad at my side, scribbling what broke down to four possible recovery plans, unsure of what to expect. By 7 we met face to face, vehicle to vehicle. No trailer in sight.

It could have been anyone, but it was a reserved twenty-something from Ohio who volunteered for his first road trip and Memorial Day get away. His pale face remained nearly expressionless for the entire morning. By 3 pm I had arranged all of the clues, side comments, and photos into a possible back story. It started as a flat tire. Two flat tires. Two flat tires and a broken axel. Two flat tires, a broken axel, and a bent hitch. A flipped over trailer. A vehicle spin out. A semi. Police officers. Tow trucks.

In the aftermath, there are too many places to start, too much in need of fixing. I’m finding myself staring at my feet, tempted to click my heels and start over.