Lost & Found.

The next morning I woke up some time past eleven. It was the most I had slept in a very long time. I quickly grabbed my things and threw them into the backseat, forgetting that I should probably take a shower, in my rush to get out of the room. I checked out with the front desk and then found the nearest diner and ate a nice breakfast. An omelet with toast and a cup of fresh coffee. I actually read through the newspaper, noticing that I wasn’t filed as a missing person yet, and I smiled smugly.

Deep down it hurt, though, to know that I didn’t matter enough to them.

I laid some money down on the table before standing and walking slowly to the door. My car sat where I had left it and I smiled, Shenandoah seemed like a nice town, but I had to leave it behind.

My car started easily and I slowly eased out of the parking lot and onto the highway where I started driving to the next town, before noticing I needed gas. I pulled into the first station I saw in Pottsville, got my gas and fled.

The next town was Schuylkill Haven. I drowned out my thoughts with the monotony of it all and fell into the quick comfort of the speakers surrounding me. It was something with a heavy beat and muddled lyrics, but it didn’t matter to me.

I suddenly realized how important music could be. The value of an iPod suddenly raised.

I smiled to myself as I drove, humming along as the CD replayed itself and I was too lazy to change it.

The sun beat down through the windows and grazed over my skin and I thanked God that I had requested the leather seats be taken out of my car two years ago. Leather and driving for long periods of time in shorts did not make for a fun trip.

I knew that for a fact.

I drove through Hamburg and Shoemakersville and then I passed through Hyde Park. Next came Reading, which was actually a decent sized town, and then Plowville, Eagle, Devault, and Chesterbrook.

I stopped in King of Prussia, taking full advantage of the first big gas station I’d found in a while. Then it was Bridgeport and Willow Grove. I passed through Woodbourne and then slowed at Trenton. I made a few stops in New Jersey’s capital, wondering what it would be like to live there. I took random turns and stopped at random statues and museums, quickly getting bored after taking a picture or two, and left town all together.

Trenton didn’t sound so fun, after all.

Mercerville was the next town I went through and as I took a turn I noticed a name that looked too familiar. Lawrence.

Had I turned around on accident somewhere and started heading home? I’d never heard of Mercerville before, though, so I decided that it must be some other town with the same name.

And sure enough as I passed through the tiny town I didn’t recognize a bit of it.

I sighed, finding a bigger road and a new CD.

~~~

A couple of hours and a few stops later I had somehow found myself in New York.

Staten Island to be precise.

Believe it or not, I was lost.

‘Oh therapy, can you please fill the void? Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed? Nobody’s perfect and I stand accused, for lack of a better word, and that’s my best excuse...’

I had grown accustomed to the swift swings in mood of the song and I found myself actually really liking it as I sang along, mumbling the words I couldn’t quite catch.

I drove around aimlessly until I found a way to get to the next town.

‘...I don’t feel any shame, I won’t apologize. When there ain’t nowhere we can go, running away from pain, when you’ve been victimized. Tales from another broken home...’

I became more and more confused as I stopped in Brooklyn and in Queens and then in New York City itself, trying to find a way back into Jersey. I needed to get back to more familiar ground before I lost myself. I came close to Madison Square Garden, got scared for some reason, and found an interstate to drive along instead.

I found them slightly less confusing.

The small blinking clock on the dash read six twenty-one and my stomach felt empty. I sensed the gas also was getting a little low and decided to pull off of the interstate, finding myself in Newark, New Jersey.

I smiled to myself.

My dad took me here once, though it certainly didn’t take days to get here that time.

I drove down the streets, not remembering a single one of them, trying to find an old bar that my dad had always taken me to. They probably had the best burgers I’d ever tasted in my life. They were even better than Dad’s.

I liked my lips, trying to ignore the pang in my stomach.

I couldn’t tell if it was because I was hungry or if it was just the thought of my dad.

Part of me wanted to believe that this was all his fault, but I knew that it would have happened sooner or later. I had so many people leaning on me and he was the only person I could truly trust to lean on myself. When that crutch was kicked from beneath me, I fell.

Hard.

But, then again, I was learning to love this experience more and more as I kept driving. I was learning about life itself and how to live on my own, albeit in a car. Soon enough, I gave up on trying to find the place and just got gas, found a motel room, and settled for fast food.

After I ate my chicken nuggets I laid down on the bed, just thinking.

This was something I found myself doing more and more lately. I think I liked it.

I reached over the edge of my bed and dug in my backpack until I found a hardcover book to bury my nose in. I read the first few chapters, not bothering to check the title or author and found myself bawling by the time I got to chapter three.

The style of the writing was all too familiar and the names of the main character matched mine a little too closely.

I wiped my eyes and pushed myself further into the book.

It was my father’s book.

The book he’d hidden from me.

It was his book about me.