Long Road to Ruin

I spent most of the rest of the day wandering around downtown Oakland, chain-smoking cigarette after cigarette. The thick cloud of resulting smoke, inhaled deeply into my lungs, had an extreme calming effect on me. Nicotine had always made me feel better when I was on the verge of suffering another bout of depression.

The day was slowly disappearing into the horizon, preparing for the golden sun to be replaced by the cold, gray moon. I had been walking for six hours now, and my body was weighed down by weariness. When I was performing I was able to ignore any physical stress because of the distractions involved: the music, the bright flashing of the dozens of strobe lights, and the adrenaline and excitement surging through my veins. When I was just walking with no purpose or direction, I couldn’t deny the fact that I was getting older. I could feel it in my bones. Luckily, I had always been in good shape.

Suddenly, a rapid rush of thoughts caused an idea to be born in my mind. The metaphorical light bulb had gone off. If I could just make it several more miles on foot, I might be able to secure myself a one-way ticket out of this place. Or at least I hoped.

There were no reasons to stay, so…why not?

A ways down the road was a truck stop complex, which had been strategically placed at the beginning of a freeway in an attempt to attract the business of semi drivers as they left and entered town. I could see the brown brick building ahead of me, with its parking lot filled with trucks and dotted with tall streetlights. Once I was there, I stood on the grass to the left of the driveway. What I was about to do next was something I had never done, even in all my lifetime experiences living in the slums. I hesitantly raised my hand above my head, thumb outstretched, waiting to be noticed by any trucks passing by.

At first, it seemed as though my chance would never come. I was silent, unmoving, a shadow near the grass, staring at the road. I had almost given up hope when a turquoise and white eighteen-wheeler began to slow down not far from where I stood. A turn signal indicated that they were stopping at the truck stop. As it made its wide turn in, I saw that it bore a furniture store logo on the side, complete with the standard, picturesque living room scene.

“Where are you headed?” the truck’s driver bellowed loudly out of the window. The loud, raging sound of the exhaust made his voice barely audible, but I could tell from the subtle accent that he was from the east coast somewhere. With that observation, I was sure I’d end up where I wanted to be eventually.

“Wherever you’re going,” I replied nonchalantly. I kept my cool in an attempt to keep myself from sounding as desperate as I was. For all he knew, I was just another hitchhiker who wanted to come along for the ride.

“Well…get in,” he decided as he spoke. “I’m in a hurry.”

We were on the freeway within the next minute. It had taken some effort to lift my luggage up into the cab, because the foothold was over two and a half feet from the ground. This posed an obvious challenge for my five foot, six inch tall frame. Now I was even more exhausted, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that I had accomplished what I’d set out to do, without anyone else’s help. Oakland became nothing more than a cluster of lights behind us, fading into the dark night sky and disappearing from both my view and my thoughts.

The inside of the truck wasn’t the most pleasant place to be. It was stuffy and cramped, not to mention dirty and unkempt. A colorful array of candy wrappers, fast food bags, and empty cigarette cartons littered the poorly carpeted floor. The driver hadn’t spoken a word to me since he had agreed to take me with him. I didn’t really mind not having to make conversation with a stranger; however, the silence had become so awkward that I could barely stand it.

“Where are you going from here?” I asked.

“I can take you as far as Indianapolis,” he replied flatly, his eyes remaining fixated on the road.

Indianapolis. I’d been there before, but for some reason I couldn’t remember much of anything about it. Either way, I was glad that there was now a set place that would be either blessed or burdened with my presence next. The driver stayed oddly quiet throughout the length of the day and a half long drive, and I still wasn’t sure why. In order to keep from feeling even more awkward, I stared out the truck window, observing the passing cars and businesses that lined the freeway.

Eventually, it began to rain. Large, luminescent drops of water fell gracefully from the sky, cascading to the earth below. Watching the rain was so peaceful, and definitely more interesting to me than counting how many red cars I saw as we drove. It made me think of Adrienne, which I hadn’t done at all since early yesterday. I had tried not to, for my own good, but I always compared the beauty of nature to her. I didn’t miss home, because I was so used to being away. This time, though, I knew that even if I did miss home, there wouldn’t be any warm welcomes for me.

All I felt was emptiness.

After several rest stops, we finally left the freeway and began our short drive on a desolate and rocky rural highway. City commerce had very temporarily been replaced with farmland and ornate rows of trees, bushes, and astonishingly white picket fences. This was an environment I’d never gotten used to, so there was much more for me to look at. I knew that we were getting close, and this thought was confirmed when a cityscape appeared once more, looming in the distance.

“Welcome to Indianapolis: Population 781,870,” read a maroon and green billboard,
broadcasting our arrival at the city’s outskirts. Like most cities, there was a rest stop no more than two miles further down the road. This was our destination.

As the driver pulled in to the parking lot and stopped the semi, I was relieved. This could be my new home, possibly making the population of Indianapolis, Indiana 781,871. That was definitely a nice thought, and the prospect of a new start was even nicer. Soon I would have to make phone calls and try to put the pieces of my old life back together, but that would be then and this was now. Right now I wasn’t worried about any of those unpleasant tasks, just the current situation at hand.

I gathered together my belongings and jumped out of the passenger’s seat, landing swiftly on the pavement below.

“Thanks for the ride,” I started graciously, holding out my hand for the driver to shake. “I never got your name.” I was surprised when he rejected my handshake with merely a scowl, looking angrily towards me.

“Uh...” I said uncertainly. Then, he spoke.

“You don’t need to know who I am, but I know who you are, Billie Joe Armstrong. And more importantly, I know what you are. A scumbag. I know what you did to my niece.” With that said, he pulled quickly out of the lot with a dull roar, leaving me behind with a look of utter shock displayed on my pale face. I couldn’t help but notice, for the first time, the company’s name on the side of the truck as it departed.

“Nesser Furniture, Inc.”

Nesser was Adrienne’s maiden name.

“Shit,” I whispered.