When I graduated high school, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do moving forward. I’d made the decision only a few months earlier that, although I had spent my entire school career planning for college, I would not be going to college. At all. Sensational, I know. I have felt strongly for quite some time that my life is meant to be more than going to school until I can get a job, working until I can retire, and hopefully traveling when most of my youth has left me. I’ve always thought that to be unfair, and I didn’t want it. However, I was good at school. I didn’t have an identity outside of “being smart,” but being smart really just meant that I was good at making good grades. I was the first out of all of my siblings to graduate high school. It simply was expected that I’d go on to college, maybe do something cool and important with my life. Yet, when I announced my plan to forego college, no one seemed to bat an eye. As a young person, with an affinity for attention, I figured I had to turn it up a notch.
A month post-graduation came and went. I worked 25 hours a week at the sleepy local library. I didn’t have any more of an idea of what I wanted than I did the day I was done with school. I spent time with friends, talking about the meaning of life, wondering what was out there for me, for all of us. All I knew for certain was the rat race wasn’t for me. I went on a few questionable Tinder dates, none of them stuck. Like many people my age then, I was obsessed with finding a relationship. Maybe that was the missing piece. The local park saw me more that summer than my own father. My friends put up with my endless tirade about how messed up it is we’re expected to find our entire life’s purpose the moment we graduate. I wanted so badly to get into my car and travel the country. I had absolutely no idea what that would actually be like, but I was sure it was what I needed. Maybe it’s no surprise what came next.
It was Sunday, July 10, 2016. I stumbled upon the Tinder profile of a Michigan man. He was a hitchhiker, the bio said, and he was currently in Indianapolis. At the end was some sappy quote, and I immediately swiped right. We matched, and I didn’t even have to send the first message. It all happened so fast, I was at the park, and suddenly I was on the phone with this man, Zach. I was with my friend Lindsey, and Zach’s phone was dying, so we didn’t speak for long. I’d already made up my mind. We made arrangements to meet the next day.
On Monday, I dragged Lindsey with me to Indianapolis. I was risky, but not stupid enough to go alone. Driving down the high way, it suddenly occurred to me how absurd my actions were. I couldn’t just go to a gas station in the city to meet a strange homeless man. What the hell was I doing? I found the nearest road and made a U-turn, giving some excuse to Zach. “Sorry, flat tire, and wouldn’t you know it: I don’t have a spare!” He seemed a bit disappointed, but otherwise didn’t complain. After a few minutes of heading back home Lindsey muttered something like, “It kinda sucks, you know? He’s homeless and probably hasn’t been on a real date in so long. He must’ve really been looking forward to it, and you’re just leaving him hanging.” Dammit, Lindsey. I pulled another U-turn. “Hey! I fixed my tire, I’ll be there in 30 minutes,” to Zach.
30 minutes later, I pulled into a Speedway parking lot. The one on Washington Street, practically next door to the zoo. I sent a message announcing our arrival. Only a few minutes later, a man in a floral skirt, guitar strapped to his back, approached us. His hair was grimy and disheveled. He had a layer of dirt on his skin, but he didn’t smell bad, I remember. “I told you I’d wear it!” he exclaimed, gesturing to his ankle-length skirt. We made our introductions, and Zach led us to the camp he’d been staying at for the past few days. We climbed over the train tracks and into some woods. I don’t remember being afraid, only incredulous. Lindsey and I didn’t speak as we stumbled over the rough terrain, certainly not dressed for the conditions.
Upon reaching the camp, we were immediately met by another man. Ty, we were told, is Zach’s “road dog,” which is slang for “traveling buddy.” They hitchhiked from Michigan to Indy together. Ty had a black eye and a blank stare. He barely nodded as Lindsey and I arrived. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he didn’t move from the plastic lawn chair. Zach assured us his black eye was only the result of a friendly wrestling match they’d had the day before. It didn’t comfort me. Lindsey and I took a seat in the other 2 lawn chairs, around an unlit firepit. Zach presented us with a weed pipe he’d fashioned out of a Natural Light beer can. I politely declined. Zach simply shrugged, taking the hit for himself. He pulled his guitar into his lap and began to strum enthusiastically, breaking the ice.
The next hour or so passed in a trance. Zach sang a few songs, making awkward small talk in between. The sun began disappearing, and I knew we needed to leave. One particular line from one of the songs Zach sang kept repeating in my mind: “And I hate everything but I love everyone.” I felt it encompassed exactly how I felt, on that summer evening. Zach walked Lindsey and I back to my car, like a true gentleman. Even more true, he stuck his tongue in my mouth before I registered what was happening. His breath tasted sour, like the wine he’d been drinking. I laughed because I didn’t know what else to do. “What’s on your mind?” he asked. I would come to realize it was his favorite question. “Making out is just so weird, you know?” He agreed, and I got into my car and left. Even then, I knew I would be joining him again.
The next day was my father’s birthday, and since I knew it would be the last I was going to spend with him, I went all out. I bought a cheap charcoal grill, some chairs and a table. I bought hot dogs and hamburgers, and a DQ ice cream cake. I invited all of my friends, because he didn’t have many of his own, and we set up a little surprise party for him.
Tuesday rolled around. I was supposed to work at the library, but I called off. “Must be food poisoning,” I told my boss. She was understanding and wished that I’d get better. I wasn’t sick, at least not physically. I had things to do. Lindsey and I went to Dick’s Sporting Goods. I picked out a pair of hiking boots and a grey Nike backpack. Luckily, I had a couple grand saved up from working, so I was able to buy a few things I felt I needed. I was preparing to “go homeless.” I also bought a knife, a journal, a lockbox, a sleeping bag and some Cliff bars. When I got home, I collected the bare essentials. I packed a few shirts, a few pairs of jeans, all of my socks and underwear. I sat on my bed and stared at the packed bag. All my life’s possessions, reduced to a single backpack. I asked Zach if I should roll my new bag around in dirt so that I didn’t appear suspicious. “Suspicious to who?” he asked. “I don’t know… other people like you?” How naïve I was.
Tuesday evening, I made rounds to all of my friends. There weren’t many. Alina, Jordan, Cassie, Dustin. I felt they deserved my goodbye. There were tears, but no one really was surprised. No one objected. I struggled to sleep that night, knowing that the next day, not only was I leaving, but I’d have to break the news to my father. I expected the absolute worst. I was terrified. I thought about simply leaving a letter, but finally decided that would be a shitty move. Lindsey stuck around all the while, listening to my fears and worries, helping me think of any last minute thing I could’ve been forgetting.
Wednesday, July 13, 2016. I woke up around 11 AM. My dad had already left for the day, hanging out at one of the three bars available in our small town. I called him around noon, and I asked if he would come home so I could talk to him. “Well, there’s a game, and well,” he said. “Okay, can I come up there, then?” I made my way to the bar across town, and he came out to meet me. “I’m leaving. Today. Probably around 4,” I blurted out. “Where are you going?” my father asked. “I don’t know, just around the country and stuff,” was my answer, but apparently it was sufficient. My dad said some weird thing about how he “knew this day would come,” and how he “knew he couldn’t stop me.” Well dad, you didn’t even try. I didn’t say that, though. I just left him at the bar, and went home to make last minute arrangements.
Lindsey and I went to eat at the pizza buffet our other friend Jordan worked at. A last hurrah. In the parking lot, I realized I was still employed. I called the library. “Uh, I have to quit,” I managed. My boss, Kendra, said, “So, no notice?” “Yeah,” I responded. That was that. Afterward, in a feat that still seems miraculous to this day, I managed to gather all of my friends in the living room of my dad’s apartment. My car was ready to go, bag packed, and cooler full of some food. It had begun pouring down rain, and Lindsey, to be funny or sentimental, I still don’t know, played Green Day’s “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life.)” We all cried, along with the sky, passing around hugs under the assumption that would be the last time. I was sure I would never come home. I was out of here. In a moment that was like a scene from a movie, I drove off in the pouring rain, my father waved from the screen door.
My friend Alina can’t drive, and so I took her home before heading to Indy. Aside from Lindsey, Alina was the only other of my friends that knew I was going to be with a boy. She played a song for me, and I one for her. We cried a few more private tears. At the last minute, I knew it was important I say goodbye to Alina’s grandpa, who had become like my own grandpa in the year I’d known him. I ran inside, for a goodbye that probably seemed frantic. It was. I was frantically manic. I think I secretly wanted someone, anyone, to tell me I was batshit crazy and that I needed to really think about what I was doing. I didn’t get that, but grandpa gave me his love and well wishes.
I used to say, “My life began on a stormy Wednesday afternoon.” I think it’s as good a starting point as any. I knew the storm was an omen. “Turn back now,” the thunder boomed. I ignored it, tears still streaming down my face, driving down the highway. I passed a car wreck on my way to Indy, perhaps another warning sign. By the time I reached Zach’s camp, the rain had stopped. It was a pleasant gray evening. I was leaving it all behind, this was my life now.
I drove Zach to a liquor store, and then we returned to the camp. There was a makeshift cabin, with a mattress. The mattress was covered in ants. I was scared. Zach was drunk. The sun hadn’t set. I didn’t say no. Zach fell into an alcohol-induced slumber quickly. I laid awake for what felt like eternity. At some point, I heard a noise in the corner of the cabin. I was too afraid to investigate, but the next morning, I saw that my backpack had been chewed through by rats. My Cliff bars were demolished. The leftover pizza I’d brought in a white Styrofoam box was being swarmed with ants. Nothing was glamorous. Everything was beautiful. I was free. Wasn’t I?
