Saying Goodbye

2139 Words5 Pages

Early Friday morning, Memorial Weekend, 1994, I decide to adventure into the unknown by taking a journey to the Joshua Tree Inn, specifically room number eight, where on September 19th, 1973 Gram Parsons surrendered silently to drugs and alcohol. I have goose bumps. From Silver Lake to Joshua Tree, I travel the 134 to the 210 east, then cross over to route 57, and finally merge to the familiar 10 highway as my hometowns Eagle Rock and Glendora drift by. Not only do road trips bring solitude but also the rhythm of the highway clears my head. My faithful grey Toyota cruises along with her sweet stereo system loudly playing Tom Petty’s “American Girl” and I sing freely with abandonment until another car pulls up next to me. Now I count the endless trees that line the side of the freeway – the same trees that I counted as a childe when my dad would drive us to Edwards Air Force Base. The pavement and I become one and the crowded suburbs fade swiftly into both truck-stops and smaller sparse communities. Memories flood. I was 13 years old and upset with my older sister because she had painted our bedroom lime-green. Our twin beds were separated by a glow in the dark poster of “the keep on truck in'’” icon announcing, “Stop the world I want to get off”. I listened with sadness to The Beatles White album until my loneliness disappeared. A freeway sign abruptly snaps me back to the not so familiar vast high-desert, therefore signaling my exit. Quickly responding, I turn into the nearest gas station sliding up to an empty gas pump. Although hesitate I enter the Circle K; the sand, desolation, and orange beige clothing troubles me. “What makes me so different? “, I wonder grabbing a bottled water and salted cashews. While leaving I notice ... ... middle of paper ... .... Blackbirds fly over the desert sand. I search for peace by the ghost of a man whose songs gave a bit of truth and all the sadness he knew. Blackbirds fly over the desert sky. I search for the truth by the ghost of a man. This mysterious wonderland with its natural gardens and rugged ridges can deliberately lose an individual. I imagine I see Gram’s ghost sitting contentedly in an old barbers chair high up on the granite and kindly wonder why no one has put up a plaque or marker. To Gram I warmly say, “From the other side of life you gave me strength and hope.” I went into the flame through the eye of the needle and out of the darkness. Forever I love this kindred spirit who haunted me and now realize that the familiarity in Gram’s voice reflects mine. I sympathetically paid my respects and buried my troubles, and now it was time to begin my long drive home.

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