25 Hour Watch

Some say the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence; stay the course, do your best to maintain status-quo, and gradually, life will reward your patience.

For a lifetime, Charlie had been one of those people.  He felt content, mostly happy; a daydreamer with no real plans for follow-through on any of his wild ideas.

It seemed a perfectly fine existence, for which he held no serious complaints.  A fine existence indeed, and for his routine, perfection had been achieved.

But Charlie held a curiosity, Charlie had an itch.  Somewhere deep inside of him, a voice was crying out to explore the globe before it spun out of reach.

He wasn’t sure whose voice was calling, as it only sort-of sounded like his own, but after years of whisper, the voice had recently risen to roar, now Charlie was on the road to Canada, engaging a world outside his everyday, office nine-to-five.

Alive, still feeling fresh, he’d been driving for a little over four hours, and the temperature had risen steadily, along with the sun.

It poured yellow light over a cotton landscape in the Midwest.

Charlie had time-lapsed the sun’s rise to the top of the sky, and felt through open windows, the sun smother the state in humidity and heat.

Preferring AC, Charlie rolled up all four windows, and began pondering the possible ramifications of his ditch-days from work.

Certain his bosses wouldn’t fire him, Charlie thought a written reprimand was equally unlikely, as he had never called in sick-to-work before.

He quizzed it over with the voice inside his head and held a conversation; Charlie then decided his superiors would only ask if he was feeling better, come Monday morning.

Now, out on the Kansas expressway, at the smooth rate of sixty-five, he was relaxed, at ease, hundreds of miles away from work.

Out here on the road, there were pools of water in the road which he could never seem to reach, teamed with the unchanging landscape of western Missouri, and together they tempted Charlie to fall asleep.

As the white lines rhythmically dashed by, Charlie resisted hypnosis and maintained his pace, while gripping the steering wheel in both hands.

Realizing a need, Charlie looked for a pit-stop, and exited for a gas station in Kansas City.

Coffee, blueberry sports drink, water, beef jerky, white cheddar popcorn, skittles, and road maps; Charlie loaded up on the essentials of a road trip.

He thanked an old attendant who had wiped down the windshield, and Charlie found his way out of town, back onto the highway.

Taking sips from his coffee, he found focus for staying between the solids and the striped, he placed a half-folded map on the steering wheel.

Eye-balling the map and half-watching the road, he found his destination was still inches away.

Charlie considered the Rand McNally, then raised his awareness to the passing signs; watching for any indication of the I-35 exchange.

Finding the right highway and buzzing on caffeine and skittles, the afternoon passed over head; Charlie found a Ziggy Stardust playlist on some Iowa channel, and lyrics poured out at the top of his lungs.

Before long, the day began to disappear and shadows moved farther from the sun; pointed out like fingers, the shadows gave him direction, and Charlie had closed the gap to within an inch.

As dusk settled in, cows plodded alongside an old fence and all around, near and far, fields of corn along with giant rolls of hay, created a soothing set for sundown.

A few wind turbines slowly turned, others not at all, and in a few fields, oil rigs were churning for liquid gold.

Charlie felt satisfaction and smiled bright like the sun; he silently wondered if he would ever really go back.

He focused on following all of the signs, and paid close attention to the little white letters directing him to Minnesota, a giant, and a blue ox.

Headlights, cruise-control, mile-markers, beef jerky and popcorn, Charlie watched the sun slowly disappear beneath a dark-blue summer sky, a full moon taking its place.

Bold, bright, beautiful, and perfectly round, Charlie wondered if he should howl.  It seemed somehow fitting, maybe a little weird, but Charlie felt it necessary.

He tilted his head toward the driver-side window, clicked a corresponding button, and prepared to offer the giant-cratered-rock a proper invitation to stay.

Craning for position, Charlie secured the steering wheel.  He leaned and summoned the right tone, awaiting the perfect moment to ease his head outside the car.

Dropping his jaw, he began to let loose, a perfect pitch for howl, then, Splat!  Charlie’s plan was foiled by a massacre of nearly-simultaneous, gut-filled sprinkles to the face.

Coughing, choking, startled, shocked, and somewhat scared of driving off the road, Charlie swerved and gagged; he hacked and corrected the front two wheels back into his lane.

Midwest during summer, where humidity is king, and bugs are everywhere, Charlie immediately faced regret for his howling decision.

He thwipped a few more times, swished some blueberry blast, spit, and rolled up his window, then rolled his eyes at the man in the mirror.  Bad idea.

Charlie wiped his face and searched for a sign.

56 more miles to Bemidji, where an 18-foot-tall lumberjack waited, next to a 23-foot-long blue ox.

Some might question his reasons why, but Charlie was certain he’d made the right decision;

This was way better than work.

Charlie Pt.1