Lost between Two Lifetimes
Navigating a gulf of uncertainty.
I’m miles removed from the main roads now, on this deepening journey down rural lanes, this well-worn path of remembrance, though empty for its loss. The loss of those who no more travel these winding byways at my side. Childhood memories come flooding back. The laughter and endless hours of exploring the wide-open countryside, a treasured escape from the prison-like schools and cramped neighborhoods back home; my first taste of true freedom.
Slowing at sight of the looked-for landmark ahead, I cross the old creek-bridge next to the Mom and Pop Country Shop. Two ancient fuel pumps still stand sentinel. Models so old they have spinning, analog dials, with the price that Pop has to set by hand. But Pop’s hands are now as crooked as the ancient hay sheds dotting the landscape, leaning at sharp angles on their last legs, and the price lags accordingly.
A short distance past the store, I dip into the mile-long gravel drive, tire tracks worn bare to hard-packed dirt, and slip viscerally into the past. A slow-moving melancholy washes over me now, tears brimming just beneath the surface, as this rutted drive becomes a narrow causeway between two…
