The Long Path (part 4)

  I arrived at the punk music festival, feeling very much alone even though I was surrounded by crowds. I had that awkward weight in my gut, the kind of feeling you might get if you were the new kid in a new school and your teacher decided to have you stand in front of the class so you could explain yourself to complete strangers.
  The festival, if you could call it that, was a hodgepodge of camps, vehicles, and a concrete building that was serving as an auditorium, for the various bands that had come to play. The outside of the building had at one time been painted an institutional lime green, though cracked and faded from years of neglect. Weeds and tall grasses growing around all sides, with patches of dead dry piles of leaves that had not been blown away or rotten from the previous years fall. The interior was in not much better shape. Arriving late to the event, I coulnd't be sure if the puddles of luquid on the floor was from the sagging roof or from the current rooms occupants. Years of history through graffiti was written on the walls. Birthdays, a Halloween party, a donkey show,
music events, neo nazi gatherings, and bike club meetings had all been a part of this buildings history, only evident by someones attempt at making their mark in a drunken stupor with a spray paint can.
  A stage had been erected along the far wall. Some garage punk band belted out unrecognizable lyrics, deafening guitar riffs, and ear splitting drums in the attempt to get the inebriated youths of the crowd riled up into a frenzy, which didn't take long. Soon the center of the crowd had turned into a mosh pit, where those bold enough to enter were either strong enough to withstand the brutal dance or were knocked back to the perimeter, licking their wounds, but vying for another attempt, another attack.
It was hard to understand, from an outsiders perspective, if those going into the mosh pit were simply doing it for the thrill of it, an attempt to mimic the madness of the music, or had something else to prove. Both men and women did their best attempt to release as much of their own energy back onto the crowd as soon as possible, most of the songs were fast, almost too fast for me, usually no longer than three minutes. Girls with shaved heads, boys with liberty spiked mohawks, lip rings and eyebrows peirced with safety pins still wedged in the flesh, dirty sweat stained tank tops, combat boots, and tattoos swirling about in tune with the music, obscenities, sounds of delight and anguish, all rolled into one. To say the least it was a cultural bitchslap to the face. I did not join in, merely watched from a distance like a zoologist watching a Bengel tiger. Perplexed in it's beauty, yet staying far enough away for fear of the attack.
  I ventured outside, looking for easier game to make friends with. I was tired of feeling like an outsider among outsiders. Camps had been placed with no discernable order about the field. Most of them had fires blazing in the center of them with groups huddled about, laughing, talking, and drinking. I ventured about walking close, but not too close between the camps, only lingering long enough near them to realise that no one was going to attempt communication. I most discernibly stood out among the throngs. Most if not all had made their personal mark of individual identity apon themsleves. Flight jackets, hooded sweatshirts, and leather jackets were adorned with all manner of spiked studs, cloth patches of favored punk bands, safety pins, band buttons, even beer bottle caps and the metal tips of disposable lighters were bent or adhered to sleeve cuffs or collars. B.D.U. fatigues seemed to be the staple choice, but there were girls in skirts with colorful stripped pantyhose, men in kilts, and very few in denim jeans. All kinds of backpacks, side bags, and sleeping bags were strewn about each camp, away from the fire, but close enough to keep an eye on.
  As I was nearing the edge of the field and pondering if I should make another attempt to turn around and walk through the crowds again while trying to not look desperate, or if I should just sit alone by myself somewhere, I was jolted out of deep thought from the sounds of shouting coming from behind me. As I whirled about and apon seeing a man running towards me, I balled up my fists not knowing what to expect. He must have sensed my tension, and stopped a good eight feet from my arms reach. Hands brought up in a peaceful gesture, all he wanted to know is if I had a church key.
  After complying that I did have a bottle opener, I ventered back with him to his camp, where introductions where made. The man who had ran up to me introduced himself as "Otter", as well as his companions, a pretty girl named Raven and a stocky fellow named Pug. Nicknames. Streetnames. Aliases. I had merely introduced myself as Aaron, not yet feeling the need to conceal my identity for whatever reason just yet. As it turns out, the streetnames served a better purpose than using your birthname. For one, the more complexe or absurd the name, the better someone could pinpoint the person. If you were meeting new people for the first time, and you were discussing a place of interest, you could discuss people you had met, trading streetnames in order to narrow down if both parties new the same people. It would be much harder to do this if you both knew someone in Seattle with the generic name of "Bob" as opposed to both knowing someone with the name "Boyscout". Most streetkids did it for the obvious, to make it harder for the authorites to track you down if you were a runaway, or if your birth name was associated with a crime, but the easiest reason was on the street, you were a different person, and as such, needed a different name.
  After handing off my bottle opener, or churchkey, so everyone could open thier Red Stripe beers, I was about to move on when my churchkey was returned, along with a cold bottle of Red Stripe. Immediately, I made the mistake of trying to hand it back, stating that I didn't have the money to pay for it, and was meet with stares of confusion from those around the fire, then smirks, followed by laughter.
  After calming down, somewhat, Otter explained to me that if he didn't want me to have one, he wouldn't have gave me one. Beer, he explained, was one of those things in life that should, no, that needed to be shared when one was in the company of friends and companions, plus if he didn't give me a beer to stay and drink with him, I might wander of with the most important thing in the whole camp, the bottle opener.
A little more relaxed, at bit more at ease, I opened up to them, with their questions. How long had I been on the street? Where was I going? If i had even been to such and such a place, and so on. As the day grew to a close and night fell apon us, more timber was added to the fire. They, in turn, regaled me with tales and yarns of their own. Otter was in the country illegally, crossing into the country with no passport from Canada. Explaining how the name Otter came from telling everyone he was from Ottowa, and eventually someone starting calling him "Otter" and the name stuck. Raven's name wasn't hard to figure out from her jet black hair and pale alabaster skin. She had grown tired of life in Kansas, she came from a family where her mother was a drug addict and her step-father had a fetish for younger females, so to speak. And Pug, whose name made perfect sense, with his flat square face and stocky frame, was from Nevada. He had been given up for adoption at a young age, and after being through several foster parents that wanted thier government checks more than they wanted him in their famliy, had decided living on the streets sounded like a better idea. As the night grew colder, and more wood was added to the fire, Otter disappeared for a few minutes into the darkness and had returned with a burlap bag and a roll of tin foil. They asked if I was hungry. Sure. Always. The wrapped potatoes in the tin foil and placed them in the hot coals of the fire. From the bag he produced an old well used cooking pot, placed it atop some bricks that were among the branches in the fire, and poured some beef stew from a large tin can that had no label with just the words "beef stew" written on the sides in magic marker.
  After eating, I made a drunken attempt to making it to the treeline off to the side of the field to relieve my bladder from all the alcohol, but before i could make it there, Raven was calling for me to wait up for her, she said she had the similar notion, and if I wouldn't mind standing watch for her, just in case anyone was wandering the woods.
After completing my goal, I stood with my backed turned so she could do what she needed to do. A feeling of awkwardness came about as she felt the need to instigate conversation as she squated and peed into the bushes. Did I have a girlfriend? "No." I replied, I didn't have anybody. "Oh, did I like girls, or did I prefer guys?" An honest question I guess, but did I have that air about me, or was she just fishing for an answer? Eventually, she confirmed that she was done, and as I turned to help her out of the dark woods, I was met with her tongue in my mouth. I must say I was pretty startled, with that quick pump of adrenaline trying to jump out of my throat. I was confused and aroused all at the same time. The inadequate fumblings of one, though not virginal, but had never been in such contact, either didn't bother her because she knew what to expect, or the alcohol had numbed the senses. I kissed her more deeply, and throwing caution to the wind, explored her body with my hands and finger tips. Before I knew it, she had my pants down, then forced me apon the ground, then her apon me. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. Her pale skin in the moonlight. It was absurd at the same time. The two of us in a moment of compassion as the camps behind us roared with laughter and yelling. The pounding din of music still being played into the late hours of the night from the auditorium. Someone screaming in the distance, inaudible. You could even here the dink, dink, dink as beer bottle met together before the following "Cheers!" was sounded.
  Afterwards, we just layed there together. For how long I don't know. I was still kind of wonderstruck over the whole ordeal. Then, Raven said we should probably get back to the others, Pug and Otter. Surely they had known what had happened to us, but we shouldn't let their wonder turn to worry. We walked back to camp walking next to each other, but soon her hand had found mine. When we got back, we were met with a huge shit eating grin from Otter, as Pug had passed out. We stayed up and for awhile longer. I remember Otter trying to pry the intimate details out of us, but neither of us were talking. Eventually we all decided to bed down for the night. Raven, shared her sleeping bag with me, and we spooned each other inside the bag, drifting off to sleep.
  The next two days we were pretty inseperatable. We still hung out with Otter, who was just having a great time on his own. I could sense some feelings of jealousy from Pug, he never said it, but his eye's told a different story. We would break up our days by listening to music, talking with other travelers, and just talking and drinking amongst ourselves. When time permitted, when we were alone, I would build up the courage to kiss Raven. I was in love. I inquired as subtle as I could if she felt the same for me, and my heart boomed with her reply of yes.
  Soon the festival would be over. I was asked by some girl with huge bleach blonde dreadlocks in her hair that was roving around on the last day between camps if anyone wanted to stay and help out, cleaning up the field of empty cans and other debris. She said she was trying to get the deposit back for using the place, and that if anyone stayed to help out, she would split the money up with who ever helped. Raven thought it would be a good idea, so I agreed. Otter and Pug were going on to Pittsburgh to meet up with friends. Raven knew where to meet them in the city, said she would bring me along, if I was willing. Agreeing that we would meet up as soon as possible, they left, and we stayed to clean.
  After getting twenty-five dollars apiece for helping to clean up the field, we walked back to civilization which was a gas station about seven miles up the road. We pooled our money together an bought a carton of cheap cigarettes, bottles of water, cans of food, some lighters, and a bottle of whisky. She asked me if we should hitchike a more direct route, or jump a train instead. A train, I asked? The look in her eye's was enough to make me realize I should have kept my mouth shut. She explained the concept of jumping a train.In most train yards the conductors dont care if you hitch a ride on the train, as long as you dont vadalize or do something dangerous, or just stupid. Stupid would be like, trying to walk over the tops of the train cars while the locomotive is barreling along, or throwing stuff at parked cars at a train crossing. Most of the time you had to try to stay out of site, because some train yards had security units who's job is was to make sure no one hitched a ride.
  We opted for the train. As we made our way into the trainyard,she asked a conducter what trains were heading where and found a CSX train that was going through Pittsburge, then eastbound from there. We did our best to walk along the side of the tracks,where bushes and trees were growing, hopefully obscuring ourselves from any security units about. She explained that we would have to probably wait until the train started in moving before we could safely try to jump aboard. Trains move only at a few miles an hour when they start to go, you might have to jog a bit to keep up, but she said it would be pretty easy.
  Walking along for a time, hiding when security pick up trucks drove past, we were shocked to walk apon a group of other streetkids huddled in a group, obviouslly with the same notion as us. As it turns out, they had been camping there for awhile, waiting to find the first train headed eastbound. We introduced ourselves, and decided to all jump together.
  It wasn't until nightfall that the train finally got underway. I had drifted off to sleep at some point during the day and was jolted awake by Raven, with hushed urgent whispers that it was time to go. The creaking metal on metal sound as the train started lurching forward brought me to full attention. We jogged along the side of the train, past more than one car, which had me confused. Finally, she had found the one she wanted, and hauled herself aboard, with me to follow, and we were on our way. I had to ask why this particular traincar, and not the other five we had ran past. This car was a "grainer" and on both the sides , or the front and back as it were,  the metal frame had been reinforced with steel plates, and it made a sort of cubby-hole. This was important, she explained, when traveling on a train like this, for one, it helped hide you out of sight, and two, helped break against the cold wind.
  As we rumbled on into the cold night, we tried to make ourselves as confortable as possible. Sleeping back out, used as a blanket for the both of us, we smoked cheap cigarettes and drank even cheaper whisky. We talked, a little. It was hard to talk, with the thunderous sounds the train made, and the whipping of the wind, you would almost have to yell and read lips just to understand one another. It just made more sense to snuggle against the night chill, and wait for or destination to arrive.
  I awoke by banging the back of my head on the metal frame of the grainer. We had both fallen asleep. The train was slowing, and I was trying to wake up Raven to let her know. After she woke up, she looked at a watch she had in her bag, the kind that goes on your arm, but the straps had broken off of it. She said we shouldn't be slowing down yet. Something was wrong, we hadn't traveled as far as we should have. We rolled up the sleeping bag, repacked it, and tried to find a good spot to junp off the train at. You just couldn't see the ground. What you could see were tree's going past. Too fast to let you know that hitting the ground at this speed was going to hurt. I leaned out over the side to try and see ahead of the train, and found out the reason we were slowing. Police cruiser's ahead of us, with their roof lights spinning about in stark contrast to the moonless night, were just ahead of us. Raven had seen them too. The plan was, as soon as the train slowed down enought to escape, we would both run off into the woods, if we got seperated, we would wait until day break, make our way back to the tracks, and hopefully find each other then. Finally we both thought the train had slowed down enough, we jumped into the darkness, only to be caught by State Troopers. They were lined up and down both sides of the tracks, waiting in the darkness, ahead of where the police cruisers were. Without questions, we were thrown in the back of a cruiser, and taken to the county jail.

  Two days. Two days of waiting. I didn't know what to expect. Was I going to court? Did I have a sentencing? What about Raven, was she okay? How did they know to stop the train? I had my own cell. They brought me food. No news, no information, nothing of use. At the beginning of the third day, a deputy came to my cell and said I was free to leave. They took me to another room, and gave me my backpack and after long, filed me out of the building. In the parking lot were a few other street kids huddled in a group discussing what to do. I hurried over to see if Raven was among them, but no sight of her. Eventually, most of the kids started to collect their belongings and started walking off down the road. One of them, a girl with a mohawk, came running back over to me and asked if I was waiting for anyone. I explained about Raven, that I was waiting for her. That's when she explained to me that she, as well as a bunch of other girls were all sharing the same room. That on the second day there, some of the deputies came and removed some of them to be extradited back to what ever state, where ever they were looking for them, and she was pretty sure that the girl I described was among those they took out of the room. She told me that someone had been seen on the train during a railroad crossing, and someone in the cars facing the train had called the police. But I didn't care about that. I had found someone that gave me meaning, only to lose it so quickly. I was pretty upset about it. I got up and walked along with the group, but kept to myself. I didn't even know where they would have taken her to. I didn't even know her real name. There was nothing I could do.
  Turns out I wasn't that far from the city of Dayton. I was too upset to want to go back to the city, So I walked north to Interstate 70, hoping to hitchhike east to Pittsburge. Maybe If I could get to the city, maybe after hunting down Otter or Pug, they might have some information about Raven. It was long shot at best, but what did I have to lose? I finally made it to I-70, and walked along the road to the on ramp, and waited. I must have waited for about 3 hours, until I decided I could walk and hitchhike at the same time. I knew it is considered illegal to hitchhike, as well as just walking along the highway, but I did it anyway.
  No one was picking me up. Was there some special trick to hitchhiking that I wasn't privy to? So I just kept walking. I can remember seeing Columbus on the horizon, as the sun was falling, city lights just begining to come on and twinkle. I remember seeing some of those lights click off on the horzon behind me at the dawn of a new day approached. I had walked past Columbus from Dayton, so how much farther could I go? Eventually, I quit sticking my thumb out. If they wanted to pick me up, I assumed, they would make an effort to do so. I had a lot of time to contemplate my situation. I walked. I rested. I walked some more. I didn't want to sleep. Anytime spent sleeping was time lost, and that would mean Otter or Pug might not be there when I did finally get there, so I needed to get there as soon as possible. There were times in the early morning, where I wouldn't see or hear any traffic. It has an unwelcome quality about it. Like you're the last man on Earth feeling to it. I walked forever. I walked till my feet, at first, started to ache and swell. I could feel them swelling, like my boots were shinking in size. Then they began to hurt, in the heel and along the tops of my toes, where I knew my feet were bleeding from rubbing against the insides of my boots. I stopped off the side of the highway, in the middle of nowhere, and washed my feet with some bottled water. I had some gauze in my bag, never really knowing what I would have used it for until now. I bandaged up my feet and tried to not wince about the pain. I put on a new pair of socks, a pair of thick cotton ones to try and help against the rubbing. I got up, and kept walking.
  About halfway through the third day, my walking had diminshed from marching with gusto, to just inching along. A car had pulled over in front of me, and it was all I could do to pick up some speed to get to the car so they wouldn't have to leave on account of me moving so slow. The car's driver, a girl in her early twenties, with a crop of short cut curly hair, drove off as soon as I had shut the door. I said thanks for picking me up. No reply. Maybe I should keep conversation to a minimum? As we drove along eventually she spoke. "Hey, man? you got any weed?  Nope, was all I could say. No follow up question. Weird. A few minutes laters, "Hey, man, you got any money for weed?" No, I didn't. No more questions, driving along. So she pulls over, into the emergency lane, so I go to exit the car, and she thrusts a crisp twenty dollar bill in my hand. I thank her, get out of the car, and start walking. I was assuming the money was like, a goodwill thing. I keep walking. Car pulls up behind me, I turn around and walk over to it, open the door and get inside, guess who it is, its curly haired girl. Weird, I think to myself, but okay, whatever. Off we go. No communication. A couple minutes later," hey, man, you got any weed?" Unsure, if I should have a different answer, than the previous conversation with curly haired girl, I simply reply that I don't. I wait. We drive along. "Hey , man, You got any money for weed?  Now this is were my perplexing curiosity gets the better of me. Surely she knows she just gave me twenty dollars, right? Well lets just see what happens. I say no, waitng to see what happens, expecting Candid Camera to show up, exposing my lies, on national television. Maybe it's some weird psychological experiment? We drove along in silence. She pulls over and stops, I go to get out of the car and she shoves another  twenty dollar bill in my hand. I start walking. I take the previous money out and add it to the new money just to make sure I just didn't fall into some weird time loop in the Twilight Zone.
  Now I'm thinking, maybe she's crazy, or I'm crazy. Do crazy people know that they're crazy? Do they care if the know? So, I keep walking. Guess who picks me up again four more times over the course of the next few hours. At this point I'm a hundred and twenty dollars wealthier. I've started walking backwards looking for this girls car, waiting for her to show up, with the same two questions, and another twenty dollar bill. She finally picks me up again. We drive along down the road. "Hey, man, you got any weed? I reply very quickly, NO!! Along we go, she pulls over and I open the door and look back at her with my hand out. She's rumaging through her purse, with her eye's all scrunched up, brow furrowed, with a confused look on her face. "Hey, man, I don't have any money for weed, either.." So I get out of the car, and start walking again. I never see her again. Maybe she was just that messed up in the head?
  I finally get off the highway, and go to an all night diner. I order some food, even though I'm getting dirty looks from the line cooks and the waitresses. I offer to pay up front, which seems to put them at ease. While I wait on the food to be made, I go into the bathroom and wash my feet in the clean toilet water. They have bleed through the gauze. I try and wrap toilet paper around my feet after cleaning them, then back on with the gauze, then my last pair of clean socks, then re-lace my boots to accomidate everything. I wince with each step, but make it back to my table, just in time to eat. It's the smallest breakfast I've ever seen in a diner. Looks like someone doesn't like me, even though I've offered to pay up front. Doesn't matter, I think to myself. Just needed a place to get away from curly haired girl, a place to rest my feet. I sip coffee until daybreak.
  Exiting the diner, I notice a K-mart across the street, so I make my way over. They're all ready open, so I buy some new heavyduty socks, ointment for my feet and some new gauze. I get followed around the store by some pencil neck with a name badge where it says "Assistant Manager" larger than his actual name. I wonder if he gets some strange pleasure trying to bust shoplifters, I don't give him the chance.
  Back on the road I walk. I keep walking. I walk fo so long. I cry a little bit when I can see the blue and gold "Welcome to West Virginia" sign in the distance. Still standing in Ohio, I come to a halt. There is a bridge I must cross, out before me, there are sidewalks built right onto the bridge, but that's not the issue. Ahead of the bridge, down the road are tunnels that go through a mountian. I'm standing in Bridgeport, Ohio, looking across Wheeling, West Virginia, and now I don't know how the hell I'm going to walk along through this damn tunnel. I'm dismayed in knowing that I won't be able to walk through with out getting caught, and if sensing this, a truck full of construction workers pulls off to the side and yells to me if I'm trying to get through the tunnel? They say I can ride in the back of the truckbed, if I lay down so no one can see me. I agree to their terms.
  What a weird sensation, laying on your back and being driven through a tunnel. All the sounds are amplifed, reverberating of the walls. Just as my eyes adjust to the darkness of the tunnel, I'm slapped in the face with rays of sunlight as we clear the other side. They hand be a beer through the back window and a joint. I partake. They drive for a good while, eventually pulling off the highway. I get out and thank them greatly. I remember the driver smiling, saying he too, traveled the country at one time. Wishes he could go back and do it all over again. They give me a fifty dollar bill and point me to a huge truckstop on the other side of the road. If I can't get a ride from someone at that place, he tells me, then I must not be trying to leave.
  There is a huge truckstop. I have never seen a truckstop so mammoth before. A big sign rotates from high up on a pole With a big "TA" logo. Underneath, it reads "Truckers of America". I reshoulder my backpack, finish my joint, and venture inside.