Some roads are long and winding. Some are short and hilly. Some lead to paradises on mountain tops and others lead to sewage treatment plants in rusted valleys. Every road in life, I've learned, will never fail you, and if you look hard enough, while traveling, you will always find solace along the way.
It was on this road, this long and winding road, not yet a week ago, that I got stopped by a police man who had a kind face and soft eyes. I was walking from State College to Bellefonte, a 10-mile trek that I endeavor to accomplish every-other-weekend or so. Ten miles there, ten miles back. I usually run, but on this particular occasion, my curiosity for picture-taking had gotten the best of me and I knew that my camera needed to travel along. I can't run with a five-pound, awkwardly weighted contraption slung over my shoulder, so my only choice was to walk. If you've ever run some place with a destination in mind, you know that getting there is a joyous reward. So as I plodded along slowly, all I could think about was running to get to my destination faster. And I was lonely--boy, was I ever lonely. Walking ten miles solo in the middle of nowhere takes a toll on the mind and I was praying that someone...anyone...would stop in their car and ask me if I needed anything. A weary traveler I was, indeed. I just wanted someone to halt their busy day to care about an out of place wanderer.
About six miles from State College, and four miles from Bellefonte, I was on the stretch of road that would make my mother shudder and turn away as each car zoomed by. This long, forgotten stretch of road is bordered by fields and the State Correctional Institute--the one that once housed the electric chair and now boasts a lethal-injection-wing. The shoulder of the road is a mere half-foot wide and tall weeds grow along the side so that if I had to jump off of the asphalt, I may get sucked right into the dry, brown thistle plants and never come back out.
It was in this valley--between thistle giants and roguely passing tractor trailers-- that I saw the squad-car approach. My head my spinning from the hot sun. Was someone coming to rescue me from my mind and my solitude? As I continued walking, he exited the car and paced toward me from the opposite direction, young, kind. His face looked concerned. I glanced down and pulled my shirt up to cover what cleavage may have been showing. He put his hands on his hips. When we were face to face he looked at me closely.
"Hey, are you okay?" he said, gazing intently at my eyes for drug-use, tears, or some other apparent malady.
"I'm...I'm okay.." I manage to stutter out a few phrases, my brain-washed-fear of The Law now clearly evident.
"Okay, because I saw you walking in town a few miles back and now you're all the way out here and someone radioed in to say there was a girl bawling her eyes out back there and she was movin' pretty quick..if someone's hurting you back in town, you can tell me and I can help you out. If you're trying to escape..."
I explained to him that I was sweating pretty hard and wiping it out of my eyes, which would have caused a passerby to assume the crying. I remembered my backpack, and how at first glance, I could pass for a runaway. I told him I was simply trying to get to Bellefonte to take some pictures and visit the farmer's market...that I wasn't being abused and I wasn't a hoodlum running far away.
He looked skeptical, probably because of the uncertainty in my (annoyingly) wavering voice that I couldn't avoid (was I really talking to this policeman who didn't want to put a mark on my permanent record?)Though hesitant, he said okay, he believed me, and wished me luck on the remainder of my journey.
"Oh, and please be safe."
I kept walking and smiled to myself. I wasn't alone. The policeman was this road's promise.
When I got to Bellefonte, some sweet strangers took the time to talk to me, the weary traveler...a bison-meat-seller at the farmer's market, a woman who approached me as I sat on the steps of the courthouse, an old man who gazed with me at the fire remains of a newly burned-down hotel, and a woman with a puppy in an antique store housed in Bellefonte's old theatre.
On my way back to school, a middle-aged black man dressed in a suit in a really nice car pulled to the side and said he saw me on his way to work a few hours ago, and now here I was. Hi, I'm Scott. Did I need bus money? No. Was I hurt? No. Am I really doing this just for fun? Yes, I really am. I thanked the friendly man and continued on my way, smiling to myself yet again because my faith in humanity that day had been restored.
To the kind policeman, to the strangers, and to Scott, thank you for being my help along the way.
To those of you who didn't stop to chat, to care, to ask, to give hope...may you be moved by the promise of the path that you're on.
Only my beloved sister.
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