The Long Path (part 5)

  The truckstop was big. The way you would think of your omnipresent deity or god's testicles as big. Mammoth. Epic. Titanic. It had everything you would ever want or need of you were a truck driver. Besides the twenty four hour diner, there was a trucker's shop, that sold everything from vibrating massaging seat cushions, diamond plate chromed bumpers, running lights in all colors, and eveything you could think of that a truck driver can use to modify his vehicle inside and out. There was a clothing store, everything from leather jackets, shirts, suits ,hats, under garments, just everything. There was a small but well equiped grocery store. There was a recreation room, upstairs ! It had everything and anything. The only thing it didn't have was someone willing to give me a lift.
  I made my way into the diner and tried talking to a few drivers who might give me a ride, but to no avail. Finding a seat, I simply ordered some coffee. Just so I couldn't be asked to leave as a paying customer, and that I simply needed the caffiene. I hadn't done a whole lot of sleeping in the past few days, and although I was young and had stayed awake before at days at a time, I had not on such occasions, walked across a state while being up at days at a time. My feet were still sore and raw from the excursion across the state, and finding a ride out was my only option left for me.
I asked as many, if not all drivers that had walked by my table, but no one was giving up rides. There were a few I didn't bother asking, some people just don't have that air of trust around them. Sometimes its the way they talk, or how their eyes shift about while the talk, like they're having a conversation, but something devious is being plotted on the side.
  My bigest mistake might have been sitting in the diner to begin with. I remember the seat cushions being the softest cushion my ass ever had the notion to grace, which kind of made sense to me in a weird way, that you would have to make some really great diner cushions, if you wanted to atract and keep people who's profession in life is mainly sitting down all the time.
  As my eyelids grew heavy, I did my best to stay awake. When no one was around to ask for a ride, I would write in my journel, or repack my bag, partly to make the bag more balanced so if and when I did have to walk, it would be good to go, partly to make a show to the other patrons in the place that I obviously didn't arrive in my own vehicle, and may possibly be looking to depart with someone else. When I finally started to hit that wall of exhaustion, my mind would wonder back to Raven. Would I ever see her again? Would she go all the way home, just to escape again? Would I be able to find her? Lost in thought, I didn't even hardly notice the waitress standing next to me. She plopped down a huge platter of scrambled eggs, french toast, waffles, grits, hashbrowns, english muffins. It was a smorgasbord for sure. As she moved to turn away, I quickly halt her progress, stating that I hadn't ordered any food, she must have the wrong table. She reassured me that she didn't have the wrong table. She said I wasn't the first to have come through this place with " a bag full of dreams and a heart full of ache". I'll never forget that. Or her for that matter. I wonder if she is still there, probably not though. I remember her nametag read " 'Flo", and she had the purest red hair I had ever seen. Her eyes were more grey than blue, so the contrast was quite lovely to look at. She came back after I had done my best at trying to consume such a wonderful free meal, with a small serving styrofoam container and a refill on my coffee. The container she put on the table, with the instructions written on top in marker that simple just read " For Later", gave me a wink and a nod, and disappeared down the aisle to refill other customers.
  Curiosty became the better of me, and I popped open the styrofoam container. Bluberry pie, a nice big piece of it. I went to push the lid back down when I noticed something else in there as well, just peeking out from under the crust. A twenty dollar bill. That's when something just kind of shifted. The sheer fact that this waitress had taken pity on me, a nobody, a stranger who she would never see again, the fact that the girl I had so quickly fallen for I would most likely never see again, the fact no one was going to give me a ride. Everything. It brought the water works. I did my best to get to the restroom before unleashing a flood of emotions. I sobbed. I cried. I died just a little bit inside. After retaining my composure, I scooped up my things and walked up to the cash register where Flo was helping a customer and grabbed one of the bins on the table beside it and started bussing the tables in the diner for her. I looked up to see her staring at me, sort of slackjawed state of shock, which was quickly replaced with a huge smile and a nod, then she was back dealing with her customer. After the tables, I took out the trash, after the trash, I mopped the floor. After that she told me I had done enough work for twenty dollars. She could tell I was ready to pass out, and that if I wanted to I could go upstairs to the recreation room and have a nap, even better, she would wake me when her friend, a truck driver she had known for years, who was on schedule to show up, arrived and would assure me that he could give me a ride eastbound if I was interested. I thanked her greatly, and headed upstairs to pass out.
  I awoke maybe about four hours later, with a rather large burly security guard standing over me, with a rather unhappy dispostion about him. He kept poking me with his nightstick. Trying to wake me up. I came to and told him the events that had transpired, with Flo giving me the go ahead to sleep up here in the rec room. He didn't care. I had to be removed from the premises. Half awake, I gathered my belongings and the guard lead me downstars and out through the diner. Flo, gave a few "colorful" words of insight to the guard on how he was acting, but rules are rules. She told me if I waited just outside the rim of the property line, she would do her best to make sure that her truck driver friend knew where I was, and would come send for me apon his arrival.
  Outside the property line, I had no where else to sit but underneath the overpass.I sat there for as long as I could, trying to see if any driver coming out of the back gates were lookig for anyone to give a ride to. A couple of hours passed and pretty soon, I was nodding out, still needing sleep. I finally came to, with a State Trooper standing over me. Great, just great, was all I could think of. He got me up and made me stick my hand on the hood of the car, then asked if I had any weapons or sharp objects on me, as he said he was going to search me. I complied and told him I had a fold out pocket knife in my front pocket. He fished it out and asked what I used it for, I told him eating and for wood carving. He stated that this would make a deadly weapon in the right hands, and I rebutted that I had never really thought about it like that, because I knew nothing on how to fight with it. He walked around his cruiser and stepped into the drivers seat, got on the radio, talking, eyes ever watching me. He was doing something with his had and the knife like laying the blade flatwise across his hand. He got out and told me I had to be arrested. I pleaded with him, that I didn't know what the knife size had to be for it to be worn in a sheathe. He could take the knife and throw it away, I just wanted to be on my way. But like before, rules are rules, and off to Moundsville jail I went.
  Moundsville is about twelve miles south of Wheeling, in West Virginia, so not only was I going to jail, it meant I had to go through that damn tunnel again. So off I went. They took my belongings, made me change my clothes for a set of orange jail prisoners outfit. Led me down into a teir, which is really just a big room, with smaller cells along its perimeter. The main room is set up for eating meals, and watching television. I was pretty mad about the whole ordeal.
  Thirty days. A month. Thats how long I spent in jail before going to court. Now, I haven't been to a lot of jails, but most of the ones I have been to were places people would do almost anything to stay out of. Moundsville jail is not one of those jails, and this is why. Everyone got their own cell. You didnt have to share your room with anyone. The floors were carpeted. If you didn't want to leave your room, you didnt have to, in fact there were intercoms in all the rooms, you wanted some security or some privacy for whatever, maybe wanted some "alone time, to rub one out and punish the bishop" well you would just push a button and the guards would open and close your door for you. They had a library book cart that came by everyday, not that you would want to read, because it was more enjoyable to watch HBO or Cinemax on the televisions around the main room. They were serving better food than I was having to beg for in the streets, pizza, ice cream, huge slices of meatloaf. Whatever. The kicker to all this was everyone got free tins of rolling tobacco twice a month. Still with me? The story that I heard that makes the most sense was tax money went to purchasing cheap tobacco to supply inmates with so they wouldn't have a reason to get upset, worked pretty good too. I was living better in jail, than on the street. The only thing I couldn't do was walk thirty feet without having to make a right turn. They even had a prison/workers realease program , well they did have one for this one guy. He had a private contractors business, and if he was in jail, then his employee's would lose work, so they aloud him to leave the jail, at about seven in the mourning, and he had to return by six in the evening. He was told not to drink or get high on drugs, and that he was subject to random drug screenings, but, cmon? Allowed to leave jail to go to work? I hope you understand how absurd this concept is to me.
  Anyway, after thirty days, I get to go to court. So there I am, unsure really of how this whole process goes. The arresting officer is there, and I have a court appointed attourney. The Judge, an older lady, is busy doing something that I can't really make out. Frowning, moving stuff about, scrutinizing, frowning. I'm thinking she is doing a lot of frowning before even my case has started. So finally she looks up and asks me to aproach the bench, then looks at the arresting officer to approach the bench. She looks at me, and then goes on to tell me that I have just spent the last thirty days in jail for no reason. Perplexed, she continues to explain that a knife has to be six inches in length for it to be a concealed weapon, my knife however, measures 5 inches and seven eigths. She takes this time to give the arresting officer a tongue lashing most extreme. Showers me with apologies. Tells me I can sue the officer, the city, the state if I so choose. I tell her I don't even live in this state, that I just want to get my things, and get back on the road. So they don't even take me back to jail to get my things, they buy me lunch and put me in a room, and bring my things to me, she has the arresting officer bring them to me. Well, let me tell you, I was quite booming, grinning ear to ear, as it were. I had no intent of trying to sue the state, I was just relishing in the mistake of this officer and that it was brought to light.
  So, there I am, waiting to leave, newly re-acquainted with my personal property. A woman enters and tells me the Judge wants to know what job I had before coming to their fine state. The last job I had was in Virginia, as a chimney sweep. She disappears. A few hours go buy and the Judge shows up, leads me out, explaing that this envolope is for me with an apology from the state. Its a check, payed for missing eight hours a day for 22 days. Time missed if I had been working. So going to jail made me miss being able to hunt down my new friends, maybe hunt down some information on finding my girl. But, gave me time to heal my feet, in a nice place, so to speak, and then payed me for it. Go figure.
  Off I went to walk all the way back to Wheeling. I had quite the hassle of convincing a bank teller that the check was real, but they wanted to double, triple check. I didn't help that I didnt have a bank acount with the one branch in the city, but after a time I got it cashed. I went and rented a room out, bought new clothes, well new to me. I bought everything I could think of needing out of the Army Surplus store. New boots, with better padding, a medical supply box, for my bag, tins of food, Higher priced cigarettes, a new knife, that I made the gentleman in the gun and knife store to file down to five inches and seven eights, even after buying an outside sheath for it.I went through that money pretty quickly, pretty recklessly. I did however, go to the grey hound bus station and bought a greyhound yearly pass with it, which set me back even more, but was worth the investment. Its basiclly a pass to get on any bus in the country, as long as their is ample room, and go everywhere and anywhere for the set fee of the card. When I was ready, I decided to go to Pittsburge, just to see if maybe, hopefully, I could find a lead on Raven.
  The bus ride felt like a stones throw away compared to the other places I had traveled to so far. I arrived in the city in the dead of night, and just like visiting Dayton for the first time, I could feel like the city was trying to swallow me up. I walked around a bit, trying to get my bearings, and at daybreak, went of to try and find someone that could point me in the direction of where other homeless people, kids or other wise, tended to congregate at.
  Eventually after much searching and asking, I was given a pretty good idea of where I had to go.