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- truth on the road -
23 May 2002 @ 07:35 am
He stayed up too late last night. I couldn't sleep, but I pretended to, my back to him while I stared out the ratty motel room drapes. The barbecue at dinner that he enjoyed was sitting in my stomach like a rock and I now think it'll be there for days. It makes me miss Good Health's cafe, especially its salmon wrap, and it's only been a few days since we left D.C.

I heard him tapping away at the computer while I missed him, wondering why he was over there and I was alone with my thoughts.

Then he slipped out the door and I wanted to join him, but didn't. I fell asleep to the grinding sound of the heater pumping dusty air through our cramped accomodations du jour.

This morning he's sleeping soundly, the bedsprings that are poking into his back an upgrade from a cement floor, the room's cheap wood paneling more comforting than a cinder-block cage. His back is so beautiful, even with yellowed bruises still healing from a few too many interrogational kicks.

I miss my bed, my linens, my favorite robe. I miss the look in his eyes when we'd sit on his couch after dinner and anticipate making love, wondering who would make the first move. I haven't seen him look at me like that in a long time. I miss it.

And it's far too early to be missing anything.
 
 
Current Location: Pueblo, Colorado
Current Mood: contemplative
 
 
- truth on the road -
22 May 2002 @ 11:31 pm
She's sleeping right now, so I thought I'd take a moment for a quick update.

I'm in a better mood now. Less pensive.

Tonight, over dinner, she said, "Stop thinking so much. For right now, think only about today. You can think about tomorrow, too, if you insist."

We stopped to eat outside some tiny town. I've already forgotten the name. The "restaurant" was an old gas station turned into a barbecue place. No air conditioning, a giant pile of wood out back for the smoker, a surly woman with too many tattoos pulling pork inside. It smelled like sweet smoke and pork fat. The counter woman handed us a flyswatter and told us we were free to murder as many flies as we wanted. It was all very exotic to a New England boy like me. I was starving and ate three sandwiches and a large sweet tea. Whoever first thought of putting coleslaw on barbecue was a genius, indeed.

As we walked back to the car it was growing dark in the woods. We could hear crickets chirping and much rustling in the trees. I felt like a thousand eyes were on us, all of them supernatural. A shiver ran up my spine.

For one moment, I wished we could get our flashlights out and go exploring in the woods.

Instead, we found a motel and watched a rerun of "Matlock."

Our lives have gone from the extraordinary to the mundane.
 
 
Current Location: rocky mountain high
 
 
- truth on the road -
22 May 2002 @ 09:41 am
Eyes  
When I look at her, I see too much. I see everything she's gone through since she linked her life with mine. It's a lot.

Her sister, her health, her freedom. Our son.

If you look up the world "loyalty" in the dictionary, there is a picture of Dana Scully beside it.

I want to give her everything: a home, stability, a fulfilling career, my love, a family, health, peace of mind.

I can't give her much.

So, I remain silent right now, watching the world pass us by through the grimy windshield.

The road is endless and we will be on it for a long time.
 
 
Current Location: New Mexico
 
 
- truth on the road -
21 May 2002 @ 07:51 am
He hasn't said a word since we got on the interstate.

Mulder and I could have written a textbook on nonverbal communication, but I feel a furious storm has torn the lines down. There's a turbulence sinking into my body, and I'm unsettled, shaken, and I feel alone next to him in a moment in which I want nothing more than to feel together.

I don't know where he's headed. I just know that I'm going there too.

He's changed, and I'm not sure what that means. I've changed, and I wonder if he knows.

We encroach upon a sunrise that I wasn't meant to share with him, a dusky pink breaking open the sky, desolation blurring past us, the engine roaring as we speed toward an endless horizon. Maybe rose is the color of freedom.
 
 
Current Location: New Mexico