not a lot of room to move

"isn't it alright?" i asked. no response.

sitting in a diner near rockford, illinois. we'd driven for the last two days. the sun was bright, the fields stretching infinitely into the horizon were all emerald, spiked here and there with golden light and tall reeds. the sky pure blue. everything seems at the elemental level here: the coffee strong, the bread hearty, the eggs robust with protein and energy. i understand the term "heartland" now.

i'm going back to drop her off in california and that will be a very difficult scene, a very difficult week. i have two plans:

if things go well: i stay in los feliz and we sit down one evening at the coffee shop that has been heavily tagged up and discuss what the next step is. the next step will involve something life-changing, that is for sure. kids, a house, a life together. one of those.

if things go poorly: i will most likely sell the car somewhere in orange county. i'll take the amtrak to san francisco and within three days i will try to kill myself. if i succeed, fair enough. if i fail, i get to keep on living.

i figure this is about as simple as i can make it. what's the use of over-thinking it? like that poster at my old office said: "keep it simple, stupid".

eggs and toast in rockford. it's a beauty of a day out, summer is finally here. i'm surprised to realize that in all actuality, i am in a great mood. so what that we're driving west, on a schedule towards something huge. who cares that fate is firmly grasping us, pushing us blindfolded down corridors, unrelenting to our protests? we could pass out while driving and slam into a tree. we could find a hundred thousand dollars in a suitcase by the roadside. these possibilities don't bother or excite me in the least.

i'm going to just sit and enjoy the day, i tell myself. look at the sun streaming into this place, think of all the frozen winter mornings and long summer afternoons this place has seen. will it still be here in fifty years, i wonder.

one year in new york city i was in charge of approving user-submitted photos for a social networking website. i became familiar with certain users that frequently uploaded their own images. there was the religious fanatic in texas, fifteen and quietly pretty, her images always had a bible verse typed over them. lots of pictures of her cat. there was the solemn looking boy who took photos of his backyard, dappled in sun, his exhausted mother standing by an elm waving. there was the gorgeous teenager from a prairie town with a bored expression, imploring other site users to text her.

these people, us, we're all getting pushed down those hallways. the girl in texas, where will she be the day that cat is old and passes away. will she be the same inside? will she have changed her lifestyle? who will she call when that day comes, the day a chapter of her childhood closes? the boy will grow up and one day a passing scent will take him to that backyard. how far away from it will he be? when the pretty girl moves out of her sleepy town to the big city and discovers her capabilities, will she use them for good?

everyone is off on their own drives, across the country, down the street, around the corner. we could all pass out. we could all find our money. i'm just going to soak it up.

"yeah, it's alright," she replies finally.