Thank goodness--or actually, thank Will Price--for giving us one of the cell transmitters. Otherwise I'd be screwed when wanting to communicate with anyone from here on out.
Haven is behind me. There are still a few people there who will follow later, but we're now halfway to our new place. It's weird, being taken from there like this. I know it's necessary. Just feels strange to be in the middle of so many little things, much as I've always been, and then to just walk away. I did manage to say a final few goodbyes. I saw Will and Becky at the gates, my siblings last night. I'm sure there are others I forgot about in the crunch to get ready. I'm sorry for that.
I found myself in our trusty old camper while Jess and K drove us away from Frankfort and into the unknown. The truck and trailer that carried a small group of us around the country in an effort to garner some kind of community spirit is the vessel transporting me into a new life. It's bizarre and sad and I can't say it doesn't hurt. It does. It's a little like someone dying, if I'm being honest about it. That sense of utter disbelief, like you're going to wake up and discover the impossible situation you're in was all just a fevered nightmare.
Two hours into our trip this morning we had to kill a small band of zombies. So yeah, it's all too real.
I say 'we' did that, but I just sat here and listened as Jess and K did all the work. My dogs helped a little. They've certainly got enough practice at it. It was just me, the ferrets, and my cats all huddled up in this hot little trailer together, waiting for the fight to be over. K and my wife both wore their armor. The outcome of the battle was never in question, at least not for me. But it did leave me time to think and dwell on this change.
A thousand little threads were left dangling. I didn't get a chance to speak to Beckley again before I left. I know he's taking up my mantle a little bit, trying to keep some form of the blog going. He'll be posting on here more often, a new and different voice from Haven. I know intellectually that I'll be able to talk to people regularly, that the only real difference is not being able to see them at will.
But as we bump and roll down the road and I write this, waiting for a chance to stop to crank up the transmitter to post it, I can't help worrying at all those hanging threads. So many people I know or love are out of my easy reach now. The bits and pieces, the daily goings-on, the struggles and the victories, all beyond me. I feel torn away from my life.
Yeah, I'm being a whiny asshole about it. My prerogative.
I can see the horizon, though. Behind the sharp sadness and regret is a sense of wonder I've long missed. A hope for the future that doesn't involve me being a minor celebrity where I live. A mysterious new journey ahead where anything at all is possible, freed from the binding past.
I'm not there yet, but I can see the path forward.