Tangerine Dream Part III: Man with Non-Descript Accent

Initially, his rush to take a sabbatical was the result of a dare. He had talked the talk. Now he had to walk the walk if he was to be taken seriously by the young and beautiful exotic dancer who had recently moved into his building and had immediately stolen his heart. He had no choice. He must go find himself before his infatuation got out of hand. He needed fresh air, space, darkness, a chance to get a decent night’s sleep.

So many times he toyed with the idea of turning back. Not taking the chance. Returning home and coasting as he had coasted for so long. A lifetime of experiences had taught him this too will pass, but he had not wanted this to pass. Something in him that had been dormant had awoken and tirelessly stirred his restless heart. He needed to know if what he was feeling was indeed real before he threw all caution to the wind.

At each bus change, he had thought how much easier it would be to just take the next bus back home and forget this ridiculousness once and for all. But at each opportunity, somehow, he had resisted returning to his cozy apartment in the city and had continued to travel the 28 hours it was going to take for him to reach his chance at convalescence. He was going to walk the walk…even if that meant walking the last 100 miles to his destination: a small cabin snuggled alongside The Blue Ridge Parkway.

He sat on the park bench with his quickly gathered belongings outside of the bus station, which had closed shortly after his Greyhound had arrived. He had thought this was definitely a sign he had left the city and the 24/7 transit he depended on and knew so well. He looked at the street in front of him and noticed how there were so few people around. This downtown looked nothing like the one he had left. On his city street, there were always noises. He flipped open his cell phone to check the time. She had told him she would come and pick him up. That she would not have him hitch-hiking up and down and all around country roads where one often meets himself in the next curve, where there are no guard rails or places to go except down the sides of mountains into unfamiliar ravine. While he was ready to finally reach his destination and rest, he was unsure about what to expect regarding his host. He had only met her a few months ago over the internet. They had talked a few times on the telephone, but this would be the first meeting face to face. In order to visit, he had provided her with his curriculum vitae and as much information as possible for she had told him how her clan were quite suspicious of strangers and especially those from some city faraway. He had asked her if she was afraid. “I know I should be, but for some reason, I am not,” had been her answer.

Finally, the plans were set and here he sat: waiting, thinking about his loving wife, the exotic dancer and the woman without a face.