Driving overnight isnít so bad after all. Of course, I say this at 10 am as Iíve already arrived at the Tampa Airport and am waiting for Brendanís plane to arrive. Weíll see if I really mind it later.

Tampa is a nice airport. Iíve never really spent more than ten minutes in it because I was already being picked up by family. This time, though, said family is in certain angry moods and not returning my calls, because Mom moved out already, even before Aubreyís graduation. I spoke to Aubrey last night, and she hates Mom at the moment, completely taking Dadís side and wanting to know which side I am on.

Iím not on anyoneís side. Dad is acting strange, itís hard to tell how he really feels, but I can tell heís angry at least. Canít go live at my parents, canít live with my mother. Dad and Aubrey arenít paying any attention to poor Owen. Iíve got to find him a good home as quickly as possible, the poor pup.

I had two real rest stops on the drive down. The first was around 5 am just before the Florida state line, twenty minutes or so. Rest areas are really packed at night, I never realized that. Folks passed out in their cars and awaiting more energy and the dawn light. The car next to me had Maine tags, that made me feel better, seeing other Yankees in the Deep South. Itís the second rest that got weird.

I pulled over like I usually do, turned off the car, stretched out, used my hand over my eyes to block the sun, lay my head on my window.

Then looked back up and made sure that all my doors were locked. You never can tell.

After about ten minutes, I feel somethingÖoff. I look up. Some strange old man is standing next to my window, ridiculously close to the glass, ready to tap. Really, if you want to get on my good side, donít tap on my car window at seven a.m. when Iím trying to catch a nap.

The guy has pure white hair aside from this greased-together off-white piece laying across the top of his bald head. His fingernails are badly in need of a trim. Heís wearing a light blue oxford shirt and a tag about the size and shape of a name tag, except his says ìSeptember 11, 2001: United We Stand.î It has a little American flag on it. His trousers cause me a double take, then a subtle triple take: I think heís wearing two pairs, I can see the others above the waistline of the lighter khaki colored ones.

Of course, I notice all of this while heís talking to me.

ìNew Hampshire?î he says, pointing to my front license plate.

I blink. ìYeah.î Okay, Iíll give him the benefit of the doubt.

ìYou going to Disney?î

ìUh, no. Key West.î

ìIím headed there too,î he says. Somehow, I think no matter where I was heading, he was ìheaded there too.î

ìThatís nice,î I say. Mind you, my window is closed.

ìYou and your boyfriend could go up to Vermont, get a civil union up there.î

What?! Oh great, not only has he assumed that I am gay because of my short hair, but he has now assumed I am a gay male. Strike two. The fingernails and hair were strike one. I just look at him.

He keeps going. ìI still have my cherry,î he says. ìNo diseases. Seventy years old.î The number of thoughts and feelings that flew through my head at that point were numerous: disgust, freaked out, bemused. Dear lord, get me away from this man. I look. I think at that point I was still trying to figure out if he really had on two pairs of pants.

ìBut anyway, they donít bother you up there, though there was one guy out of fifty that voted against giving the unions. All republicans, kicked him out.î

Ah. Not making sense. Crazy. Heís well past struck out.

He keeps going. ìAnyway, youíve got to love Jesus,î he says. ìHe was born before AD, so two thousand years will be in 2031 and theyíll come down in spaceships and there will be an ark and all the animals and frozen eggs and spermÖî

For someone whoís a virgin at 70, heís certainly obsessed with reproduction.

He continues. ìAnd the earth will melt and theyíll take our souls and then our souls will be put back in our new bodiesÖî

Inanely, I remember from a theology class that our souls and bodies are never separated.

And he keeps talking. ìAnd then the Jews, the Jews have all the moneyÖî

I point to my watch. ìI need to go.î

ìOh, okay. Key West! Right!î

I start up the car and put it in gear before he actually walks away.

I did eighty and sped down the highway, intent on getting away from the crazy old man who interrupted my nap at the rest area, with the clean, working bathrooms.

Dang. I didnít even get to go.

photos from the day

Categories: carpetbagger