Wallace and I, we’re gonna go places. He’s got a few dents, a few rust spots, half a door handle, and no air conditioning, but he’s solid. God willing, he will get me across the states to home.
I figure, I’m young, I’m free, I’m able—why not? And so when the time comes, I will hop into my little ’98 Corolla, equipped with music (some folk, some chanting monks, and a medley more), audio talks, a rosary, homemade muffins, and whatever else to occupy the many hours ahead (this may include a companion), and off on an adventure we’ll go. From Prince Edward Island to New Brunswick, Maine, Massachusetts, New York, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota, all the brutally long way to Saskatchewan—something like that. We’ll putter through lush summertime country, popping into whatever antique shop, attraction, or café that calls my name. I’ll meet hard-to-forget characters, try new foods, sigh at dazzling views, gulp the sweet air rushing in through Wallace’s windows, and hopefully not find myself lost in the many cities I must navigate. But maybe losing my way will be essential to the adventure, yes?
In the meantime, Wallace and I will explore this island together—its back roads, quaint towns, red beaches—until I am content I’ve discovered as many of its freckles and smile lines as possible. Ah, I know my heart (a heart I pray is becoming a braveheart) will be crying to the sky, FREEDOM!
