Plucked from an atmosphere of constant love and trust and tossed into a concrete mess, I spent my first night on a dirty train station floor. In all honesty, it wasn’t that bad. Far more challenging was the ride from Chicago, the train halted in the suburbs, my mind wandering in the silence. I thought about home, of course, the friends who I wouldn’t see for months, and how much exactly people can change in a year.
In the morning, on our way to Columbus with my godfather, my eyes welled up at the sunlight. I strained to stay alert on our tour of the architecturally unique town, but it was good. It struck me immediately as a place to raise a family, small enough to have a close community but still thriving economically and socially. Although I felt much less like a stranger here than I did in Chicago or Indianapolis, there was still a tinge of distrust in the eyes of the passing folk.
The next day, Santiago and I were dropped at North Vernon with the intention of hitching to Versailles, where my grandfather lives. Not five minutes and less than half a mile had gone by when we were picked up by a grey van. The Gracious Three, we decided to call them, a woman driving whose thick Indiana highland accent made her speech all but indecypherable, a man in the front, presumably her husband, and a young woman in back. They were some of the most pleasant people I had met, certainly moreso than the fuckers in Indianapolis.
The man in front spoke of his morning’s court appointment where he was sentenced to three and a half years in prison for an unspecified crime. He confessed he didn’t particularly care, he drank six beers and smoked a bowl before going to court. Ordinairaly, I would assume he meant marijuana, but out here it’s anyone’s guess.
They left us at McDonalds, not more than a mile from our destination. Seeing my grandpa was long overdue. Despite how bizarre this trip has been, and the uncertainty we face in the coming days, I was able to forget about that for a while and enjoy his company.
I feel at peace.
