The Miracle that was not to be

I've been in Waynesboro for 5 days now and I've had a great time. I've been living in a tent down by the river. Not a van. A tent. By the river. It's our own little hobo camp. We've grilled out (of course it's outside) every night and lived the life. Last night was a little celebratory in nature for some reason and there was much wine flowing and hotdogs being eaten. For no good reason, I guess, except that we are living a pretty good life. At any rate, I'm leaving today, so I don't feel too ridiculous.

Now I've mentioned before the tragedy of the male in accordance with the shortage of females on the trail. There are some females on the trail, of course, but they don't wear skirts and are as filthy as us and at this point know too much about us as dudes. They are experiencing Us as the monsters we are, that our minds do constantly wander back to girls. We are easily distracted by them as they walk by from a great distance. It does not matter. We are like cavemen.

Waynesboro is indeed a great town and it's like there's some kind of invisible line of demarcation where suddely there is a great mass of beautiful girls. It's been incredible. I'm not saying that that's why I've been here for 5 days, but I'm not saying it hasn't either. I have manage to read a couple of books (Alice Munro and Hemingway. They are both so very similar to each other you know.) but walking about this town is great. The bookstore is incredible and like an idiot I'm leaving town with 7 books. They are very heavy. Also the diner is great. Also the libray. The Y. The road. They hobo camp. In all of these places there are girls (except the hobo camp -- Sorry Lauren!).

So two days ago I'm sitting on the bench at the hobo camp chit chatting with Lauren and a car pulls around the round and slows to a halt. The Johnny on the Spot is sort of blocking my vision so all I can see is the hood. Out of this machine ascends an angel. Oh my God it's a skirt, I say to Lauren. I think she's walking this way! She is! She's carrying some kind of tray that looks like food! What's all this?

I stand up to get a better look and I can't believe my eyes. Lauren, it's Zen Master! He's pulled off a miracle! I raise my arms in exaltation to him and begin a round of applause. Solo applause because Lauren thinks we've all gone insane over this subject. She thinks it's funny and cannot comprehend the suffering we endure. It turns out to be the cutie who works at the Outfitter.

I bought too much fruit at the store for my ceramics class, she tells us, so I thought I'd bring it to you guys. When are you all leaving? You should stop by the Outfitter tomorrow on your way out of town. There is some more light-hearted talk and eventually she chooses to stop standing there in her radiance and go to her ceramics class.

Zen Master and I over-analyzed this short conversation as though it were code for all of the things we could possibly desire. Lauren sat there in awe as she was let in on even more than she'd already been able to gleen of what it is to be a guy. In its own way it is funny, I guess.

Even though we went to the Outfitters the next day she wasn't there. Where's Amy? I asked the guy at the counter. She don't work today, he said. I think she's on a bike ride. Really? Hmm. I went back to the hobo camp and finished A Farewell to Arms.

So I stayed another day. I am leaving today, I swear. I will stop at the Outfitter out of hope of one more glimpse, one more smile. It is embarassing and pathetic. Lauren just thinks it's grand.

Later On,

Jonathan