She returned from within the house of memories with a sad smile and an envelope. Annie took my hand and wrapped it around the off white paper. She said the only reason she made the promise to keep this was because of the love that poured from his eyes as he spoke of me. I gave Annie a hug and thanked her for doing more than she could ever understand. As I clutched the envelope to my chest, I walked down that familiar street knowing it would be the last time.
* * *
I was 22 years old and I had just discovered the meaning of living life. I had just finished school and decided to take a road trip with no destination in mind. I figured I would end up where I was meant to be. I set out in my rusty, beat up, '86 Volvo. It would be the last trip that car and I would see together. I slowly headed east, savoring every tree, bird, sign, and telephone pole I saw. I couldn't help but think, "at last I'm doing what I've always wanted to do, roam." I blared the few tapes I brought, Led Zeppelin,
Bob Dylan, Frank Sanatra, Janis Joplin, and even Rachmaninov's "Suites for 2 Pianos" for the times I drove through the night. I sang the songs I knew and jammed to the ones I would know shortly. I stopped at every little town I came across. Every time I stopped, I made a new friend.
I had been driving for about two weeks when I came across a small town in the middle of nowhere surrounded by beautiful green tress. I turned the radio off and silently drove through the main part of the town called Faith. As I looked at the unfranchised stores, the green trees, and the kids playing freely, I knew I had found my destination. As I look back, I now realize that perhaps the town of Faith had found me.
After a while of driving around I found a quiet, bed and breakfast on the far west side of town called Quiet Falls. It was owned by a sweet elderly couple named Mr. and
Mrs. Rose. They welcomed me in and asked how long I would be staying. I told them I wasn't sure and that I would let fate decide. They just looked at each other, smiled at me, and showed me to my room.
The room was perfect. There was a twin-sized bed with a flower comforter and light pink, almost white sheets. Across the room under the window were a small oak desk and a matching dresser by the door. The window looked out upon the trees. It was so quiet and peaceful that everything just felt right. My mind was calm and clear and I could feel inspiration tingle at my fingertips. I didn't know it then, but I would write some of my best poetry at that desk. I settled in, freshened up, and decided I would spend the rest of the day wandering the clean streets of Faith.
I wandered in and out of the mom and pop shops carrying my journal while jotting down notes and the bits of inspiration that struck me. I would occasionally get an odd glance, but most of the time they were smiles. At the end of the main street nestled behind two enormous pine trees was a dark, musty, bookstore. I was ecstatic. It was my kind of place in every way. I slinked through the door.