An End, To A Morning

The end to a job, and the beginning of new path.

An End, To A Morning

 

Uneven hues of yellow light drifted and danced over the weary face of a man laying oddly across the front seat of a new 2014 Ford passenger van.  Though, the prior day ticked over, the early morning arousal was not new to him; he been awoken by early sunrises and campground chatter countless times, it was such a persistent bother that it had become to feel a bit comforting.

 

When he went to sleep the night before, under a Nothern California night sky, breathing in the bland smell of cotton, sweat and dirt that had greeted him for the past four summers, he had gone to bed knowing that this would be the last evening and morning of its kind.

 

In the morning he would extend, stretch and straighten his legs for the final time, working out the cramp and stiffness that had formed from sleeping in a van two inches too narrow for his height.  In the morning he would not have to rush to care for his personal hygiene while thirteen others slept peacefully for another hour.  And in the morning he would not have to remember the sense of panic that filled him in the dead of the night when he would wake up and not know where he was, scanning groggily to discover any clues that would tell him which campsite he was staying in.

 

It was not all bad.  He would miss seeing the early morning shuffle of those previously mentioned thirteen strangers, as they stumbled, zombie like, out of their tents in search of restrooms and breakfast.  He would also miss the stories that were made when fourteen people crammed together in a van, traveling around endless miles of U.S. highways, byways, and dirt roads.  And oddly enough, he would miss the mundane and bizarre questions from his fellow travelers.

 

What begun as a one time seasonal gig had now morphed into four years of never ending summer.  He had made (well he hoped at least) the dream vacations of various foreigners come true.  It was fulfilling work, but the time hang up the keys had come.  The regrets were few.  A few trails he had said, “Next Time” to, never came.  But, as any job goes, the green grass, on his side, had begun to show patches of brown.  It was in these small spots of discontent that he found his answer.

 

He did not want cynicism to overtake his wits, to become jaded at wondrous sights or to overtly question his decisions.  It was that doubt that stoked his fears.  Frightened that he would turn into a being of pessimism and uncertainty, which then might transform to self-loathing, if he remained glued to that van seat.

 

It was in that final morning when he drove the empty van and trailer to his place of work that the weight of his decision became final.  It was no longer the age-old question of if and when, but now.  Now was the time for him to carry himself into that new horizon, valed in a shroud of unfamiliar names and faces.  The land itself looked green and prosperous, but he was not naive enough to think that no patches would crop up, but rather it was now of great importance to spot the brown spots before they affected the healthy grass.