Mini-fic. No spoilers or bad things.
Long Walk Home
A little fresh air never killed anybody. Well, unless you count camping with Jim and Simon. Thank goodness they are both miles away.
Although, if they were here… I wouldn't be hoofin' it over hot asphalt, in the noonday sun talking to myself. Man it's hot.
Is that a car? Hey, slow down! Not all hitchhikers are killers! My car broke down!
Did she flip me the bird? Hey! Some day this could be you, you know.
Fine.
Speaking of bird, Jim's gonna have one over this one. I can hear it now, "Forget something, Chief? Charge your phone, Chief? I told you the radiator was leaking, Chief."
Yeah, yeah… I see your lips moving but all I hear is blah, blah, blah.
It sure is pretty country up here. Although I'm kind of getting that Rambo: First Blood vibe with of trees, big mountains, and more trees. About the time some big old sheriff stops and offers me a ride to the other side of town, I'm going to take him up on it, no questions asked.
I wonder what town is next. Then again, just as long as they have a phone that works, I don't really care.
Is that a sign up ahead? Where'd I put my glasses?
Cascade 48. Miles or kilometers, you decide. Kilometers would be nice, definitely closer.
Forty-eight miles to Cascade,
Forty-eight miles to home.
If someone should stop, and give me a ride,
I'd have forty-seven air conditioned miles to go.
Okay, Sandburg, this is getting sad. What would Naomi say to your moaning over having to walk? "Now, Blair, sweetie…"
Sweetie? I'm so close to thirty that I can touch it and she still calls me Sweetie.
Jim gives me all kinds of grief every time after she's been around. I swear he has a notebook hidden that he keeps track of every story and pet name she divulges just so he can humiliate me in front of Simon and the guys.
Man it's hot. I should have left the backpack in the car. It feels like it weighs a ton. What the heck do I have in here? Hmmm…Journal, bluebooks, dead phone, overdue library book, half a bottle of water, an apple, and a pack of bubblegum.
Hey, I forgot about the gum. H thought he was pretty funny when he stuck it in there the other day after I helped him with the class of second graders tour of the station. Little did he know grape was my favorite when I was their age. Wonder if I can still blow a bubble as big as my head.
Oh, yeah, the kid's still got it!
Aww, crap! Man, I need a mirror. At least I pulled my hair back earlier. What a mess. Crap.
Hey, my face stings where I pulled the gum off. It's kind of tight feeling when I stretch my jaw, and, uh-oh, feeling a little warm to the touch.
Sunburn! Just keeps getting better and better. Not only do I have purple gum stuck in my eyebrows, but can just imagine the healthy shade of red to the cheeks.
I can see it now, the headlines reading, "Blairbo the Clown found dead along the highway."
I wonder how hot it is. I'm sweating like a pig. I think I need to sit down and take a break. What time is it, anyway?
1:30.
I've been walking for almost two hours.
Jim's not going to have a bird, he's gonna have a cow. I told him I'd be home by two so that he, er, I mean we, could go to the grand opening of the new Bass Pro Shop. Actually, that doesn't sound half-bad right about now.
Oh, yeah, this is nice. Do a quick check for snakes and poison ivy. "Area safe and secure, Captain Ellison, sir!"
I never knew an apple could taste so good. I'd kill for an ice-cold beer right about now, but at least I have a little water.
You know, Jim, it's actually kind of cool in the shade. Probably because my shirt is soaked with sweat, huh? At least I don't smell bad. Or, at least, I don't think I do.
Do I stink, Jim? Sorry if I do. You won't mind if I shut my eyes for a minute before we head back out, will you? Man, I can't keep my eyes open.
If anything, I think it's getting hotter. I wonder how high the humidity is. It's got to be at least like 80 percent.
I'm not a whiner, Jim, but if I said this is really starting to scare me…
I wish I had some more water.
Where is everybody? Did I break down on the road less traveled?
Man, my feet are cooking in my shoes and my head hurts. Well, my head and my face hurt, actually. Okay, my head, face, and hair hurt. Thank god, I didn't eat a big breakfast, because I so feel like I'm going to toss my cookies any second now.
Oh, hey look, another sign.
Cascade 40.
I've only made it eight miles?
What time is it?
4:00.
I gotta sit. Roads hot. Kinda squiggly.
Is that a truck? Probably a mirror, no I mean a marriage. Oh, I can't think, what's the word? Mirage.
Not real…not real. Jim…help.
I'm cold. Oh, yeah, blessed, blessed cold.
My mouth is filled with cotton and my tongue feels gross. If I didn't know better I'd say my teeth were glued to the inside of my cheeks.
If that was me who just made that pathetic sound, sorry. Man, my brain is mush.
Buzz…buzz…buzz. I don't know what it is but it sounds kinda nice.
Something cold slides to the back of my throat. Pure heaven. I don't have the strength to twitch a finger but somehow I gotta tell someone that I just have to have more of that.
I feel heavy and want to let go…slip back into the cool darkness…but the buzzing just wont stop and I need to answer it.
Something soft and cool dabs small wet patches across my sunburned face. This has got to be heaven.
Okay Sandburg, time to wake up.
Did I think that or did someone actually say it? The fog in my head clears just the slightest and this time I know I hear someone talking to me: heat exhaustion, record high temperature and humidity, and miracle.
If I could focus just a little harder…
The voice continues speaking; it wants me to open my eyes.
I know that voice.
Last ditch effort here. After this, all I want is to sleep for at least a day, maybe longer. Light filters into my darkness and a blurry blob shifts in my vision.
It's Jim. By the way he's smiling, telling me I'm going to be okay, I guess I'm not dead. He said he found me sitting on the road and that I added a few more gray hairs to his head. He also talks about purple gum, but I don't understand.
His voice begins to buzz again and it's hard for me to keep my eyes open. I watch him pull a chair closer and sit, his hand rests against mine.
This time I know it's me that sighed. I made it home.