Tide


She woke to the sound of metal framing shaking and the lights of the road below her. Darkness had fallen during her slumber but it still didn’t explain the rattle. Rolling to the edge of her make shift bunk bed Myra focused her eyes to the back of the RV where she saw her father’s bed empty.

That sight explained the noise.

As alertness returned to her body she began to fix her disheveled pieces. Bookmarking a slightly dented binding as she tucked it under the weathered mattress, and bending back her glasses to help Myra see as she dissented into the kitchen. With the whirl of blanket around her shoulders this young girl came to rest in the passenger seat.

“I thought you were going to wake me,” said Myra inquiringly.

“You said you were going to sleep instead of read another book,” said her father. He peered at her through judging eyes. “Just because you found a smaller reading light doesn’t mean I don’t notice. There is nothing in those things that this world can’t provide.”

“Don’t you realize that its against safety regulations to have someone sleeping in the bunk while driving,” said Myra. Sarcasm leaped off every syllable.

“Hey, this life is about chances. The exploration is worth it,” he said. “I would have hoped you learned that by now, or are you too caught up in books to notice.”

She fell silent.

In the years she had been on the road with her father it never felt like home. Rest stops and motor parks never held her. Her father seemed destined to be a rolling dice through life , but Myra always felt tethered by something more.

During a month long stop at Derby Park in Kentucky she learned to read from books in the mobile library. Bindings provided a sanctuary where the road lacked. The more Myra read the more certain the connection she could be found.

Lyonal never approved of books and classrooms, and preferred the road to human connection. Pursuing adventures in an RV across America was his was of educating Myra of the same.

“So, what is the next stop,” she whispered.

“Well riding 94 we should reach West Fargo by breakfast,” his voice rasped in response. “Passing through was the plan if that what your really nudging at.”

“Is there a plan for what stops next?”

The carvings across his face depend as he titled towards the night covered road.

“Morris for a week,” he rasped. “But you should better than to ask for a plan.”

“I didn’t ask for a life plan just wondering what’s next,” said Myra sighing deeply.

Her body shuffled under the blanket making room for her chicken legs to curl under her. Making herself small was one of the few comforts Myra had in the world outside books.

“I know better to ask for more,” she said sadly.

Lyonal grumbled along with the engine as torpedoed toward dawn.

He couldn’t imagine any life but this. Yet she was roped to something more even as she coasted to sleep in the passenger seat.

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