The call of birdsong woke me up, piercing and insistent, as if there was work to be done.Ìý It was just after five o'clock.Ìý I rolled under the blanket for a lingering stretch and then kicked it off, rising to witness the early morning glory of the Texas dawn. A rattlesnake passed me by and didn't even blink, while a trio of crickets chirruped a round for breakfast.ÌýThis was Mother Nature's hour, the only sign of human activity being the bed of ash left over from our campfire.ÌýI crouched by the water's edge and cupped some morning freshness into my hands. Wetting my face, I marveled at the honesty of the morning.ÌýNot a soul around for miles.ÌýI yawned and stretched out wide.Ìý My arms felt as though they had gone right round the world and come back to me, so peaceful was the scene.ÌýI could see why Janis loved it so.ÌýJanis?ÌýMost probably down the river someway.ÌýWhat a day it would be for her, what a night too.ÌýI'd thought of nothing else; orphaned, homeless and struck by cancer.ÌýIt was almost too much just to have it all in the same thought.ÌýShe would need her space once we got to Port Arthur.Ìý But I would be there for her.ÌýShe had looked after me and given sparkle to my trip.Ìý I figured I owed her. I lifted my blanket and shook it clean, across the river.ÌýMy clothes were piled neatly next to where I had slept.ÌýMy knapsack was there too.ÌýStrange, I thought.ÌýI had not left them there.ÌýMy bag had been in the passenger seat of the Lincoln.Ìý"S**t," I said suddenly.ÌýHow could I have been so blind?Ìý"Janis!" The car was gone, its tracks leading back up onto the road and away.ÌýShe was gone.Ìý My heart sank to my stomach and my stomach to my knees.ÌýIn quick succession, I felt panic, then anger, then confusion.Ìý'Janis', I mouthed, the word forming but not materialising beyond a whisper.ÌýI slumped to the ground.ÌýForlorn on the roadside, I ran my hands through the dust and sand; brown specks, grey ones and silver ones too.ÌýI felt sick inside, like somebody had opened a treasure chest up before my eyes, only to close the lid with my fingers still on the rim.ÌýHow could she have gone, I wondered? There was so much more to say.ÌýI was flattened.ÌýThe sky was suddenly heavy with the traces of her presence and my world seemed too big without her in it.ÌýIt was not supposed to be that way.ÌýNot yet.ÌýStill she was gone and I could not escape the inevitability of her departure. For a long time I sat by the road, keeping one eye on the horizon and the other on the waters of the Sabine, waiting for her return.ÌýI ran the previous night's conversation over and over in my head, searching for clues, hoping for reasons.ÌýI guessed it boiled down to one thing though; for Janis the road went on forever.ÌýStaying put was too painful, it seemed.ÌýFor Janis, the yellow brick road went on.ÌýAnd now she had gone.Ìý Gone for good, I was sure.ÌýNo goodbye, no tearful parting and no mess.ÌýIt was her way.Ìý Everything good is used in little pieces, my mother had once told me and as I watched the sun rise high in the sky that morning, I knew that I had been privileged to share in the good that was Janis.ÌýAfter a while, I turned to face the campsite.ÌýEverything was just as it had been the night before.ÌýThe same, but different; like the Mona Lisa without her smile.ÌýI lingered, not wanting to change anything, not wanting to move.ÌýLike a bereaved parent who cannot adjust to the dust-gathered room of a once living soul, I hoped to preserve the scene.ÌýHer footprints could still be seen in the sand and the outline of her body where we had laid together on the ground had left the brown grass flattened and trampled.ÌýSo I stayed, until the breeze of a passing truck blew the footprints away and the outline of her body could no longer be seen between the blinking of my eyes. Eventually and groggily, the yesterday in my head gave way to the reality of the day.Ìý It was Sunday 24th August, 1969 and I was lonesome and a long way from home.ÌýI needed to get back to a place where I belonged; I needed to speak to home.ÌýI decided I would head into Port Arthur anyway, not necessarily to look for Janis, but certainly to feel her.ÌýI felt certain that she would have visited the graves of her parents, but after that, who knew? I wondered how serious she had been about going to Mexico.ÌýMaybe she was already on her way.ÌýOr perhaps, I thought, she had headed to Washington, to look up her sister.ÌýI would never know and it made me feel physically sick to think about it. It would take many years before I stopped watching the horizon in anticipation, or spinning round whenever I heard a southern American accent.ÌýShe would, I knew, be with me for life.ÌýFor now though, however much I disliked it, I needed to move on. I sat in thought for a few minutes and then, opening up the front pocket of my knapsack to check on my funds, I found a still-fresh ghost.ÌýJanis' copy of 'On The Road', the Kerouac bible I had seen in her glove compartment a few days before had been placed there during the night.ÌýInside the front cover was $200.ÌýNo words, no message, just the money.Ìý'A little something to get you home, Peaches,' I could hear Janis say in my head.ÌýSuddenly her absence hit me.ÌýI dropped the bag and wept. |
