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“Then don’t.”
“Really? Just like that? Just turn it down?”
“Yeah. It’s just a job.”
He’s quiet for a minute. I watch his face, his expression turning from doubt to acceptance to happiness. “You’re right,” he says. “It’s not what we want. I’m going to turn it down.”
“Good.”
So, it’s decided. Simple as that.
Everything blurs for us then into shifting plans and whirling ideas. We don’t know what to do, but we know we’re going to leave. Scott finishes school, we give our notice, and I pick up as many shifts as I can to save up money. We both call our parents.
“Scott’s decided not to take a job with Customs,” I tell my dad.
“You’re okay with that?”
“I’m the one who suggested it.”
“Why?”
“Because it didn’t feel right,” I say.
“What’re you going to do?”
“We’re leaving Moorhead.”
“Where are you going?”
“We don’t know.”
All I know is that the wait is over. The days are turning warmer and the snow is starting to recede. Patches of grass emerge from under the whiteness. We spend our free time packing our things and sorting out what we’ll bring and what we’ll leave behind. There’s no room in the Grand Am for our dresser, of course, or our bed, or a bunch of boxes. Scott asks a friend to come over with a pick-up truck, and they move the stuff into a self-storage unit, where it’ll stay until we’re settled somewhere and can come back for it. I get ready for my last waitressing shift and wait outside for Joyce to pick me up.
That night, Scott has a bottle of champagne waiting for me when I get home. We sit cross-legged on the blanket Scott spread over the brown carpet, and we toast to this year finally being over.
“I can’t believe I made it!” I tell him.
“Was it really that bad?”
“Yes. It was. You owe me. We have to go have extra fun now to make up for it.” I can feel myself grinning as I tell him this. I can’t seem to stop smiling. The wait is over. In the morning, we load the last things into our Grand Am and head west.
On the Road
All these roads are new to me. I’ve traveled the Trans-Canada Highway several times. I’ve slept outside in the Land of the Midnight Sun, covering my face with my sleeping bag to block out the light. I’ve walked through orchards in bloom on Prince Edward Island, like those described in Anne of Green Gables. I could give anyone directions to any place on Vancouver Island without looking at a map. But I have never been on the back roads of South Dakota. I have never crisscrossed through these wheat fields that stretch as far as the eye can see, every once in a while passing a rusted-out tractor or an old house or a caved-in barn.
“They used to give away hundred and sixty-acre chunks of land,” Scott says. “These roads go between the parcels.”
“Who gave it away?”
“The government. Back when they were trying to settle the West. They offered the land for free. All you had to do was live on it. And farm it, I think.”
I’m quiet, looking at the land, imagining living out here.
“I wish they were doing that now,” Scott says.
We come to an intersection and I consult the map. "That way." I point away from the interstate. Back roads are the only way to really experience things, I think. You can't get an accurate sense of a place by just zooming by, stopping at truck stops.
There’s a town up ahead. We see it in the distance, sticking out on the horizon, long before we reach it. It’s only a block long, with a couple residential roads branching off the main street. The gas station is also the general store, and a woman I assume to be the owner sits behind the counter. I smile politely as I walk past to the back, into the single washroom. When I come out, Scott has already paid and is chatting with the woman about the storm they had last week that tore some shingles off her roof. She pronounces it “ruff.”
“You headed to the Black Hills?”
“We’re not sure,” Scott says. “Why?”
She shrugs. “Don't see many visitors, but those who come through are all on their way to see Mount Rushmore in the Black Hills. Never been myself. Keep thinkin’ I should get over there.”
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