The Wake

A few days ago, I was driving a little outside the city limits of Kernersville, NC when I saw a group of black vultures. This was the second time in two weeks that I had observed this type of gathering. The first time, the vultures were making short work of a deer carcass by the side of the road. This time, there was no obvious food. They were all just standing around. I pulled over to take a picture of them. One of them looked my way and I said, “Hey buddy! What’s up? Do you have something to tell me?” Because like all magical thinkers, I believe animals have messages for me.

Immediately, the following words appeared in my brain: “Carry on living your life in your own manner.” This was an unexpected response from a black vulture. So I said, “Thank-you! Anything else?” Again, an immediate response came to mind, “You are beautiful.”

I had to research what one calls a grouping of vultures. For example, a group of crows is called a “murder.” A group of dolphins is a “pod.” I didn’t know what to call a group of vultures. Perched vultures are a “wake.”

I’ve been grieving over the loss of a relationship, which — even though it was a year in the making, it was still in its developmental stage. The grief is still pretty fresh. And to be honest, I’ve been distracting myself from feeling it. The grief has been compounded by unkind words spoken by family members at me about the person with whom I am no longer in relationship. I very nearly fell apart from the weight of trying to please everyone. But I managed to hold on until I could get out of town.

Today, I drove to a string of barrier islands known as the Outer Banks in North Carolina. I’ve rented a cheap room for ten days so that I can avoid the traditional Christmas get-together with family. I felt I would not be able to handle the chaos and commotion with any degree of integrity, so it seemed best to remove myself altogether. Since my birthday is three days after Christmas, I figured to be safe, I’d stay away til a few days after that.

The drive provided me with the freedom to cry. I cried a lot. Random song lyrics, sights, and thoughts triggered me and propelled me to sob.

I packed up an assortment of books, my painting and drawing supplies, and some needlework with which to occupy myself. I’ll have the great outdoors while the sun’s up. And afterwards, I can busy myself with self reflection and self improvement exercises.

I am alone.

I drove the first quarter of my journey before I needed to find a bathroom. I took an exit that advertised gas stations but quickly realized the bathrooms were 2.5 miles off the exit. This annoyed me and so I decided to get back on the interstate and take an exit where bathrooms were immediately available.

You just can’t bank on this expectation when driving through rural areas. I had to drive a mile and half through winding roads to the first available entrance ramp for the interstate. I was face-to-face with the immediate gratification monster that contemporary society had turned me into and it was not pretty. I started feeling a heightened anxiety made worse by the discomfort of my full bladder.

Mercifully, I found a ramp just up the road a ways and found a gas station pretty immediately. I noticed a strange creature on the roof of a CashPoints® and made a note to self to explore it more carefully after I’d relieved myself.

Right outside the bathroom was a display of T-Shirts that said “Lizard Lick, NC.” How was it possible to end up in a town called Lizard Lick without even realizing it!? I purchased a shirt and dashed outside to examine the strange creature. It was indeed a large lizard perched atop the roof of the ATM island.

For further verification, I took a close-up.

Feeling pleased with myself for discovering Lizard Lick, I soon left it and continued on my journey to Rodanthe.

The name Rodanthe obviously conjures thoughts of the giant Pteranodon in the Godzilla universe, a.k.a. Radon, Monster Zero-Two, The Fire Demon, and Titanus Rodan. I questioned my decision to book a room at a place with such a fear-inducing name. Especially as I neared it.

To reach the Outer Banks, one must drive across a couple of rather long bridges. The longest is 5.1 miles and as I drive over Croatan Sound, images of Godzilla and Rodanthe — er, Rodan — ripping up bridges, cars plummeting into the murky depths, play out in my brain.

What the hell am I doing?!

It was nearly dark when I arrived at Nags Head, the most convenient stop at the Outer Banks. I had to drive further South where there is much less development, much more wilderness. And just as I veered away from civilization, my check engine and battery lights came on.

I don’t know if you’ve ever found yourself driving along a narrow stretch of land surrounded by the sea — a stretch where there are no stores, no gas stations, no mechanics — at dusk when the check engine and battery lights in your car come on, but I can tell you from experience, it is anxiety-producing.

I pondered whether to turn back or push forward. To double back would put me at my destination much later than I cared to be and I was already exhausted. Plus, there was no guarantee I would be able to find anyone to help me should I double back. So I asked for grace to descend upon me and shower me with her good favor as I proceeded on my way, driving across yet another bridge. This one was only 2.8 miles long. But at night, and with its extreme curve, it was much more frightening.

I drove between sand dunes that towered overhead, sand billowing across the road. I watched the lights on my dashboard as I counted down the miles remaining before I reached my destination. My eyes darted nervously from the car’s dashboard to the navigational app on my phone. Would I make it?

The navigational app’s voice guided me to the road where I would allegedly find the house I would stay in. The road led me to a row of houses that were predominately dark. No porch lights. No lights from within. My cell phone lost service right as I parked. My anxiety mounted. Fortunately I was able to connect to the Airbnb’s host’s wifi and all was figured out from that point.

Road weary and exhausted by the sudden onset of rather dramatic crying spells, I staggered up the front steps of the house in the dark, went into a dark house where I staggered up more steps, trying to determine which door in a series of doors led to the room I had booked. I found the correct door with the correct keypad upon which I punched a series of digits that allowed me access to a dark room. I flipped a wall switch and no light came on. I felt my way to a lamp and cut it on. I texted the host to determine whether the overhead light worked and discovered it was just “finicky.” I needed to pull on its chain out to the side a bit rather than simply pulling down. It took several tries before I succeeded in mastering the finicky chain. And then I was able to see what I’d put myself into.

It’s fine really. But upon entering it, I became aware of the distinct lack of Christmas cheer, the distinct lack of personality, the distinct lack of company. And I suddenly wondered again, “What the hell am I doing?”

We’ll see what the daylight brings.