The Vagabond Furlough - Epilogue

Numerous delays in O’Hare Airport preceded the exhausted finale of the furlough. The delays were a blessing -- at first. One can only stretch a goodbye so long, sitting on the dirty floor just shy of security, before they drag you out of your shoes to wait for the long flight all alone. On the dark flight south, I appreciated what it means literally to be there for someone. When you walk with someone in their private world, never shorting a reassuring smile when they glance for one, and to listen to as well as encourage their thoughts and dreams you are walking the ultimate follow-through of supportive promises. I will always be there for you. That is the promise. Huntsville, Alabama is where the furlough continued. Huntsville is a city put on the map by NASA. The Huntsville airport is characterless after midnight. The bags came quickly and I was shuttled to my brother’s apartment. Entry was available to me and his candle had already burned out for the night -- he was fast asleep and I made myself at home, obnoxiously, spreading my things about and latching my equipment to every available electrical outlet before rooting through the fridge and cupboards, turning on the television. The first night was one of solitude, exhales of emotional exhaustion and mystery television. I fell asleep on the couch and awoke in a lonely apartment in the middle of nowhere. The evening brought a dinner date with my brother and sister in one of two small sections of town that serves for social scene. We declined the mentioning of the time since our last dinner date together -- just the three of us. It is always a sad and difficult thing to acknowledge senseless amounts of dead space in between being together. The difficult mentioning was fortunately needless as the night carried on with a joyous pace that stood still in time, allowing only those in that gravity to reconcile the dead space. My sister joined the early-morning expedition to Tennessee leaving my brother and me behind for another two days. There would be two days of lone afternoon daydreaming followed by evenings of campy horror films with my brother, ending with solitary, stormy midnights. Both nights in Alabama were rain soaked with violent thunderstorms. Resurgence and freedom with fear were the themes of thought during the nightly storms. I clicked my alphabetic keys and slobbered over the marvel of new eras, the ideals of freedom, and the chances taken on ones self in order to attain a higher calling. I needed to fight back against a decline, and I was slowly discovering that in order to usher in a new renaissance and preserve what I cherish it is going to require daring and sudden acts of change. The winds of change were certainly scrambling my compass. I decided to finish my journey without it. The storms behind us, Tennessee bound; my brother and I drove north for two hours discussing life in a way that holds as safe loose talk -- with no seriousness in the severity of big changes and choices. Our sister and parents were waiting for us in a small private apartment community on the outskirts of Nashville. Freedom was in its prime and teaching through example in the spirit of travel. A furlough of any kind is supposed to remind you that there is a bigger world going on outside of your own -- occupying the most surprising of avenues. Nothing ever has to be the same as it was. My final hobo days in Nashville centered on the mellow rainy days spent in our own company. The quiet calm was the result of happiness in being together again for no reason at all. My mind occasionally wanders back to Chicago, back to supportive promises. Forks in the road lay in place of answers. Detachment was necessary for a time. Detachment was easier than fearing the decline may have a looming aftershock. The changes are imminent. If an aftershock waits, the renaissance must begin. It is time to compose lists for various buckets. The renewal of spring is suitable of occasions committing to the dreams you allowed to wither in the winter of your soul. A vagabond furlough is a series of waves you can catch couch surfing the country. If done properly, you hardly slept, mailed postcards and did nothing familiar. If you caught the right corner of the right couch, transcended completely from the reality you know, you dared to wonder what-if questions without interrupting and calling yourself foolish. Before the flight home, I can only advise that you remember to pack the enthusiasm and hopefulness you picked up on the road. Coming home without it or misplacing it even for a moment can be quite devastating to the already-existing instability that caused you to pack in the first place. Travel safe in your next furlough. Be sure you embark for all the best irresponsible and reckless reasons, and be sure you claim a souvenir. Bring something back -- anything at all.