By Travis Walters
At 1 a.m. Monday morning I found myself barreling through a black tunnel of trees, silhouetted by the clear night sky splattered with stars and a large bright half moon. I had been traveling some 13 hours after leaving Decatur, IL on the previous morning. I drove the 900 miles because money and time are of no real consequence to me. It would be convenient if I had either, but as I don’t, there are things more important to me. I’m sure we can all agree that such things exist in our lives. In this case, I went to see one of the few friends I keep. My other friends and family asked why I’d go through that much trouble to see someone. If for a moment I granted their premise that it were trouble, I would probably have a good answer. My answer as it stands now is so meaningless I can’t remember what I say.
I decided I should stop and get something carbonated to drink, to give me a boost of energy. I took the next exit that said it had a gas station. To my dismay there was nothing but dark road in both directions, no gas station in sight. I wanted to go straight across and return to the interstate to continue my search but a raised median blocked my way. I turned right to make a U-turn and church moved out from the darkness. Its parking lot had one light, of the only lights in view. I veered slightly to the right without fully entering the parking lot and I made my U-turn. When I started back up the road, I noticed a car speed out from behind the church without headlights on and it started to follow me – then it turned on its blue flashing lights.
I pulled over and the cop approached, knocking on the side of my car as though he were unsure I knew he was there. “What were you doing at the church,” he asked me. I hadn’t actually been to the church, I thought to say – I didn’t even enter the parking lot.
“Turning around to get back to the interstate,” I said. I showed him my ID and said I was going back to my home in Beaufort, SC.
“We’ve had a lot of people breaking into the church so I saw you turn around and I pulled out,” he stated as though this mattered to me.
The thieves in this part of Georgia must be exceptional talents. Being able to steal without actually entering the church grounds is quite amazing. I wondered if he would have pulled me over if I had not touched the church boundary, just turned around in front of it.
He walked off to run my drivers license, but paused briefly to ask what I had in the cooler. “Water,” I said truthfully. While he radioed me in, I imagined the police department must be playing a game of tag where a random building in the town, in this case the church, was “it” and everywhere else was safe and the only way to become “it” yourself was to run into it. Curse my luck! I don’t even like tag and I unwittingly fell into their little game. I was ready to leave but the dispatcher, apparently asleep, ran my license for North Carolina thus delaying my journey.
He came back and wanted to know where I’d been. “I went to see a friend in Illinois,” I said.
“They in the military?”
Apparently the only reason for a person to be in another state is that that person is in the military, “No. She goes to college there.”
“Oh, OK.” Confusion crept across his face. “Why did you come down this way to go back across the state?” Well, I can’t move the interstate officer. Listen, I realize you’re bored and lonely with the dispatcher being asleep, but I have to be going. Let’s move this along.
“That’s the way Google maps said to go,” I replied.
“Man, you’ll waste $500 in gas driving wherever they tell you to go.”
He started to walk off, then remembered something he’d been meaning to ask me. He’d read the sticker on the back of my car while listening to the dispatcher. “What’s SCAD stand for,” he asked while looking into the rear passenger window.
“Savannah College of Art and Design,” I said watching him.
“Whatcha design’n?”
“I’m a writer actually.”
He paused again briefly. “Are you sure you don’t have anything in the vehicle you shouldn’t have?”
“Yes.”
“You’re positive?”
“Yes.”
He asked a third time. Why would my conviction in lying to an officer of the law become diminished with each asking of the same question? I’ve been driving for nearly 13 hours – do you think you’re going to wear me down in 2 minutes? “Alright. Gotta get off that Google maps. Have a good’n”
“You too.” I think, I don’t know what a good’n is.
