The last time I’d been to Missouri was with my old boyfriend. We’d were driving through from Arkansas on our way to a friend’s wedding in Nebraska… You know, it would be so easy to go down heartbreak road right now, but let’s just let it go, okay? Let’s just leave it at the last time I’d been to Missouri was 5 years ago. I’d visited a cave somewhere close to Branson in the early fall. It was all hills and forest and well, Ozarky.

This past weekend, I was in Missouri for a conference in Columbia. It was an agonizing trip at first. I left Austin at 3 p.m. and arrived in St. Louis via Denver(?!) at 9:30 p.m. My “in terminal” car rental was actually a mile away. I was told to wait outside for the shuttle. Excuse my colorful language here, but it was f*cking 16 degrees (yes, Fahrenheit!) outside. I was wearing a jacket and sweater, jeans and gloves, but after about 3 minutes, I couldn’t feel my nose anymore.

Once I had the car, I had to drive to Columbia. I got to the Howard Johnson just after midnight. Inside the room, I cranked up the heater (a window unit) as high as it would go. Now I ask you, why is it that in the dead of summer those things will chill a room cold enough to store sides of beef, but when I tried to heat my room so that I wouldn’t lose a toe while I slept, it blew air that was at its hottest about 50° F? Sure it was warmer than it was outside, but I ended up sleeping in socks, a gown and a sweater and still got goose bumps so big I woke thinking I’d grown breasts all up and down my arms.

The next night, when I and others at the conference walked to dinner, I wore half the clothes that I brought for the trip under a big bulky green cable-knit sweater that I brought back on a trip from Ireland. I must’ve looked pregnant with septuplets, but dammit it was necessary. Still, with me wearing enough wool to strike sparks if I sneezed, I still lost feeling in my lips and face after four blocks. Here I am trying to contribute to idle conversation, but all that comes out is, “Necks tim, holt da convrenz somplish wum. Wum. Wuuum! You no, [sniiifff!] wum, like Erzona.”

Even in Edinburgh, which apparently shares a latitude with Norway, I’d never been so cold. The high was like 22° F in Columbia, Mo.

Finally, just as I’d gotten used to a wind that blew so cold it burned my skin, it was time to go. I drove Sunday through mostly flat farmland to get back to St. Louis, across country with skeletal oaks and heartland soil turned to tundra. All this I’d missed in the dark on my way to Columbia Friday night. I decided that I couldn’t leave without seeing more.

There’s something about traveling alone that makes you both bolder and more timid than you’d be with a traveling companion.

I drove down to the old river district in St. Louis. The cold thinned out the tourists considerably. With nobody around around, I walked to the Arch. I walked along the riverfront. I walked in the park along the reflecting pool. I stopped at a cathedral to take pictures. I ate an oatmeal cookie for lunch. I visited the museum shops for knickknacks. And even though I was alone, I wasn’t lonely.

Funny how that works. I’ve been to parties hopping with people that I know and felt so lonely that it made me want to weep. But I’ve had moments of solitude and reflection, where the only sounds were my breath and my heartbeat, that were so full…

How is it there are times when we flee friends and family, lovers and children for precious seconds alone – and in the next instant feel as though we’ll go mad without someone to talk to, to hug, to laugh with? If we’re not careful, the human race will evolve into cats…

---

other Austin stories	all my yesterdays	about me	send to a friend	e-mail andy
Get emailed when I update! Enter your email address: Powered by NotifyList.com Diaryland