About 50 miles west of Vail along Interstate 70 there is a tiny town named Aughto. It isn't much, just a truck stop, a grocery store with only two aisles, a one-room school which doubles as a church, and about sixty homes scattered here and there. Sharon Valdez grew up in Aughto, went to the one room school, worked at the diner in the truck stop and lived in the small adobe house next to the grocery store.
When talking about small towns, people from big cities generally assume that things there are laid back, simple, and content. For Sharon, life in Aughto was none of these. At work she spent most of her time being propositioned by truckers, yelled at by the cook, or leered at by the manager. At church she generally slipped out early to avoid being harassed by the self-appointed marriage committee that always wanted to introduce her to any cousins or nephews that might be passing through town. At home she was kept busy with the preservation of sixty-years worth of treasures (left by her parents) for which she had no love.
It is not fair to say that Sharon was unhappy; she was not. Her life just seemed to be slipping slowly by. She sensed that at twenty-two she had become like a quiet breeze that briefly stirs the leaves of the trees and then stops, leaving no sign.
And so it was for Sharon; watching the days pass and watching herself watch the days pass. So it was until one chilly Saturday in late October when she spotted a rather plain looking letter in her mailbox. It was addressed to her in a child's uneven lettering and was slightly faded and crumpled.
Sharon didn't open the letter. She didn't even remove it from the mailbox. She just stared at the open mailbox while her breath fogged in the crisp morning air. After about five minutes she went back inside and sat on the couch staring out at the mailbox. She sat there through the morning as the sun slowly dried the remaining dew from the grass. She sat their through the afternoon and into the evening until gradually bright reds and oranges filled the sky behind the mountains to the west. Finally, as the last glimmers of twilight began to fade she got up, went outside to the mailbox, and carefully removed the letter.
After she brought the letter in she placed it carefully on the mantle, ate leftover spaghetti for dinner and went to bed. That night was a difficult one, and what little sleep she got lasted no more than fifteen minutes at a time. Despite the lack of sleep, she awoke at 5 AM the next morning with an energy and purpose that had been missing from her life.
Dressing and eating quickly, she left the house at 5:45 without giving a thought to its condition. Her shift at the diner did not begin until lunch, but it was not her shift that was on her mind and it was not the diner to which she headed. Instead, she walked up Drake Street and briefly stopped to glance at the school. Church would be starting in another few hours, but that was not her destination either.
In front of the school was a large white sign that read "Carver General School, Established 1957" in letters that were faded almost to the point of being unreadable. There had been a fund raising drive to repaint the school the year before, but apparently they had not raised enough to repaint the sign as well. A slight smile flashed across her face as she paused at the sign, and then continued on.
Being five foot two, Sharon had short strides, but she moved with a speed and purpose that devoured the distance. In less than three minutes she had crossed the length of the town and was standing in front of a well kept red brisk house with a neatly lettered blue and white sign that read, "Clarence P. James, Attorney at Law, estate and financial planning, real estate, general services."
After pulling open the screen door and knocking twice on the inner door she began to hear talking and signs of movement from inside. A minute later the door opened and their stood Clarence in his wife's robe. It's hard not to laugh when your staring at a six foot four black man who weighs at least two-hundred-and-fifty pounds wearing a terrycloth robe meant for his five foot four hundred-and-fifteen pound wife, but Sharon kept it in. As soon as Clarence saw her he pulled her inside and wrapped her in a hug that covered her from head to toe.
Despite his size, Clarence was not the kind of person to intimidate people. Maybe it was his gentle handshake, or his mischievous grin, or the way he hugged anyone he had met more than once. His presence in Aughto was something of a mystery. He had arrived with his wife Vicky when Sharon was fifteen and bought a house and hung out his sign. He never let on where they had come from or why they had chosen to Aughto, and it was still the stuff of rumor and legend amongst young and old alike. His gentle spirit and affable nature had quickly made him the best liked man in town (with the possible exception of Parson Jeffreys). He was also the only lawyer or real estate agent in a hundred miles which was why Sharon was there to see him.
Releasing her from his embrace he motioned to a table across the room in the kitchen. "Grab a seat," he said, "I was just about to get some coffee started. Give me just a second to get cleaned up a bit."
As Sharon seated herself at the small oak table Clarence disappeared through a door in the back of the room. The house was warm and had a soft but well aged smell that somehow blended cinnamon, smoke and old blankets. From two of the walls hung large quilts that Sharon was sure Clarence's wife Vicky must have made. They were bight and full of colors that seemed completely out of place amidst the mismatched oak and pine furniture that made up the rest of the room, they spoke to Sharon of far away places and bright lights.
Before Clarence came back, Vicky rolled into the room in her wheelchair. Her face was pale and gaunt, and one of her legs was facing out at an odd angle, but her eyes were intent and filled with a fire that drowned out her physical frailty. Vicky virtually never left the house, so Sharon had only seen her a few times, but Sharon felt a strange kinship with her nonetheless. Vicky looked at Sharon and said, "Let me get you some tea."
"I think Clarence said he was about to make some coffee," replied Sharon.
Vicky laughed. "In twenty years of marriage I can't remember him making coffee even once. How about I get you some tea?"
Just then Clarence returned wearing a large button down checkered shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of slippers. "Vicky, I was about to get some coffee for Sharon, do you think you could start it?"
"Your tea will be ready in a minute. Why don't you stop wasting this young lady's time and see what she wants." Vicky replied in a playful tone.
Clarence pulled out a chair, sat down at the table across from Sharon and smiled. "What brings you out on this fine, fine morning then?"
Not knowing what to say Sharon came straight to the point. "I need to leave town as soon as possible, today perhaps, and I need you to help me do something with my things and my house. Maybe sell it like an estate sale." Sharon was surprised to find that her voice was trembling just a bit as talked.
Clarence looked concerned. "It's not that easy. Even when we have an estate sale there are ownership issues and proceedings that make it possible. You can't just pick up and leave that way"¦"
Vicky pulled herself over and interrupted, "She needs to leave right away Clarence." Turning to Sharon Vicky looked directly in to her eyes for a full second before continuing. "Of course we can help you. Here's what I want you to do. Go home and pack what you need and then come back here and leave us the keys. I'll find a way to rent out the house for you while you're gone and I'm sure we can get the Dunigan kids to help Clarence pack up your things for storage. When you come back it will be here for you and we can put the rent money in your bank account."
"I'm not sure if I'll be coming back or not," said Sharon.
"Either way, things should be alright," answered Vicky. "Now why don't you go home and get packed while the day is still fresh, and don't worry about the tea."
As Sharon thanked Vicky and Clarence and made her way out of the house she thought about how odd Vicky's reaction to her news was. It seemed to Sharon that Vicky was reading something unknown into the situation. At the same time Sharon was glad they had asked so few questions since she knew she had no good answers for them. She was even more pleased that she would not have to linger in her parents' home and make lists of what to keep and what to sell. She didn't know if she could bear it.
By noon Sharon had packed herself a small suitcase. Aside from clothes and necessities, the only other thing she packed was the letter. When she arrived at Clarence and Vicky's house to drop off the keys Vicky handed Sharon a small card and said, "Put this somewhere that you won't lose it. It has all of our contact information. When you get where you're going you let us know. Understand?"
"Sure, but I don't know how long it will be. I can't make any promises."
"We're not asking for any. Just take care of yourself and don't be afraid to take help when it comes your way."
With suitcase in hand, Sharon headed to the diner that also doubled as a Greyhound stop hoping to catch the 2:30 Eastbound to Denver. At the diner, she let her manager know that she was leaving, allowing him to keep her last week's pay since she hadn't given any notice. Before buying a bus ticket she sat down at the counter and ordered lunch. Two benches over was a woman in her mid-fifties with red hair and a missing tooth that Sharon had seen passing through town from time to time.
"Hey, aint you that waitress Sheryl?" asked the lady. "Looks like you're headed somewhere."
"It's Sharon, and yes, I'm headed out."
"Where to?"
"I don't really know. Just out", answered Sharon.
"I'm Debbie Hardin. If you don't care where you're going you can catch a lift with me. I'm taking a load out to Seattle."
Sharon thought about it for a moment and answered, "Sure. Why not? Seattle is as good as any other place."
Debbie's spirits were visibly lifted. "That's great. I love to have somebody in the cab with me when I drive. I used to take my son with me but he's grown up now and too busy with his boats to spend time riding around with me. You'll love the open road Sandra, it really grows on you."
Sharon was starting to feel a bit uneasy. "That's Sharon, and thank you so much for taking me."
Debbie talked on throughout the meal and they paid their bills and left. As they made their way to the massive eighteen-wheeler Sharon felt a sense that she was finally headed in the right direction. Even climbing in was a feat for Sharon, but she made it up next to Debbie and was amazed at the shear distance down to the road.
"Susie, there is nothing in this world like driving a truck.' Debbie started in as Sharon strapped herself in. "Once it gets in your blood it never lets go."
Debbie almost never stopped talking, and not once did she get Sharon's name right. She was Cecil as they passed Grand Junction and Samantha as they went up the pass near Mapleton on Highway 6. She became Lissa on I-15 near Salt Lake City and then she was Darla in the Howard Johnson's at dinner before they settled in for bed at the Motel 6 the first evening.
Sharon found she loved listening to Debbie and she was happy to keep quite and listen. Debbie had led a full life, and Sharon felt like she got to know Debbie's son Mark and her late husband Sam better then she knew most people. She heard stories of camping out in Montana and bar room fights in San Antonio. Debbie talked about the hard life of the over the road trucker and the dangerous work of hauling. She heard the story of a winter jackknife and of people who drive over frozen lakes in Canada.
It was a panorama of fifty years of life lived on over ten-thousand miles of asphalt and concrete, and it was matched by the changing scenery that passed by her window as they drove through rugged mountains and flat plains; over light fall snows in Idaho and heavy rains in Washington. It was two days of hard driving, but it was over too soon for Sharon.
They pulled in to a truck stop at the outskirts of Seattle near mid-day on Tuesday and Debbie became quiet. The silence felt uneasy so Sharon asked, "What's wrong?"
"He wants me to stop driving," answered Debbie. "He's going to ask again, but he knows I can't do it. Driving is what I do. It's who I am. He can't ask me to stop. It's not his to decide."
"Who will tell you to stop?" asked Debbie.
"My son Mark, he's here to meet me. I miss him, but he can't ask me to stop. He should give up those damn boats and come back to me and drive with me again. If he'd come back it would be alright, just like it was." As Debbie was saying this she shut off the engine, took off her seatbelt and climbed out of her cab.
When Sharon made it down and came around the truck she could already see Debbie being embraced by a very strong and tan looking man in his late twenties. As Debbie released her grip around him she turned to face Sharon and said, "Mark, this is Sharon. She was so nice to drive with me all the way from Colorado. She doesn't have anywhere to go so I'd like you to get her a job on that boat you like driving around all the time."
Sharon was shocked to hear Debbie get her name right, but she was glad she didn't have to correct her. Mark's eyes looked into Sharon's and he seemed to size her up for a half a second.
"Well, if mom says you're the real deal it's not my place to argue. If you're looking for work I've got plenty of that over on the Little Miss."
This seemed a bit much so Sharon tried quickly to back out. "I haven't got the slightest idea about boats. I've never been on one in my life and wouldn't know the first thing about what to do or how to make myself useful."
Mark walked them over towards a red Ford sedan. "You don't need to know much, we're shorthanded and I was planning on picking up a deckhand for basic cleaning and maintenance. If you can cook we could make you the chef as well since I'm almost to the point I'd rather eat raw fish than cook for myself again. Even if you don't want the job you can bunk down in one of the crew cabins tonight and save yourself the cost of a hotel."
That was the last the topic was discussed for the evening. Mark took them out to a nice Mexican restaurant named "Los Tres Locitos" and they ate enormous burritos while Debbie and Mark swapped stories about Mark's father Sam and the hundred odd things they used to do together. Debbie's worry seemed to have disappeared, but Sharon sensed that there was a deeper sadness in Mark, one that he had to work hard to keep below the surface. Sharon also found herself sharing her own stories for the first time; talking about how her father had been mayor when the school was nearly destroyed in a mudslide. Remembering how the whole community and even people from far out in the county had come together to build it back up again. She talked about how she had fallen in to the stream that ran by the edge of town once and how cold it had been. Her mom had made her warm milk and put Vicks Vapor rub on her chest for a week.
After dinner Mark took Debbie to a hotel next to the truck stop where the truck was parked and dropped her off. As she was getting up to go he asked, "Will I see you tomorrow?"
Debbie shook her head. "No, I've got a load to get to Miami and then it's off to North Carolina. I don't think I'll be back on the west coast for at least another couple of months. You know you can come with me if you want."
Mark just smiled. "Well, if you're in San Diego in December that's where we're heading next." Mark gave Debbie a hug and got back in the Ford.
Before Mark started the car Sharon asked, "Look, I don't mind staying in a hotel. I can get a room here too. I can take care of myself."
Mark replied, "That's fine with me, but frankly I'd love for you to come back to the Little Miss and check her out. We've got two crew cabins and Dan and Rick share the starboard one so you would have the port cabin to yourself for the trip. I sleep in a guest cabin. I need to bring on another hand to help with the work since the Little Miss needs a lot of care and feeding. I never make a run with less than four people."
"You might be green but Mom has a great feel for people and I don't know anyone else in Seattle so you're probably my best bet. We won't be under sail for a few days any way so why don't you come aboard and see if it's something that you'd like to do. If it doesn't seem like it's going to work out you can go your own way whenever you like."
Although Sharon had some doubts, she felt like Mark was a person she could trust and she remembered what Vicky had said about not being afraid to take help when it came her way. With no better plan, this seemed as good an idea as any. "Sure, I'll give it a try, but no promises."
When the car pulled up to the docks she made her way out along across the marina for what seemed like eternity before they stopped in front of an enormous white single-hulled sailboat that looked like it must be nearly 100 feet long. Sharon asked incredulously, "Do you own this?"
Mark laughed, "No, I'm not the owner I'm just the captain. The owner is on the road a lot and I keep her in shape and ready to go. I also move her from port to port seasonally. We're getting ready to take her down to San Diego for a while but we may well take her further south and we may even go to Panama and cross over to the East Coast if that looks like a better place to keep her for a while."
Mark led Sharon up the steps and in to the ship. The deck was a beautiful teak wood and was polished to a brilliant shine. "She's a ninety-four-foot Jongert cruiser and we've got her in great shape. We sail with a crew of four and that's enough to keep her running pretty smooth even if we have guests." He walked her over to a small door near the fore and opened it for her. The room was tiny and had two small cots one above the other. "It's not a lot but at least you won't be sharing it. My cabin is back the way we came through that door." He pointed back towards the aft section. "In case you need to go to the bathroom the head if just to the left of my cabin."
Sharon tossed her suitcase inside the cabin. "Thanks Mark. I'm pretty tired so if you don't mind I'm going to go straight to bed."
"Sure, see you in the morning" replied Mark.
The next day Mark spent most of the morning showing Sharon around the ship and getting her used to the language of sailing. After lunch she cleaned up after seagulls and then vacuumed and dusted the master cabin which looked like it had never been used. Dan and Rick arrived in the evening and Mark made introductions. Dan and Rick had been sailing with Mark for over a year and both had been around the world more than once before that.
For three days the routine stayed basically the same. The morning would be spent learning new things with Mark (or sometimes Dan or Rick) and the afternoon and evening would be spent cooking, cleaning, or doing simple maintenance. Dan and Rick were generally friendly and helpful whenever Sharon needed something, but the rest of the time they seemed content to keep to themselves. The evening of the fourth day on board Mark pulled Sharon in to the dining room. "We're looking to get underway tomorrow and I wanted to see if you still wanted to come along."
Sharon knew they were leaving but hadn't yet stopped to think if she was coming or not. The work had been satisfying and she felt pretty comfortable with the crew, so the decision was not a hard one. "Absolutely." She said, "I'm looking forward to it."
Mark seemed genuinely happy. "That's great. You've really settled in quick. I'm glad mom found you."
It was early on a Saturday morning that Little Miss powered out of Bell Harbor and Sharon found that she was much less nervous than she had expected. Watching the waves lap at the bow and hearing the quiet chugging of the engine created a calm she hadn't felt for a very long time. By noon they had cut power and Sharon watched as they hoisted sail for the first time. With the engine quiet the sound of the wind and waves and the creaking of the masts and rigging were the only sounds. Looking out across the open waves at that moment Sharon knew she had not been wrong to leave. Though the Washington air was cold and full of moisture in the afternoon sun, she felt as warm as she had ever been.
The trip from Seattle to San Diego lasted nearly a month and in that month Sharon spent an enormous amount of time learning the craft of sailing. She had always been strong, but as she learned to work the lines she became toughened in a way she had never been before. Sharon, Mark, Dan and Rick talked surprisingly little those many days. Even though they spent time together while Sharon was learning something new, and meals were spent together in the dining room, it was as though each of the four was moving in their own space. There was a quiet and solid confidence of action that joined the three men and Sharon found herself slipping gently into it.
It wasn't until they had arrived in San Diego and had a night away from the Little Miss that the conversation returned to more serious matters. Mark and Sharon were having dinner together at a small restaurant along Mission Beach and Sharon turned to Mark and asked, "I still haven't met the owner of Little Miss. Will he be joining us in San Diego?"
Mark laughed so hard he nearly spit out his drink. "You mean you still don't know? My mom is the owner. She inherited the Little Miss two years ago. My dad bought her just before he died and he wanted me to take him and mom on a round-the-world sailing trip but we never made it. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. When you first asked if I was the owner I was being coy, but I figured you knew by now."
Sharon was a little angry he hadn't told her, and there was a long silence as Mark sat staring blankly into his plate. Eventually Mark continued in a somber tone, "My dad was an over the road trucker for ten years before he met mom. She was 18 and he was 35. I don't know the whole story but I guess somehow he just picked her up by the road and she started riding along with him. He was a good trucker, but he was a better business man and he already had five trucks when he met mom. He kept driving even while he was growing his business and as I was growing up we would never take a vacation that didn't include hauling at least two or three loads. He didn't need to drive any more but he kept doing it. Driving was the link that tied us all together."
"The day after the funeral mom got in one of our trucks and headed across country. She's been driving almost continuously since then. I've ridden along with her a few times, but she hardly lets you talk, she just goes on and on with old stories and I can't bring up anything more serious. There isn't even anything in the truck. She just imagines there is some load she has to take to Boston or Minneapolis or God knows where else and she starts going."
His eyes seemed far away as he continued, "Last year I stopped trying to track her and keep her safe and I just let her drive. I guess I finally decided that everyone has a time in their life when they just need to go and that's what she's doing. She's going, and maybe that's what I'm doing too. I can't be with her; even if I'm with her I'm not with her. We see each other every couple of months in some restaurant in San Diego or Coos Bay or some port town and that's as much as we can do."
Sharon reached her hand across the table and gave his arm a squeeze.
They ate silently for a while and then Mark turned the conversation back to sailing without another word about Debbie or Mark or Sam, but that night Sharon thought of little else. In the morning Sharon told Mark she would be out for the morning, she grabbed a pen and note pad and her letter and headed off.
A few blocks from the Marina is a small public library and Sharon went in, sat down and started to write:
Dear Vicky,
It's been over a month since I left Aughto and so much has happened that I can't describe it all. Right now I'm sitting in a library in San Diego, but in a few weeks it sounds like I'll be sailing for Panama. Thank you so much for making it possible for me to leave; it has changed everything and I don't think I would have made it out of the house if I had had to parcel out my parents things. Don't worry too much if you can't find a renter right away as I don't really need the money right now.
When I left I never said why and you never asked, but now I think you need to know. When I was in second grade we had a class project to write a letter to our future selves. They were going to put it in to a time-capsule and then mail it fifteen years later. The day before I came to see you I got that letter in the mail and something inside me just couldn't take it. For as long as I could remember it was my dream to travel around the country and there I was stuck in Aughto wondering if I would still be in my parents house when I turned 100. I just couldn't face the expectations of that seven year old who had written the letter with such grand vision.
All of us want to run away some times. For some people no matter how much they want to run they can't, and for others no matter how much they need to stop running they can't.
Now that I have run away I've discovered that I don't need to any more, but as I ran I found others who still do. So I think I'll spend some time running with them. I don't know where I'll go or when and if I'll come back, but I'll try to write to you often so you can run with me.
Love, Sharon
After Sharon mailed her letter to Vicky she took out the letter she had carried with her so carefully from her mailbox those many thousand miles ago and opened it. The writing ran together and some of the letters were bigger than others, but this is what it said:
Miss Emily said we should write to ourselves for when we are old. I don't think you will read this because they will not find you. When I am big I will not live here. I will be a astronaut or a airplane pilot and I will fly everywhere and no one will no all the places I will go. Also I might live on a boat.
Sharon Valdez 7 years old
