The 10 Hour Drive South of the Mason Dixon Line

The full reality of our impending move to the Great White North still hadn’t set in by the time I had to drive down to Alabama for my engineer’s commissioning.  I had bought a new dress to wear and felt that I was ready.  Ready for it ALL!!  Not that I had any idea whatsoever what “all” included.  But that didn’t matter.  Whatever it was, my engineer and I could face it together.  Isn’t it wonderful to be completely naïve?  Now, I sit back and think about my “young military spouse” self and shake my head.  If I had any idea of what I would face in the years that followed, I would have dug a hole and buried myself in it.  “Here Lies Laura…the spouse who couldn’t hack it!” is what the marker would have read.  It is a very, very good thing that I did not know what the years would hold. 

I left St. Louis at 4am.  I remember loading my bag into the car, looking around the apartment parking lot, thinking, “this isn’t going to be home much longer.”  It was SO cold, wet, and dark outside.  Snow hadn’t fallen on the city yet, but it was wanting to.  The Missouri winter mists were a sign that the ice storms and snows were just around the corner.  It was just me, NPR, and the truckers on the freeway that early in the morning.  I looked at the clock on the dash when I finally got on the freeway: 04:05.  I remember thinking, “just 10 more hours to go.” 

That long drive was a memorable one for me.  Now, you must understand that I LOVE to drive.  But this drive felt different.  There was a distinct feeling of stepping out of one life and into another.  Just as I was physically driving into a part of the country I had never been, I was emotionally taking a journey into a life I had no real understanding of.  Part of me couldn’t wait for the hours to pass, because, at the end, I would see my engineer again.  But the other part of me was gripping, with white knuckles, the “Welcome to the State of Missouri” sign out of sheer hysteria at the unknown around the corner. 

I had NEVER been to the South before.  Yes, I have been to Texas and Oklahoma, but those are NOT the South.  Just as different countries have different cultures, so do different states.  I had learned this quite harshly living in Missouri.  The minute people heard I was from California, there was an unspoken label attached to my forehead.  Quite a few people were able to see past my “flaw,” but others just couldn’t do it.  As I drove, I was looking forward to seeing places I had never seen and going to places I had never been. 

The sun started cresting the trees by the time I crossed the border into Kentucky.  It was a breathtaking sight.  I remember how the mist softened the lines, as if I had stepped into a watercolor painting.  The beauty was amazing.  With the arrival of the sun came a lifting of my spirits.  The future didn’t seem quite so ominous anymore.  Part of me wanted to park the car, right there, and just watch the sun rise.  However, instead, I pressed onward…further south past the Mason Dixon Line.

That journey brought me closer, physically, to my engineer and closer, mentally, to fully embracing my future as a military spouse.  Just as I made the DECISION to love my spouse, I also made the decision to do whatever had to be done to make our life and marriage a good one.  I am NOT saying our life or our marriage is perfect.  But it is good.  I think it was those hours of complete isolation in that car, driving deeper into unknown territory that caused me to decide to embrace whatever came along, no matter what. There were times when I did it kicking and screaming…but I did it.

Nine hours after leaving St. Louis, I arrived in Alabama.  I have to say that I was very tired and very lost.  After driving around Montgomery for quite some time, I decided to find someone who could help me.  With the address for the hotel in my hand, I stopped at a neighborhood hardware store.  After having lived in Missouri for 3 years, I knew that local hardware stores ALWAYS have the dirt on a town.  I am not talking about the chain hardware stores.  I am talking about the stores with some guy’s first name on it.  I felt very lucky when I found one shortly after deciding to stop for help.

At this point, you have to understand that I was shoving all my pre-conceptions out of my mind concerning the South.  I parked my car, straightened myself (hoping I didn’t look like I had been driving for 9 and a half hours), got out, and plastered a smile on my face.  Hotel address in hand, I cheerfully entered the store.  What I faced upon entering tore apart all my thoughts concerning pre-conceptions.  Ladies and Gentlemen, I had, officially, entered the South.

There were two employees working that day (that I could see).  One was a lady whose hair had stayed in the 60s and the rest of her had been none too kindly treated by time.  I had never seen hair like her’s in person…EV ER!  It was a brassy, Scream at Me, bottle red, that was piled on her head in a beehive that put my grandmother’s black & white photos to shame.  Her shirt was this massive riot of bright colored flowers that looked like it had once been someone’s curtains.  She turned to me, and in a very thick Southern drawl, said, “what can I do you for, honey?”  After making sure my voice wouldn’t crack, I smiled, told her I needed to find my hotel and wondered if she could help. 

After she looked at the address, she shook her head, made a disapproving noise in her throat, and said, “Ya ain’t from around here, are ya?  This hotel is in a bad neighborhood.  You are going to get raped and possibly worse.  Wetbacks own that place.”  After picking myself emotionally up off the floor, for I had NEVER had ANYONE use that word in conversation with me before in my life, I said, “No, as a matter of fact, I am not from around here.  Do you actually now how I can get there, or not??”  That was when I saw her jerk her head toward the other person working in the store.  “That Boy over there can probably help you.  I don’t go in that part of town.”

Looking over to where she had motioned, I saw that the “boy” was a black gentleman of about 45 or 50.  I smiled, said, “thank you very much,” and went over to talk to him.  Walking up, I said, “Excuse me, Sir?  Can you help me?”  The look of surprise on his face was shocking to me.  He said that he would if he could, what did I need?  That was when I showed him my hotel address, and explained that I was lost.  He looked at it, smiled, and gave me the best directions I have ever had.  I could have hugged him!  After saying “Thank you” several times, I followed his directions and soon arrived at the hotel…

….only to find that it was owned by a Hindi family.  For all of her blind, hateful words…she couldn’t even get her racial epithets correct.