Judith Bottom Is Going To Cape-Horn

All right, look.

I didn’t steal the $20,000 from my parents’ safe, I borrowed it, took it out on loan. They have enough money to buy England, okay, they aren't gonna miss it. Anyway I need it, because I, Judith Bottom, am on a crusade of great splendour and importance. I live in Phoenix Arizona, and I'm marching my way 6,713 miles to the tip of South America, Cape Horn.

Why in heck would you do that, you ask?

Well, because I want to, thats why.

And, minor detail, I was fired from my job like three hours ago so I got a lotta free time. I worked at a Health Food Store, I was trying to be independent from mom and dad, and ya, I get borrowing 20k from them now kinda defeats the point but whatever. Anyway I was fired for napping in the storage fridge. Do you know how hot it gets in Phoenix Arizona during July? It’s like a waffle fryer, heat comes down from the sky, heat rises back up from the ground, BOOM, waffle fryer. Napping in the storage fridge seemed like a good idea at the time. I’m not mad that it got me fired, it was a good nap.

So the propelling reason for my spare-the-moment crusade, is not necessarily some bucket list desire combined with my release from a dumb unsympathetic boss. It’s not even because of my parents. They have issues sure, and expectations, but nothing to make me run away. The reason, is that I don't know who I am. I've spent my entire life too afraid to live because I was too afraid to make a mistake.

Judith Bottom has no identity.

Judith Bottom is a nobody.

And now, Judith Bottom is gonna freaking fix that.

I don't know if what I’m doing is the answer, but it’s something.

Currently, I'm standing on a disturbingly deserted road, thumb out, smile at the ready. I got dropped off here by a coworker. She said she’d drive me further to a town or gas-station or something, but I wanted to find my own way. I wanted a challenge. After all, crusades aren’t meant to be easy. So, I threw a fit and she threw me out of the car. Over the past hour only three vehicles have zipped by. The drivers sped up when they saw me, they all did the quick glance and look away that usually accompanies the awkwardness of driving by a stranger with their thumb up. I get it, nobody wants to pick up a hitchhiker, I wouldn't want to pick up a hitchhiker, but come on.

I was about to start walking down the open road when a truck rose up like a zit on the flat horizon line. Two minutes away, one minute, 30 seconds. The truck came to a stop and the driver rolled down the window, by hand I might add. I didn’t know vehicles still did that. I walked up to my prospective ride and rested my arms on the sill.

Chin high, big smile.

“Hey,” I said to the driver, “you heading south?”

The driver, a man looking to be anywhere from 45 to 65, looked from me to the road and back again.

“What’s it look like?”

I looked from him, to the road and back again.

“It looks like you’re heading south.”

The driver stared at me like I was nuts. Concerning my crusade, I might be, but maybe that’s my long lost identity, Judith The Nut.

“So,” I said, “you want some company for the drive?”

He shook his head.

“Not really, I just stopped to make sure you aren’t dying.”

I checked my pulse, “Nope, not dying,” I assured.

“This an emergency then?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“You a cop?” I asked.

“I’m retired.”

“Oh, cool man, cool.”

He nodded, his expression told me that he highly regretted pulling over.

“I’ll pay you,” I said quickly.

“What?”

“I’ll pay you if I can get in your truck. I have 20 bucks.”

“I don't accept money from kids.”

Ah, a moral man, I could play on that.

“Just get me to the next town?” I suggested.

A retired cop could never leave a helpless looking child on the empty roadside. I had him in the bag.

He chewed it over, and finally he sighed and said, “Fine, next town.”

“Cool! Thanks!”

“But no talking,” he said as I pulled at the old door handle and hopped in, the seat was old and worn-out by many butts. “I have a headache that could kick a horse.”

“Why?”

“You’re talking.”

I bit my lips together and fastened my seatbelt.

The man shifted in his seat, hand on the key, he stopped and sighed, then turned to look at me.

“My husband’s birthday was last night,” he said, “I drank too much.”

Huh, I’ve never been drunk. I didn’t tell him that, it wouldn't help with him thinking I'm a kid.

“Oh, ya,” I said, “that damn hangover, eh?”

He frowned.

“Uh, right.”

I don't think I fooled him. Damn it. He was a retired cop, I had to be more choosy about my fibbing.

Thankfully he didn’t question me anymore and when he turned the key, the engine rumbled alive, it sounded like 40 lions purring at once. The truck pulled onto the road and we were off, I was off. Just so you know, I don't condone getting in strangers cars, it’s a dumb idea to say the least, but I do condone finding yourself, and making mistakes. He told me his name was Garry, I told him my name was Judith, then we shook hands and that was that. I abided to his no talking rule, though I desperately wanted to ask him about his life. One thing about not knowing who you are, is that you have an almost frenzied desire to know who other people are, even if they don't wanna talk to you.

I do, however, have something to soothe that desire. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my special black notebook and my pen. If people are too secretive, if they are strangers on the street, or, if they simply have a hangover and don't want to talk, I make a life for them. I write down all the things I imagine about who they could be. I give them a purpose, a place, everything. So that is what I'm gonna do with this retired cop named Garry, I’m gonna fill out his life. As Garry watched the road, I snuck quick peeks at his face, his hands, his clothes and his shoes, I also noticed he was drinking coffee out of a ceramic mug that looked like it was made by a child. I concluded, that Garry’s last name was Marshal, he was 57 years old, he loved to garden due to the dirt under his nails, roses were his favourite flower, a romantic, he was thrifty and liked practical things due to his choice of clothes and their state of regress, he had a bad back or some other pain because he wore black orthopaedics, the same as my dad, and he and his husband adopted his sisters two kids after she tragically died in the line of duty, she was also a cop.

I smiled at my notebook.

“You don't get motion sickness?” Garry asked me.

It was out of the blue and I thought he didn’t want to talk, but he felt like crap, so he’s probably wondering about my state of health considering I'm doing something that makes most people ill.

I shook my head. “No, I never get motion sick.”

He thought for a moment, then spoke again.

“What’s your plan, kid?”

“Thought you didn’t wanna talk, Garry.”

“I don't like awkward silence.”

So he easily felt awkward. I added ‘possible introvert’ to my list.

I cleared my throat and got my answer ready.

“Well, I borrowed $20,000 from my parents and now I'm going to South America.”

Sometimes, its necessary to tell the truth in order to lie. At my confession Garry made a sound, I think it was supposed to be a laugh but it came out as a grunt. I don't judge, Garry is hungover.

“Ya,” he said, “me too.”

I laughed at that, imaging him in South America. I get the vibe he’s never left Arizona. I wrote down ‘homebody’ in my notebook.

Since Garry was kind enough to let me in his truck, I felt that I should just level with him.

“I’m on an adventure,” I said.

“Of what sort?”

I thought for a moment, wanting to select my wording perfectly as to not alert suspicion, or to sound even more nutty.

“Well,” I said, “I am on an adventure to find my inner-being.”

At that Garry looked a little confused and concerned, he tried to hide it, a kind man.

“That sounds………very auspicious,” he said.

I nodded, thinking maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say.

“I just need a change of scenery,” I corrected.

Now he looked a little less confused and concerned.

“I get that. Mark, my husband, he and I are going to California next week for a getaway.”

I looked down at my notebook, I scratched ‘homebody’ off the list.

“That should be nice,” I said, “I went to San Diego last summer with my parents.”

“What you do there?”

“Nothing.”

“Hmph, well that’s our plan. Lay next to the beach and do nothing.”

I smiled.

“That should be very relaxing.”

“You got that right kid.”

“I turned 18 last week, Garry.”

“Anyone under 30 is a kid to me.”

I shrugged, “Fair enough.”

I didn’t want to argue with a cop. I also added ‘set in his ways’ to his list.

As we drove I continued to write down facts about his life, and in-between writing, I watched the world go by. The sun was setting, orange, yellow, pink and dashes of red illuminated the sky. The evening light lit up the dead brown grass that lay on each side of the road, giving it life, turning it gold and beautiful. Before I left, I texted my parents and told them I was staying with my friend Chia for a few days at her lake cabin. That should buy me sufficient time to get far enough away so when they find out what I’m doing, they can’t just get in the car and bring me home.

“This good kiddo?”

Garry cut into my thoughts, quicker than expected we had arrived in the town of Florence.

“This is perfect,” I told him.

I hopped out of the truck and closed the door.

“You sure you’re good?” Garry asked through the open window.

I nodded.

“Please tell Mark that your friend Judith says hello.”

“We’re friends?”

I nodded again.

“I would say so, yes, we are.”

“Well, all right then. I will tell Mark that my friend Judith says hello.”

“Thanks Garry.”

“No problemo kiddo.”

I smiled wide, the same smile I had on when he picked me up.

“Have fun in Cali.”

He sighed happily, I could see Garry was thinking of the warm beaches and doing nothing.

“All right Judith,” he said as he turned the key, “have fun finding your inner-being.”

“I will.”

Garry nodded once and slowly pulled onto the highway. I waved at him, I could see him wave back. I took out my notebook and wrote ‘Friend of Judith’ on his list, then, I watched his truck as it once again turned into a pimple on the flat horizon line. See ya sometime, Garry. I don't like the idea of never seeing people again, even if I don't know them well. I took a breath, then released, breath, release, then, I had a thought, my breath caught.

Is $20,000 enough to get to Cape Horn?

Crap.