The Inevitability of Change

When quarantine started, the first event that clued me in to the fact that things would soon be different was the shutting down of our town’s Jiffy Lube—my boyfriend’s primary source of income. The second was that I couldn’t get through to the tattoo shop where I had booked a touch up appointment for the work I had done on Valentine’s Day. No answering machine. Just a request to call again at some other time. I didn’t call again for about six months. I still haven’t had that tattoo fixed. Things like that seem so insignificant now.

Everything in my life changed unexpectedly in the span of less than a week. But, change is inevitable, unstoppable. Eventually, something will happen that upends everything.

It was a regular night near the end of March. (I believe it was a Wednesday, but who can be sure?) The lockdown had been in effect for about a week and a half. Things were escalating again with one of my roommates due to us not being able to go out much except for work. Everyone was stressed. My boyfriend especially because he had already lost one job and couldn’t scrounge up enough hours at the remaining one to do more than cover his portion of the bills. We were definitely reaching a breaking point where we had to choose the best route moving forward— financially and emotionally.

My boyfriend brought up the idea of moving in with his grandparents for a little while. The main issue was that they lived in a town two hours away from our livelihoods. With my income alone, I could have barely continued paying the bills, rent, food, and enough gas to drive to work for both of us. However, staying wasn’t worth the home environment we had to constantly juggle. My roommate’s moods were unpredictable. We were both tired of being run in circles and not being able to predict which version of her we could expect that day. So, we started packing everything up that night, hoping to move it all out by the end of that Saturday.

The Friday night before our move date, we packed as much as we could into one of our biggest cars and one of our smallest to start hauling things over. Over the next forty-eight hours we hauled as much of our stuff as we could manage and all but one of our five cars—four of which, I might add, were NOT mine. We had a few stragglers, but for the most part we had fully transferred everything to our new home. I was happy to be done moving everything, but dreading the four hour round-trip commute I had to endure the next morning.

On Monday, I was running a little bit late for my starting time of eight thirty. I had underestimated just how far away I actually lived from my job now that we had moved. When I walked into the office I hollered a quick ‘good morning’ to whoever was listening and rushed to login to my computer and clock in for work. I sat down, attempting to smooth my scrubs in vain, and started opening up my work programs. It was just like any other day since the COVID-19 pandemic began. Most of my day at that point consisted of calling patients to reschedule them to Telehealth appointments per the doctors’ request. It was tedious work involving a lot of messages left on voicemails and not a lot of actual conversation with human beings.

Around midmorning, our coworker who scanned files into the system in the back came up with a box full of knick-knacks from her humble desk. We had heard about some people from other offices being let go and been vaguely worried about it happening to us. This made it more real. We had dared to think we were safe from the devastation the pandemic wielded; that maybe we would be immune. We were wrong.

I was called in by our head of human resources later and given the same news. I was devastated—more so than I was just a few days ago at the prospect of having to pick everything up and move suddenly. But I can’t say that I hadn’t expected it. I was one of the only employees without children to provide for. I was also their most recent hire. Last in, first out and all that.

I drove the two hour commute home that day fighting back tears, again. I think my coworkers were more shocked than I had been. I received a lot of sympathy and love and reassurances that day that I will never forget. A group of them even got together and paid for a really sweet card and a Visa gift card to help me out.

I wish it hadn't happened the way it did. That was the best job I had ever had. For the income, but especially for the people I worked with. I loved it. But I knew it wasn't my "forever job". I dreaded not knowing how to quit in the future whenever we inevitably moved out of the county, or even out of state. This goodbye was easy. It wasn't my fault. And in the end, it gave me time to start figuring out what really matters to me.

Of course, there was a period in-between where I am now and where I was when I found myself newly jobless where I was not okay. Not okay at all. It took me two months of pretty severe depression to actually start slowly doing things I love again. It took me roughly six months longer before I came to accept that this really was home---for now at least. Eight months total before I started actually going out and exploring the town. My new friend kept asking to hang out more often, which was really good for both of us.

If I hadn't moved here then I never would've met her. Maybe I never would've even wandered out of my own comfort zone. Over time, I have come to appreciate my new hometown for the memories I have made here and for giving me the opportunity to take a step back from life and continue to grow. And, possibly, some much needed space away from the rest of the world.

There aren’t many people here. But, the people who do live here have a favorite place to walk, bike, or do other outdoor activities that don’t require a field at one of the parks: the bike path. This path extends through the center of a majority of the town, abruptly cutting off on both ends. In the middle of the path itself, there are several statues lining the way. The biggest one in particular is graced with the honor of being addressed as “the monument”. The monument represents the history of the town’s ongoing oil industry. That is the most lucrative job you can find in this town without having any specific schooling. It’s what they focus on in high school and college courses and, most likely, the profession you will have if you grew up—and choose to stay—here.

But, that’s not why I’m telling you about it. Sure, a lot of people may be interested in something like that due to the rich history behind it. I’m not very interested in it myself. I mention it because that’s what people pass every time they walk the whole path, never really stopping to think about why it’s there. My friend and I walk right on past it too.

Walking that path is a regular thing we do a few times every week. We play Pokemon Go or just walk and talk and enjoy the fresh air. Sometimes we take my boyfriend or dog with us. We don’t stop to think about the history of the town—although my friend often brings up some history or story of her own childhood because she has lived her entire life. But, most of the time, we are fixated on the present moment and not the why or how of anything but what is going on in our own lives.

When we aren’t walking, we drive around a lot in this town. There's not much else to do, especially with the current state of the world. In town, there isn’t really much to look at. But there are several old brick buildings and alleyways that hold unexpected surprises. Some display hints of signs for stores of the past; they hold different purposes now. There are multiple abandoned buildings as well. Some buildings have randomly placed doors that lead to nowhere facing into the alleyways. I’m not really sure why they were put there in the first place.

A lot of this town is fairly rundown and unkempt. Which makes it really interesting if you stop to look at it. I like weird old houses and have a strange attraction to brick, so I think it’s super cool. Maybe that says something about me. That I’m more drawn to appearances and aesthetics of things than the history behind them. I’m not that way with people, but objects are different. But for both, I’m definitely attracted to the unique. But, we are off topic now. My point is that, although this town isn’t much to look at, if you look closer at seemingly boring things there will always be something interesting beneath the surface.

While the town itself is mostly rundown old buildings, it’s very pretty on the outskirts. A desolate, desert kind of pretty. Not much grows, but you still somehow feel more alive. The sky seems endless. It stretches across the rolling hills like a soft blanket of clouds. On the day we took this, it was a cloudy day in the middle of a week’s worth of on and off rain. Much needed rain. A winter rain. With strong winds and pelting clumps of ice. It made everything a little more green and beautiful. Not much more green, it is still a desert after all. But more beautiful regardless.

But maybe it's just the way that the sky backdrops everything and accentuates the good. Out there it feels like the world just goes on forever. Even though it’s only a very small slice of it. When I look up at the sky—as you can probably tell my favorites are the cloudy and colorful ones—it feels like everything and nothing exists in a single moment. I'm so small, but that second is my whole world.

It’s nice to be able to drive without a purpose. There’s not much purpose to be found in driving in the middle of nowhere, except just enjoying the journey. We often go wherever the wind takes us without a solid goal in mind. I don’t usually drive very often outside of town if it’s just us girls. And I especially don’t do it at night.

I have several stories about driving at night in the past and the weird—often very interesting—stuff that has happened to me. I went on little midnight jaunts like that a lot with my friends during my community college days. The past few years though, the amount of adventures after dusk have diminished greatly.

One night about a month ago though, my friend convinced me to meet her other really close friend to just grab food, talk, and possibly go on a walk around twilight. I should’ve expected that the night to be more eventful than any of us could’ve predicted.

We sat talking loudly as we began snacking on our food. Around us, the sky faded quickly from a light, dusty gray to nearly pitch black. I turned slightly from the driver’s seat to address the other two.

“So,” I glanced at them and then gestured in the direction of the sky, “no walk I take it?”

We all laughed a little and agreed it was probably too dark to walk at that point. That or we just didn’t want to anymore. They apparently had another, better adventure in mind.

“No...Do you want to drive up to the ‘T’?” My friend suggested.

After having to turn around and stopping to get my tires pumped up, and effectively knocking over my friend’s Mountain Dew into her lap and soaking her thoroughly, we headed up into the hills.

The ‘T’ requires either walking or a bit of off-roading to reach. But, luckily, getting up there was no problem with my forerunner. Even if we had needed to walk the rest of the way, the view was definitely worth it.

Earlier I spoke about the endless sky and the rolling waves of hills that go on forever. Well, when you’re up and actually above almost everything but the sky, that feeling intensifies. Looking over the lights of our little town, I felt infinite—if you’ll allow me to indirectly quote The Perks of Being a Wallflower. It was the bliss and freedom that I hadn’t experienced in a really long time.

But what made that night particularly special was what happened when we tried to leave. Tried being the keyword.

I started rolling down the unofficial dirt lot, unsure of which road we came up.

“Um, go that way!” My friend’s friend shouted, noticing my uncertainty. She pointed vaguely to an unsettlingly small and narrow pathway off to her right.

“You’re sure?” I asked, concerned.

“Yeah, of course”, she responded with confidence. Since she had been up here more often than the rest of us we took her at her word. Her utmost belief in the directions she was giving really solidified that trust.

I started down the path. The dirt road got narrower and narrower until it ceased to exist completely.

“I feel like maybe this wasn’t the right way!” I exclaimed nervously.

“Okay,” my friend soothed, “just turn around and go back the way we came then.”

I reversed for a second and then felt the wheels spin around, unable to grab hold of anything beneath them.

“I think we’re stuck,” I said anxiously. I spent the next few minutes trying to slowly perform a however-many-points turn in the small space between the hill we were on and a small cliff. Back and forth. Back and forth. Nearly turning us completely sideways in the process because I couldn’t move the car in any direction more than a few inches.

“I think we're gonna have to push you,” my friend’s friend loudly stated.

“Yeah, I think so too,” my friend confirmed.

“No, guys I think if I can turn enough to drive to the right and over that pipe I can make it up!” I argued.

“I don’t think going over the pipe is really a good idea,” my friend voiced. “We aren’t really sure where exactly it ends or if it would pop a tire or scrape the bottom of the car…”

“I think we have to take that chance. There’s no way you guys are going to be able to push me right now, we are at a really bad angle and I basically have a damn truck,” I responded. “That pipe is our only shot at getting out without calling for help.”

My friend sat pondering for a second and then started getting out of the car. “I’ll go scout out past the pipe to see if that’s even doable.”

She wandered off in the direction of the pipe with her phone flashlight glaring in the dark outside of the reach of my headlights. On her way back, she also checked to see if maybe there was a clearer way out to the left of us. When she got to that side of the car, she stopped suddenly, staring intently into the bushes in front of her. She backed up slowly, then turned and ran to the best of her ability back to us.

“Something was growling at me,” she said breathlessly as soon as she had safely closed the door. “It looks like you can follow a trail up after the pipe, but I’m not sure if you can actually clear it completely,” she continued.

“So, let’s push!” her friend yelled, lunging for the door handle.

I quickly locked all of the doors. “Are you guys crazy?! Something’s growling out there. We don’t know what it is and I’m sure as hell not letting you guys out with it.”

After a few seconds of them fighting with me and insisting I let them out to try, I put my foot down.

“I can make it. I’ve been off-roading before, I think I can handle a little pipe,” I said much more confidently than I actually felt.

So, I put the car in drive and pushed the gas as hard as I could without sending us flying over the cliff. I started creeping forward slowly, leaning as far over the steering wheel as possible to gauge where I need to place my tires to avoid any damage from the pipe.

Once we had made it over that, there wasn’t a very defined path in front of us. I had to drive through some dead bushes and scraped up my car during the slight climb back up to the main road.

But, we had made it out. And I won some brownie points with my friend’s friend, who now thought I was legitimately cool. While it was kind of a stressful adventure at the end, it was still the most fun I’ve had driving around here so far. Most days are not even as eventful as that night was. Usually we just hang out at home or go get food and sit somewhere to eat. We don’t really have many places we frequent in town. Usually they’re too busy or noisy or not very nice to look at.

By far our favorite place to go together is the cemetery. A lot of people have an aversion to cemeteries. Maybe it's because they house the soulless husks of the dearly departed. Maybe it's the fear of vengeful spirits. For us though, it's the most beautiful and peaceful place we can find in this small town. No one bothers you at a cemetery. The lack of people and the atmosphere create a weird sense of calm, like it’s a sanctuary outside the grasp of time.

It always seems to be cooler there and more shaded than in town. Sure, people give us weird looks for being parked and laughing and eating in a cemetery, but we don’t pay them any mind. Just the other day actually, we bought Taco Bell and went to eat it by my friend’s siblings' graves. We were keeping them and ourselves company. My friend kept joking that they wouldn’t care if we spilled a little cheese on top of them, they might even enjoy it.

So we sit and we breathe in the life all around us, even if it's really hard sometimes. If we aren't walking, that's usually where we go to talk about everything and hopefully get one another's advice and opinions. And sometimes—not often, but sometimes—we're silent. Content to just exist in each other's presence and in that moment. Like in that second nothing else matters. Nothing can touch us. We don’t have money problems or boy problems. We don’t stress about anything. And, in that seemingly mundane moment, I find a world of tranquility that I don’t experience anywhere else.

You'll notice that nothing I love about my hometown is very grand or even relevant to most people. There's a certain peace in disconnecting to reconnect on a personal level to everything again. Maybe we should all learn to just slow down a little bit. To appreciate the little things. This whole experience gave me the chance to take a breath. To stop and enjoy the small everyday things that I hold dear. The moments that don't really matter to anyone else.

Most people have that place where they just feel like they belong. Sometimes it’s because you grew up there for the entirety of your childhood and other times it’s because the place or the people have grown on you. This is not where I grew up or made childhood memories. This is not the town I chose to move to—I even despised living here for a majority of these last nine going on ten months. It’s not my dream place or even somewhere most people would consider an option. This is where I moved out of necessity, and it’s a place where I’ve grown. This town really isn’t much; it took me a really long time to see any good in it. You may not find anything to love here, but I have. It was our refuge to fall back on when we couldn’t hold ourselves up anymore. And, the moments and people that I do love beyond a shadow of a doubt have made it all better.

And if change is inevitable, shouldn't we at least try to enjoy the journey?