A Vermont Landing
Vermont Mollys Falls
The rain was constant, but started to take on a rhythm of its own. Driving at night was not my preference. However, I was so close to my destination I had to power through. I dug deep into my past life and used my skills as a former ambulance worker to focus and concentrate on the road. Every 20 miles or so, it seemed, there was a lengthy construction zone that brought the two lane highway down to one lane. The rain obscured the view of the traffic lines, with orange cones providing guidance in a dark and rainy night. Was my vision getting blurry? Or was it this normal? I couldn’t tell.
All I knew, my singular purpose, was to arrive safely at my destination. Time was a factor though, as midnight was not too far away.. Nothing good happens after midnight, an old voice whispered in my head. Not only did the construction zones slow me down, the small towns I passed through had speed zones that were very necessary. This was a strange new place, full of twisty, windy roads that were difficult to see in the dark deluge that descended on Vermont. While slowing down added travel time, the speed zones and construction zones were welcome safety measures.
I had very little idea where I was. My sense of direction was completely off, as the northeast highway and road system was not the linear one I had dealt with my entire life. I could not tell east from west, north from south, especially in the late night hours. Google maps was navigating and I had to trust her proper British accent. I just prayed I didn’t lose my cell signal. But I had old-fashioned paper maps just in case. Thank goddess for state welcome centers.
I had been driving from Oklahoma since June 29th, 2021, stopping in Indiana for a night of sleep before hitting the road bright and early the next day. Escaping Oklahoma had been no easy feat. It was necessary to move fast and discreetly, so my second ex-husband could not find me or ruin my plans to leave the area. After being stalked my entire adult life, by my biological father, my first ex-husband, and now my second ex-husband, I had highly developed escape skills. I knew how to run.
The trip had been bittersweet and liberating. As I said goodbye to the awe-inspiring horizons and weather of Oklahoma and drove away from my lifelong home, twangs of conflicting emotions gnawed at my insides. However, they were mitigated by the sense of liberation and freedom I had finally found after decades of enslavement by my former spouses and the sociopolitical environment of my former resident state. I had lost everything, it seemed at the time. I had followed the rules, been a good girl, and still had been used and abused. A couple years later, my first New England landlord would confess to me that, when he interviewed me for my apartment, I looked like I had been rode hard and put up wet.
I saw a sign: 103. Good, I was on the right road. I just had to make it to Interstate 91, then to White River Junction, and the Hotel Coolidge. I had made the reservation a month ago. The rain and construction had slowed me down, so I called the hotel from the road to let them know I would not be in until very late. The last thing I needed after the race to Vermont was to have my room canceled when I needed it most. The staff was very nice and informed me the night desk would keep my room for me and an eye out for my arrival. While this was the 2020’s, single women traveling needed to be very cautious about their travels. I had very few friends and family that knew what I was doing or where I had gone. I was completely alone, traveling on a dark rainy night, with very little clue where I was.
After what seemed an eternity on windy roads through rural Vermont towns, the sign for the ninety-one junction appeared in the dark. The town of Rockingham, Vermont had greeted me through several business signs and was my indication to turn north. I was steadily getting closer and it was around 20:30, getting late. I usually went to bed around 21:00 and had been up since 04:00 that day, so I was losing steam quickly. The extra concentration I put into driving in the night rain was tiring me out more quickly and I needed to push through just a bit longer. I was almost there. The situation was starting to feel desperate.
“Use the sliproad to turn right onto the highway,” British Google purred into my speakers. I really needed to give her a posh name to go along with her accent. Thanks, I thought. Not sarcastically, I welcomed any help at that point. Hearing her say, ”Welcome to Vermont,” earlier that night had filled me with emotion and I reveled in the knowledge I was close to my destination. I was so close, I had to push through.
While I could ease up a little on the highway, I still kept on high alert for wildlife. I had already seen a few deer and raccoons, in various states of death, on the side of the Vermont highways that night. Rural Vermont possesses many of nature’s treasures and the last thing I wanted or needed was to injure them or me. I constantly scanned the night highway, remaining vigilant.
The visual field was blurry, but I could not tell if it was due to the rain on the windshield, or my tired eyes. I had to push just a little further, I was almost there. My new life awaited me.
The twisting roads kept me on my toes, they required my full attention. These roads were not like the Oklahoma roads I grew up with, linear and on a grid pattern. No, these roads defied conventional direction and the road signs were minimal. I remember a trip I took to the northeast over a decade prior. The highways rarely displayed a billboard, only road signs directing traffic to fuel, food, and sleeping places. I had to pay attention or become lost on my final leg, wasting time and energy I did not have. My reserves were almost depleted.
White River Junction - 13 miles Finally, a sign that I was close. I could make that. No distractions, only driving. I turned the radio off. Continually scanning for wildlife, any life, along my path was draining. Oddly enough, it was mildly energizing, giving a focus to my primary search for the shelter I had arranged a month prior. The anticipation of arriving at my destination was palpable at this point.
“At the next exit, turn right,” Grace purred. The name spontaneously popped up in my mind. She had been guiding me for nearly three thousand miles, patiently redirecting me when I became lost. The name was a proper lady’s name and befitting her overall personality. Yes, I gave my artificially enhanced companion a human name. And I was okay with that. When I think about it now, I realize Grace had become my adult imaginary friend along this trip.
I needed a friend, as I was completely alone. I had to leave the few I had, after the divorce aftermath, behind in Oklahoma. For my safety and theirs, I needed to flee and never return. There had been several kind strangers along my travel path from Oklahoma to New Hampshire. But the reality was that I was too scared of becoming attached, lest I get hurt.
I exited off of the highway (need specific exit # here) into the dark and rainy abyss. A few street lights gently illuminated the road and guided me to a roundabout, which Grace directed me to go through and depart on the second exit. More street lights appeared, my vision became a little clearer, and my hope for arrival at my destination rose. Grace directed me into what appeared to be a quaint Vermont town, Hartford, and I recognized White River Junction from my earlier trip there two months prior. I had an idea of where I was and I knew I was close.
Over the Lyman bridge and into WRJ I went, my car creeping slowly through the puddles. I navigated around potholes, curbs, and parked cars on the narrow street. “Your destination is on the right,” Grace chimed. I scanned for parking among the plethora of cars. At nearly midnight, there was an abundance of parked vehicles. Among the storefronts that lined the street, I saw the sign I was looking for: Hotel Coolidge. I found a spot directly in front and parked Bessie, my trusty Mazda CX-5.
“You’ve arrived at your destination,” Grace announced.
“Thank you, your Grace,” I quipped, grateful for her help.
I turned the car off and looked at the time, 23:37. I looked through the windshield out into the night and scanned my environment. I was still on alert for danger, but relieved at arriving. My galoshes still had Oklahoma mud on them from two days ago. With my raincoat on and keys in my pocket, I exited Bessie and took in the night scene of the street.
One particular street lamp illuminated the main part of the area and I flocked to it, like a moth to a flame. The rain had dissipated somewhat by then, a slow and gentle drizzle accompanied by a few fat drops every now and then. I breathed in the night air and let it fill my lungs with the cool dampness.
A flood of emotions washed over me: relief, sorrow, joy, etc. All the things. Standing in the glow of the streetlight, all alone, I looked up into the night sky and let the rain wash over me. I wept, allowing myself to feel all the emotions and having my moment of freedom. The rain mingled with my tears and calmed my anxious heart; I made it. I was free at last. Soaking in the moment, I let the sweet Vermont rain wash away the last of the red Oklahoma mud still clinging to my rain boots. Freedom. Emancipation. This was my Shawshank moment. My V for Vendetta epiphany.
In the two and a half years since I landed here, I have made a few friends, quit my “dream” job, met and married my soulmate, and embarked on a mission to discover my true calling. There has been humor, heartbreak, victories, and all the in-betweens that go with finding yourself. This blog is a vehicle for me to share my new Vermont life and, hopefully, it sends a message of hope to anyone that struggles with getting unstuck from anything that holds their life back from being what they really want. It is possible to change your life for the better, to do what you really want. Some days are better than others, but I am living proof you can change your life for the better.
Grace’s purring, “Welcome to Vermont,” still has a special place in my heart. When I think of it I smile and feel the wave of relief wash over me again. I love my new home, my new life. Welcome to my Vermont adventure.
