On the third day of travel, I pulled myself out of bed and got on the road by 10:40. I had to order (rent) my books from Amazon because, well, class starts in four days…. but I’ve been in too much of a tizzy to think about actually being in school. The GPS said 656 miles.

I had 10 hours of driving ahead so I settled in for a long ride. But this would be the last day. And when it’s the last, it’s a little bit easier because it’s the last. I find that changes the feel of the whole thing, even if what you are doing is exactly the same as if it weren’t the last. I think about that a lot, how you suddenly stop despising a job you hate when it’s your last week.

I wasn’t sure what to listen to: Harry Potter in Spanish, Beautiful/Anonymous, my iPod, my CDs, the radio… all of it seemed unfit. So I think I started with a cd from the stack shoved into the cubby below the radio. I don’t remember.

The hours that passed furnished a landscape which was unrelentingly repetitive. No change in terrain: no mountains, hills, valleys, just the occasional sign that said: “DON’T PICK UP HITCHHIKERS” and I wondered if that was an underhanded way to deter immigrants trying traversing the mountains at the border, but then I saw that a prison was nearby. But I still wondered..

I kept an eye out for any sign of a Race Trac (my mom had given me a gift card) but one never appeared. I went into cruise control and waited for the next thing. I would keep driving until I got to El Paso, an arbitrary goal. I wasn’t tired but I also wasn’t excited for more sitting. So I stared ahead, passing the trucks and others passing me. I stayed out of the left lane except to pass. I don’t know what the next thing was, because I didn’t feel ready for what I’d anticipated for so long: Living in the US indefinitely. Communicating in English. Arizona. Grad School. Work. Change.

I ate a Clif bar for breakfast but didn’t want coffee because of the sugary Coffee Mocha Marina (my couch surfer hostess) had bought for me (so nice of her) combined with the cinnamon roll. That was my first good experience being hosted on Couchsurfers and I am genuinely grateful that she was willing to take a chance on hosting me.

By the third hour, I had filled up on gas before El Paso at a Shell Station. The yellow EMPTY dot had lit up. When I finally got to El Paso, I was surprised by how big it was. I’d always heard of it but I wasn’t expecting to drive under a multi-lane highway with stacked on top of each running in every which direction. The aesthetic was very clearly Southwest: clay-colored overpasses and cactuses painted on the sides of things.

After another hour the terrain finally changed.. I saw mountains uprising in the distance and couldn’t believe my eyes. I had a silly fear, but a fear nonetheless, about if I was really doing this road trip right… Was I taking advantage of the experience of driving across country? Should I be stopping to eat at weird restaurants, reading Trip Advisor, going to the biggest hedgehog hole in the world (I made that up)? But money and time limited my options which I was grateful for. This didn’t really feel like a roadtrip so much as moving, and the cheapest, most direct and reasonable way to do it. So I didn’t worry too much. But I wondered if being three weeks into living in the USA again had tinted all my thoughts to the point that I couldn’t really enjoy it.

As I listened to a Ted Talk on Transformation, the sound cut in and out and my phone stopped taking a charge. I expected the worst (my phone had taken a tumble two days before and had not functioned the same ever since) so I texted my Mom: “Phone isn’t charging. I’ll email you when I arrive if I can’t text you.” In retrospect, that was probably alarming to her and I should have held off… But the phone took a charge again after a couple hours if I jiggled the cord (it never being plausible to me that it could be the cord…)

When I crossed the state line into New Mexico (which was nothing short of thrilling after driving only through Texas the day before) and then surreal when I made it to Arizona!

The cactuses almost sprang up after the New Mexico sign (if I’m remembering correctly). They are tall, proud, to be seen and not hugged (so, perfect for highway decor). They had comical shapes, globs of green spikes stuck together and gravitating slowly, surely, skyward.

I rolled into Arizona and was so thrilled to see the State sign. Honestly, I am not biased because I am not from here, it’s a really nice icon (maybe it’s the State flag pero no lo sé…)

I had started noticing that I even loved the AZ license plates… They featured cacti and mountains and jewel tones…. a purple and yellow. I snuck a creepy picture of a license plate (but, without revealing the tag characters) to share:

When I made it to Tucson, after 9 hours driving, I needed more gas and stopped at an Arco. I walked stiff-legged and road-tired looking at the shelves as I took in the characters in the gas station shop. There are always characters at gas station stops. I eye wine as a gesture of gratitude to my next couchsurfing hosts, and wait in line for the bathroom. After I purchase the wine, I walk out and sense a guy eerily close behind me. I turn and look him right in the eye (what I do when I’m startled) and said “HELLO” to try to gloss it over with feigned friendliness, a thin veil for the real sensation: FRIGHT. He said: “I’m right behind you…” and I was more confused but he was referring to his truck at the pump next to me. Then, out of a gesture of friendliness, he commented “This is the cheapest gas in town.” I said: “Oh wow! Well I just got into town so I did good without knowing it…” And he said: “Where are you coming from?” I told him Georgia and he reiterated that all other points of town are more expensive than this. I truly was elated to hear this news, perhaps too much. I got in the car and said: “Take care” programming WAZE to lead me to my future home (for the summer term).

As I drove through the streets, I had the strangest feeling of complete and utter neutrality. The feeling of hearing a pin drop because I am in a new place where you I have no associations and I’m a sponge, a receptacle, a compass with no arrow to orient me.
What did I feel?

I couldn’t fight the curiosity, even if I was only going to see the outside, I was going to go see my house. The license plate on the Jeep in the driveway was the complete last name of the girl who is subleasing her room to me. It felt like my first real life evidence that this person existed and I wasn’t simply being duped. I took a picture of the place. That was probably creepy but I didn’t care. The first time seeing it, and the first place I would ever live. I wanted to remember the first place I would call “home” here, even if temporary. And when I want to remember something, like a Gen Y-er, 9.5 times/10, I take a picture.

And then I started to feel less like a sponge and a rising tinge of uncertainty. I noticed the unusual wideness of the streets, the sun on an espresso kick as it was beating down so strong, and the frustration of a driver who threw her hands up (or his) when I cut them off. This is the first time I accidentally cut someone off after driving 23 hours. They might be mad but I was thrilled. I had been a really good driver, up ’til one careless blunder at the end. Eat peanuts.

I sent another message to my couchsurfing host, Sylvia. “I’m on my way from Tucson!” and she said: “Great!” (Another two hours to go).

And with that I found another interstate and merged onto another ribbon of cars zooming past each other, independent of each other framed in metal. I didn’t feel the weight of the journey anymore, it was the last leg. When I pulled into Sylvia’s neighborhood, it seemed I was in an upscale neighborhood with big houses. The house where I would stay had two red house lights, the houses surrounding it had normal white lights. I knocked on the door with a white gate there for a dog, and a young girl answered the door. I was confused. I thought for sure it was a lady in her 50s with blonde hair but, no matter, I’m sure this isn’t the first time I felt catfished. And I said: “are you Sylvia?” having just checked her name on my phone.. she said, almost as if rehearsed, polite, young “No. I’m her daughter Anya.” She had dark hair and her makeup was perfectly done, a tad dramatic. She looked like a distant relative of Morticia Addams (but, like, stunningly so, not spookily so). And then she showed me in. The house, however, was a little… Halloweeny? I said hello to their adorable puppy, BIG, who was not very Big, and then the woman I had anticipated came in from the backyard sliding closed the glass door and walking fast. I noticed weird lights around the house, a blue light behind a couch, a red light by the window, and candles everywhere. Maybe this is a cult. But Sylvia hugged me and I was immediately at ease.

This was a woman who had a lot of energy and genuinely loved hosting people. “We were going to eat supper, but we didn’t know if you were tired or if you would like to join…” and I said: “Sure! I would love to!” though I am on the strictest ever spending budget. I had to spend time with them! They were hosting me and asking nothing in return. She showed me my room and told me to use all the samples she collects from hotels when she travels. “Oh, and the obligatory scorpion lollipop” Wait is that real? “Oh it’s real!” she said. They had jelly beans and peppermints set out on the bedside table and a pink teddy bear on the bed. She said: “This is where we sleep” and I didn’t know if this was a weird enmeshment situation and Anya slept in there to… but I wasn’t sure. I left the white wine on the counter and Sylvia thanked me, popping it into the fridge. We walked out into the garage and I sat in the front. I offered shotgun to Anya but she politely declined.

I could hear Sylvia’s southern drawl in every word. I was not expecting that in Phoenix, but there have been little surprises along the way: couchsurfing at a fancy house complete with night club lights and boudoir candles, actual scorpions in lollipops, and the friendliness of Phoenicians. Sylvia described it as “The South Part II.” She also made it very clear to the hostess and the waiter, who had never seen us before, that they are regulars of this establishment and that the kitchen will recognize their order. They eat at this restaurant all the time, she tells me. I pull out my card to pay for my Apple Walnut salad but Sylvia says: “No, no, that’s okay” and I am genuinely surprised and overwhelmed… They’re already giving me a free place to stay! When we get home to Big the dog, they show me his tricks. I see a framed picture of Jesus’ face on the back of their front door and their couchsurfing mission makes a little more sense to me. Christians do peculiarly wonderful things in the name of love (sometimes) and then just peculiar things other times. Like all of us. This has been a roller-coaster of a day, arrivals and doubts galore and unexpected generosity, I am more than ready for pillow-to-face time with no interruption.

As I lay on the pillow next to the pink teddy bear, white fluffy shag pillows and the scorpion forever frozen in lollipop, one thing Sylvia said stood out to me (because following her monologue is a little like sipping from a firehose) “The heat isn’t so terrible. I tell people it’s like turning your oven up to 350 and sticking your face into it. But you have to get one of those silver windshield covers in the summer or you will honest-to-goodness burn your hands on the steering wheel.But that’s really the only thing…”

Hmm. I have a sinking suspicion that that is not really the only thing about me + the desert heat. But I am equally encouraged that it’s not perhaps as life-altering as it sounds. But I’d rather be prepared to feel like I am inside a dutch oven and find it’s only like being in a toaster than the other way around.

Good night, Copper State. I have no idea where I actually am but thanks for letting me in…. So far, so good.