Before Andi left for the night, she and I had a long, laughter-filled conversation about her life in Adel, Georgia. We talked about the wild tornadic weather that had recently destroyed a community further north. We talked about the critters in the area such as alligators and snakes, and then we talked about Andi’s older sister and four nieces and nephews. We even talked about her own desire to have children herself someday. “Just not now,” she said.
Andi gave me a few instructions about how to keep from getting myself locked out of the terminal building. She gave me access to the kitchen in case I needed it. I thanked her for all of the help she and Jerry provided for my journey. She was very happy to help, she said. She hoped that I had a very safe and enjoyable journey the rest of the way through America.
As she left, the storm outside erupted into a fury of flashing thunder and a downpour of rain. And it persisted for the better part of two hours as I watched from the empty confines of the glass cavern.
Meanwhile, I took a shower and cooked up a pot of Mountain House
I sat down and wrote in my journal for awhile before walking into the glow of a descending sun to behold the sights of the storm’s wake.
Before I settled down to sleep on the couch that night, I beheld once again the transience of my country---the short-lived glory of the greatest nation on earth---as reflected by a hero’s flight suit, hanging limply but proudly, next to the nation its wearer once served.
And I wondered how much longer that glory would last.