Leaving the old world behind

Every day, several times per day, I hear a certain truck drive by the street in front of the Love Shack and make the turn to go west on Belmont. It's a big white box truck with a distinctive whining transmission, easily differentiated from the hordes of buses, cars, and other trucks that make the turn. The last run of the day happens about 5:00 p.m. I always look at the clock. I'm checking how many minutes after the hour. If it's only five after the hour, the driver takes the turn in an efficient but leisurely fashion. If it is ten after the hour, the howl of the transmission as the truck careens around the corner indicates that the driver is beginning to panic.

What does all this mean? I'll tell you. The driver of the truck is a former student, a young man I used to teach at the career college where I worked until May 2. He drives linens and laundry from a local hospital to their off-site laundry facility. Back and forth, over the shoulder of Mt. Tabor, he drives the big white truck. I think I've written about this student before in my blog. I called him Roger. He's the one that Dr. WhizzKid, my naturopath, told me was causing me some digestive problems. (Well, to be accurate, my envy of Roger was causing my digestive problems.)

Because the Clackamas campus closed May 2, Roger is now finishing his studies at the Wilsonville campus, which is a good 40 minutes away from the Love Shack, on a good day, no traffic. Evening classes begin at 5:40 p.m. The later his last laundry run, the later he is to class.

So, I check the clock. I worry for him. I am trying to leave the old world behind, but every time Roger drives by in the big white truck, I think of him and wonder how he is doing, how he will get to class on time.

It's just chance that he hasn't yet seen me. Sometimes I'm out in front of the Love Shack, poking at the weeds. I hear the distinctive whine and wonder, is this the day he will see me? Is this the moment where I have to interact with the old world? And what if he does see me and recognize me? It's not like he can stop in the middle of the street. No, he's got laundry to pick up and deliver. He's got a schedule to maintain. He's got a class to show up late to.

Odds are, even if he did glance my way, he wouldn't recognize me. He's never seen me in my civvies. I look like a homeless person these days. No more black slacks and jacket, my dour uniform of the past ten years. I predict when the moment comes, his eyes will slide right past me. Just another middle-aged decrepit digging in the dirt and wearing her pajamas in public.

I'm looking forward to the day when Roger graduates from the career college and gets a better job, one that doesn't require him driving the truck past my house four times a day. Then I won't have to worry about him getting to class on time. Then I can stop thinking about my old life, the old job I am so thankful to be rid of, and I can focus on building a new life from the ashes.