Plus, she told us to have a nice life. That doesn’t exactly scream intentions of staying around.
Why am I even thinking about that?
Once Nash finishes breakfast, he takes his dirty dishes to the dishwasher.
At least I beat those types of manners into him.
“Thanks, bro, see you later,” he calls out as he heads out of the kitchen.
“We’re going out for dinner tonight. Don’t forget,” I remind him, but he’s already disappeared from the room.
FOUR
My hair is still dampfrom the shower, and I’m walking faster than usual to get back into the van quickly. Even though it’s early September, the breeze by the ocean in Lubec is biting. Maine is beautiful this time of year, but it’s also quite chilly. And I’m still nursing a mild hangover. I would’ve loved to just crawl into bed and sleep off the remnants of last night, but I desperately needed a shower first.
Although I wasn’t quite ready to wash his scent off me.
The campground here is pretty nice, definitely better than many I’ve stayed at over the past six months. Some of those were downright dirty. I didn’t always find a campground to sleep at either. Sometimes, I ended up in a parking garage or just pulled over by the road. So, this feels like a treat. It’s right by the ocean, and the view is stunning.
I can’t help but think about Nan. She would have absolutely adored this place. Lubec is the easternmost point in the US, and we talked many times about how we wanted our road trip to end here.
From the Pacific to the Atlantic. Our dream had been to cross the entire country together.
Who would have thought I’d have to live our dream alone?
I arrived in Lubec on the exact date I had hoped for. Along the way, I’ve visited all the places my Nan had wished us to see. During each stop, I made it a point to scatter some of her ashes. She always used to say that when you travel to different places, you take a little something from each of them with you. Now, all the places I visited in her memory have a small piece of her left behind, and I think that’s a beautiful thing.
I’m way out of my comfort zone right now.
I’d always been an anxious kid, more of a homebody, and to be honest, I still am.
But it’s not like I have a comfort zone anymore.
The house I lived my whole life in has been sold, and the city I called home is burned with traumatic memories I had to leave behind to somehow survive what happened.
All I have, all I call mine, is my van.
And it never really felt like home without her.
Nan used to tell me she felt at home everywhere she went and that wherever she was, that place became home for me too. I hoped I could learn to become a free spirit like her and find that feeling of being at home wherever I go.
Yeah, sure.
Ever since my grandmother passed away, I’ve been feeling lost and disoriented. The world seems to have scattered in all directions, much like the pieces of my life. I wish I didn’t feel so adrift all the time. It’s as if finding a new place to call home is an unattainable dream. But I push those thoughts away.
I’m not going to cry now.
As I walk back to my van from the shower stalls, I notice many sleek, modern campers, and I can’t help but huff. Living in one of those would be a dream. Some even have their own showers, toilets, televisions, and almost full kitchens. In contrast, my little orange Chevy van has seen better days.
I spent six months fixing her up before starting my road trip. After everything that went down, it was therapeutic and a way to remember and honor Nan. The van was hers, a relic from her youth. She named it Van-essa.
She and my granddad bought it second-hand for family vacations when they were in their late twenties. After the kids grew up, the van just sat, rusting in the parking lot next to our house. I decided to breathe new life into the old beauty.
She was in rough shape.
I had to put in a lot of work, especially to remove the rusty parts. I gutted her completely before paneling the interior with wood. After countless hours, she’s looking beautiful again.
There’s a bed in the back, a little kitchenette with a small hot plate, drawers under the bed for my stuff, and cute little orange curtains. The wood-paneled ceiling is adorned with fairy lights. She looks great on the outside, but she’s a mess under the hood.
