I’d given up on two other appointments as well as the hope of preparing my own things for the trip to Chicago. We skipped driving to my house and headed straight for DTW. While the rest of us usually look first, Tom quite literally uses the sounds of other drivers’ horns as his guide to avoid accidents during each pass and turn. Moreover, I stuck with sweat to the dirty interior and grew dizzy in the mobile sauna like a dampened suction cup. I imagined Gitmo to possess a resort quality in comparison to the hellish tour of Metro Detroit I now received. My pouty, chain-smoking, and usually incomprehensible tour guide remained silent and wounded on the way to his house on the long, dangerous ride from Sterling Heights to the airport Budget.
The car rental place mentioned that an extended-sized minivan was available and I, who’d doubted Tom’s resolve that a minivan would sufficiently hold his large desk, queen-sized futon, and previously expected three passengers, eagerly accepted the upgrade. Most importantly, I received a sense of relief knowing that I would no longer have to be the passenger to Tom’s blind pinball driving at which, he is no wizard. I looked at him in disbelief as he attempted to give me directions to his apartment. I frequently lose my way due to haphazard meandering, but I know no one who pays so little attention to where he is than Tom. I am convinced he’d hover around his own home for an hour trying to remember how to get there. I apprehensively agreed to follow him. Finally, we were off!
After a quick stop to pick up neighbor and friend, John, to load up the van, we arrived at last to Tom’s soon to be vacant Dearborn apartment. John and I looked at one another in disbelief at the still lived in condition of the old bachelor pad. I asked Tom, “Do you have enough boxes to pack all of this stuff.†He then darted around in illogical solecism about a few things. What I understood was that Mark would be taking a bunch of kitchen stuff and the landlord wasn’t going to give back a deposit so the rest was to stay. Unable to understand why Tom acted in self-defeat over the deposit and also confounded at his careless attitude with money, I’d decided to leave the scene of the crime for some food.
Tom and John continued loading the vehicle even after I’d returned. We enjoyed a brief visit from Mark and eagerly awaited our final, fourth partner, Karen, who would be driving her car separately so that John and I could get home from Chicago. For a while, John and I sat around doing nothing at all. Perplexed by the utter disorganization of what probably was no plan at all on Tom’s part, we’d resolved to sit in the van listening to music while a brief storm passed over us. We laughed at the brave ignorance of the barefoot, neighbor boy who’s youth I’d been mocking earlier. He stood under a small tree that I’d mistakenly called a hobbit tree until thunder and lightning chased him back home. Neither of us had realized that Tom had left nor did we know where he was going or for how long.
At some point Tom mysteriously returned and Karen followed shortly thereafter. During the next passing storm, Karen and Sean took shelter under a low, outstretched tree in the front yard and when I returned from using the bathroom, I decided to join them. They both squatted under the tree sharing a damp American Spirit giggling at their absurdity. Within moments, a thunderous attack struck us within the pits of our bellies and we ran to the rental wondering how close the lightning had come to ending our good deed for the weekend.
When the skies dried, Tom came out of his apartment ready to go. Finally at 4:30, we were on our way to Chicago! Oh, wait. What’s that? We have to go to Warren first? That’s in the opposite direction. Seriously?
