Fighting Lonely is Sometimes a Losing Battle.

My alarm woke me up at nine o'clock the next morning and I got started cooking breakfast -- chopping mushrooms, stirring potatoes, making everything look nice and pretty. If I had accidentally offended Josh in some way, I was damn sure going to make up for it. With omelettes.

When the meal was almost ready, I debated on whether or not to wake up Josh or let him rouse on his own. I decided against waking him and was relieved when his door cracked and he appeared, groggy but upright, in the living room. "Mornin'!" I said brightly. "Told ya I would fix you breakfast!"
He rubbed his eyes, almost in disbelief. "Wow," he muttered sleepily. "This looks awesome. Oh, man, is that sausage? Dude, sausage is my favorite, how did you know? Man, thank you so much."

We sat down to eat at the little counter in his kitchen. I gave him the pretty omelette and kept the messed-up, half-burnt one for myself. But before I let him sit, I grabbed him by the shoulders and looked him dead in the eye. "Are you okay?" I asked. "Because you've been kind of... I don't know... you've seemed distant. And I wanted to do something nice for you." His eyes wandered. I pulled him into me and gave him a hug.
"Oh, yeah, I'm totally fine. Let's eat."
I wasn't convinced, but didn't want to push it.

"I'm glad you woke up," I told him, trying to liven the mood. "I was a little scared to wake you for food."
"Yeah, it's a good thing you didn't, 'cause I hate being woken up. I probably would've been pretty pissed."
What do you say to that? I said nothing.

I told him about the hippies and the bottles of water. He told me some stories of work the night before, of the one big black guy in Missoula who moved to the town to play football for Montana State and never left and now just picks fights with frat boys in the college bars. "Two months ago he punched me in the face in a bar and nearly knocked me out. All because of a girl. Then last night he tried to scam free tacos out of me, but I said no. Then he was like, 'Come on, nigger, come on!', like we were friends or something. He's like that with everyone."
Josh isn't the first person I've talked to in Missoula who remark on the presence of young black males, at the school mainly for football and basketball, but hardly any females or older black males. Knowing what little I knew about Missoula black culture, I almost felt bad for this man. He must feel like a veritable relic, a dinosaur, adrift in a community that accepts, but doesn't acknowledge him.

I had made so much food neither one of us could finish our plates. I cleaned up a bit and somehow Josh and I got on the subject of Jason Mraz. "Have you ever heard of Jason Mraz?" he asked offhand.
"Hell yeah! I have a bunch of bootlegs in the car, like underground stuff of his!"
"You do? Oh, my god, can you go get them?"
"Yeah!" I came back with a few, and we spent the next hour or so comparing bootlegs and versions of songs. Josh has an old guitar stashed behind his couch and I pulled it out, trying to teach him some songs. He's a pretty fast learner.

We were having such a good time and good conversation that I thought we'd made it out of the woods. At least Josh wasn't being distant or standoffish anymore, thank goodness. I gave him one of my bootlegs to keep. "Are you sure?" he asked. "You'll be losing a lot of good stuff."
"No big deal. I have a friend who can just burn me another one."
"If you say so."

Speak of the devil, my friend who had burned the bootlegs for me called. I went outside to take the call and sat on the stone wall overlooking the creek behind Josh's apartment. It was sunny and gorgeous, and the creek was crystal-clear. "I'm in Missoula! I love it here!" I told my friend John. Now that things were better with Josh, everything seemed A-okay. I had my friend back.

I hung up the phone, after waxing poetic on everything from Nashville, Tennessee to In-and-Out Burger, and went back inside, only to find Josh asleep on his bed. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just tired, I'm going back to bed."
"Um, okay. Well, I'm going to go into town to get some work done. I guess I'll see you later? I'm staying at Lala's tonight, but will you call me when you get out of work? Maybe you can come over?"
"Yeah, whatever," he said into his pillow, not rolling over. "Whatever. I'll call you."
"Okay."

"Bizarre" doesn't begin to cover it.

After a few hours of work at Liquid Planet -- where I still didn't see Jamie, unfortunately -- I went to El Caz to meet up with Lala. Josh was at work by that time as well, and didn't say hello. That stung. Lala still had about an hour left of work, but I chilled at the bar, hoping to get a chance to talk to her father, Alfredo. Alfredo is a virtual celebrity to me, after hearing so many stories of his self-made life in America. However, he was really busy and only had time to crack a beer for me as I sat and waited for his daughter. Maybe next time.

In the meantime, a young, attractive businessman sat next to me, also alone. I got a call on my cell and broke the cardinal rule, actually taking the call at the bar. I could have gone outside, but I probably would have lost my seat. So the businessman overheard me talking about Yellowstone and the bear and the calf and such. When I hung up, he was full of questions. It's amazing to me how people cross your path for all the right reasons at exactly the right time. His name was Damon. He's in his late twenties, he is a traveling auditor for the Ford Motor Company and he and his wife live in Denver. I needed him. I just didn't know it at first.

He had the usual inquiries and wide-eyed looks when I said, "Yes, I do all of this alone." I told him about What It Is That I Do, and in doing so was reminded of how incredible what I do really is. In the minutae of everyday life -- where do I sleep? what do I eat? how do I afford to do anything? how can I make this person like and trust me in ten minutes flat? -- the simple and wonderful essence of this journey can fade from the forefront. Damon helped me bring it back, just by asking questions.

The jarring thing he asked me was this: "How do you fight the loneliness?"
Aye, there's the rub. "I don't."
"What do you mean?"
"I don't fight it. I can't. It's useless. It's always there, sometimes stronger than others. But I'll tell you what, I do a lot better with the loneliness when I expect it. Like if I'm in a town where I know no one, then it's a given. I know I'm going to feel lonely, and I'm much better prepared to deal with that. It's times like these" -- I nodded to Josh, walking by with a tray -- "times when I'm expecting to know people and them to know me and treat me like I'm welcome, and then it doesn't happen. That is what hurts the most. And I know I shouldn't have expectations of anyone, but when I'm invited somewhere, and then treated like an intruder, that is the most hurtful feeling in the world. It probably hurts more than it should, but only because to be on the road like this is to live at extremes. Everything is exaggerated, exacerbated. The good is so good you can barely keep from crying, but the bad feels so bad that you damn sure can't keep from crying."
Damon watched Josh carry a basket of tortillas to a table. "Why is that guy being like that?"
"Beats me."
"Well, I'll tell you what. If you're ever in the Denver area, you just give me and my wife a call. I really admire what you're doing. I wish I could do something like that, but with the wife and the house payments and all that... ugh. It's just not something I can pick up and do."
"That's funny, because I look at all my friends that own houses and whatnot and I'm always like, 'Oh, man! They're so cool! They own a house! And I live in a car, what a loser!"
"No, no, not at all. I mean, the grass is greener and all that, but no seriously, what you're doing is very cool. I'd love to help out if I can." He jotted his number down and I traded mine.
Thank you, forces of nature, for putting the exactly what I needed on the barstool next to mine. Damon was a testament to the true kindness of human nature, which is at this point tantamount to perfection in my book.

Lala came over, smiling, and said, "You need to go meet Megan at the Super Wal-Mart to pick up beer. Then you guys'll come over to my house for dinner, Adam's making steaks!"
I looked at Damon. "See? This is the best part, this is how I fight the lonely. Just keep looking for people like her!"