Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [47]
The next day, I awoke to the sound of Captain’s rattling, rhythmic breathing. Unable to sleep through the vibrations, I gathered my belongings and headed to the laundromat.
I enjoyed my time in the fluff ’n’ fold, especially after a local programmed the jukebox to play every Hank Williams song. But when my “quick-dry” hiking clothes were still wet after two cycles in the dryer, I gave up, threw them in my backpack, and headed back to the trail.
On my way out of town, I decided to make one last stop: Subway. I think it was the only chain restaurant in Damascus, and while I believe in supporting local businesses, I really like Subway. I like the fresh ingredients, I like the efficiency, but most of all, I love the fact that Subway offers me complete control. I love being able to dictate exactly what goes on my sandwich and watching it immediately take form. That morning, my six-inch sub on Italian parmesan bread was piled high with turkey, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, green peppers, banana peppers, jalapenos, oregano, a touch of mayonnaise, a lot of mustard, and a sprinkle of parmesan cheese. And as I selected chips and a drink to complete my meal, I noticed another hiker sitting toward the back of the store.
Hikers are fairly easy to pick out. They’re typically male, typically hairy, usually smelly, and they often have a huge backpack and two hiking poles somewhere nearby. This hiker was a young man, medium height, extremely thin, with skin so pale I could see the blue veins at his temples. His white complexion contrasted sharply with his dark brown eyes and wiry black hair. When I first spotted him, he looked so deep in thought that I could almost see his brain working behind his translucent forehead.
When I introduced myself, his demeanor and even his coloring quickly changed. Shades of pink flooded his cheeks, and he seemed both pleased and surprised by my greeting. I asked if I could sit with him and he immediately made room for me.
I learned a lot about Moot during our lunch together. I learned that he had finished college last spring and had spent the past few months working at a boatyard on the Cape.
“What Cape?” I asked.
“The Cape,” he said. “You know, Cape Cod, in Massachusetts.”
I felt stupid for not knowing that, because the way he responded, it seemed like I should have known. There was a lot Moot knew that I didn’t. I was amazed at how eager he was to bypass idle chatter and dive into thought-provoking topics like philosophy and obscure political issues. When he brought up theology, Moot described himself as an “existential atheistic Quaker.” I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I was pretty sure I had never met one of those before.
Well aware that this conversation was going to take more time than a six-inch sub allowed, I finished my sandwich and suggested that we start back to the trail together. Moot eagerly agreed, and he continued his personal discourse as we rejoined the trail. It was clear that he had spent a lot of time formulating his beliefs, and he explained himself well, but there were still key concepts that I couldn’t grasp.
One point of confusion was that Moot didn’t believe in good or evil. He did, however, believe that humanity could be bettered through politics.
“Okay, so I definitely agree that politics are powerful and can positively or negatively affect people, but how can it better humanity without good or evil? What is it better than if there’s no evil? And what is it striving toward if there’s no good?”
“You don’t understand,” he said. He sounded annoyed and changed the subject.
Despite the many times we agreed to disagree, I appreciated Moot’s honesty and enjoyed listening to his reasoning. It was refreshing to meet someone my age who was so contemplative and passionate, and Moot certainly didn’t mind sharing his ideas or talking for long stretches without taking a break.
When he did finally stop to ask me a question, I knew what he was going to say, but that didn’t mean I was ready