Jobeena's windshield is cracked. It is a travesty. Our beautiful, strong, seemingly invincible vehicle of liberation is hurt. The transformation from injured to lame can be swift, an imperceptible shift, and this knowledge worries me. So, after slight, hurried deliberation, duct tape is applied (the man-made, accessible miracle), the wound bandaged, and we go forth.
But all is not well... into big sky country, land of meth addicts and early-morning saloon goers and cowboys and miles or nothing. Headed north towards the glaciers we see signs of ire. Some cosmic collision threatens to envelope us. The gods are crazy; enraged, perhaps at the idleness of humans. Between bible readings and chamber music, the radio speaks of fifty mile-per-hour winds, golf ball-sized hail, tornados; it offers advice: get off the roads, into, or, at the very least beside, a large, secure structure. The level-headed male to my right turns the dial and the voice goes silent. He looks at me and his eyes, in turn, silence me, my forming hysteria. I have a proclivity towards irrationality.
As we drive into Glacier National Park it is hailing, only marbles. They tap on our roof and clink on the glass, noises reminiscent of tumblers that, with their seductively smooth, cool liquors, produce a bodily state antithetical to the current tenor of our wandering coterie - my mind wanders. The campgrounds, much to my chagrin, are full; we are not the only people who travel long distances to stay in breathtakingly pristine spaces in July. Another powwow ensues and we retreat back along the mountain passes, angry and depressed, reverted to a pubescent demeanor through our own oversight, being denied something we wanted but did not make the necessary effort to attain. Again my mind wanders: at twenty-three, I am still a child.
The car is silent once more. The sky is clearing and the foliage twinkles, water clinging to the heavy leaves winks at us. It is all a joke.
That night we camp, cramped between humming, fuming RVs, in a KOA.
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