The Kindness of Strangers: Penniless Across America by Mike McIntyre Page B
Authors: Mike McIntyre
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lunch. It’s no big deal.”
The offer comes just in time, as the beans I ate at Tim and Diane’s last night have long since worn off, and my head feels light enough to float away like a helium balloon.
We slide into a booth and I order a double cheeseburger, fries and a Coke. Jerry finishes his sandwich and lingers over a second glass of iced tea, then a third.
He isn’t a Bible thumper, and he doesn’t ask my beliefs, but he feels compelled to share where he stands on matters of faith.
“It’s not good enough being a good person. Your heart’s gotta be in the right place. I’ve always been a Christian, but I was on the fence. Now I say no to my temptations.”
“What are your temptations?” I say.
Jerry blushes. “Women,” he says with a chuckle. His smile quickly fades. “If I say yes to my temptations, I know all my treasures will be here on earth, rather than for eternity. Do you know how long eternity is?”
We drive east from Burns on Highway 20, climbing over Stinking Water Pass, then Drinking Water Pass. Magpies greet us on the other side of the summit as the high desert gives way to a broad basin. A sign tells me I’m now in the Mountain Time Zone, and I think of how far I’ve come, and how far I’ve got to go.
We’re suddenly over the Snake River and into Idaho. It’s been my longest and favorite ride of the trip, and I’m sorry it’s about to end. I’d like to go home with Jerry, meet his wife, play with his little girls. But I know that won’t happen. Jerry has already lost one family. He’s not about to risk losing another.
The rush hour traffic of the greater Boise area is unsettling after the solitude of rural Oregon. I steal nervous glances at the digital clock on the dashboard. It will soon be dark, and I’ll be standing on the side of yet another unfamiliar road.
“So, do you know which way you want to head?” Jerry asks.
“I don’t know, I’ll have to look at my map in the morning. Do you know a place I can pitch my tent tonight?”
“How about I get you a room at the Comfort Inn? Wouldn’t you rather have a bed and a shower?”
“Wow, I’d really appreciate that,” I say, my throat catching with gratitude. “You know, before this trip, it was always hard for me to accept anything from anyone. I always tried to be the giver. I’d do favors knowing I’d never ask for anything in return. I never wanted to take anything because I never wanted to feel like I owed anything. I think I used it as a shield, as a way of keeping people at a distance. But now I’ve put myself in a position where I have to accept favors daily, yet I know I’ll never be able to repay people. It feels funny.”
“Mike, on this trip, keep in mind that when people give you something, there’s a reason for it. They have their own motivations for helping you.”
Jerry parks in front of the motel office. He pays for the room with a credit card and gives me the key. I consider asking him what his motivation is for helping me. But it’s soon clear.
He pulls a business card from his wallet. On the back, he writes down his toll-free number. The one he got for his sons. The one that never rings.
Jerry’s eyes are moist when he hands me the card.
“If you need something out there and you can’t get ahold of your dad, call me.”
CHAPTER 9
I get Jerry’s money’s worth at the Comfort Inn. In the morning, I hit the free continental breakfast in the lobby, loading up on bagels, cream cheese, sweet rolls and orange juice. I haul my booty, along with a complimentary copy of USA Today, back to my room, where I gorge out in front of Good Morning America . After a long soak in the tub and a shower, I pack the extra soap and shampoo samples, then watch the movie Malcolm X on HBO until checkout.
I walk down a commercial boulevard out of Boise, heading for open spaces. A large, balding man stops for me in a Nissan Sentra. He says he used to be an attorney in Boise but now lives in Hawaii.
The offer comes just in time, as the beans I ate at Tim and Diane’s last night have long since worn off, and my head feels light enough to float away like a helium balloon.
We slide into a booth and I order a double cheeseburger, fries and a Coke. Jerry finishes his sandwich and lingers over a second glass of iced tea, then a third.
He isn’t a Bible thumper, and he doesn’t ask my beliefs, but he feels compelled to share where he stands on matters of faith.
“It’s not good enough being a good person. Your heart’s gotta be in the right place. I’ve always been a Christian, but I was on the fence. Now I say no to my temptations.”
“What are your temptations?” I say.
Jerry blushes. “Women,” he says with a chuckle. His smile quickly fades. “If I say yes to my temptations, I know all my treasures will be here on earth, rather than for eternity. Do you know how long eternity is?”
We drive east from Burns on Highway 20, climbing over Stinking Water Pass, then Drinking Water Pass. Magpies greet us on the other side of the summit as the high desert gives way to a broad basin. A sign tells me I’m now in the Mountain Time Zone, and I think of how far I’ve come, and how far I’ve got to go.
We’re suddenly over the Snake River and into Idaho. It’s been my longest and favorite ride of the trip, and I’m sorry it’s about to end. I’d like to go home with Jerry, meet his wife, play with his little girls. But I know that won’t happen. Jerry has already lost one family. He’s not about to risk losing another.
The rush hour traffic of the greater Boise area is unsettling after the solitude of rural Oregon. I steal nervous glances at the digital clock on the dashboard. It will soon be dark, and I’ll be standing on the side of yet another unfamiliar road.
“So, do you know which way you want to head?” Jerry asks.
“I don’t know, I’ll have to look at my map in the morning. Do you know a place I can pitch my tent tonight?”
“How about I get you a room at the Comfort Inn? Wouldn’t you rather have a bed and a shower?”
“Wow, I’d really appreciate that,” I say, my throat catching with gratitude. “You know, before this trip, it was always hard for me to accept anything from anyone. I always tried to be the giver. I’d do favors knowing I’d never ask for anything in return. I never wanted to take anything because I never wanted to feel like I owed anything. I think I used it as a shield, as a way of keeping people at a distance. But now I’ve put myself in a position where I have to accept favors daily, yet I know I’ll never be able to repay people. It feels funny.”
“Mike, on this trip, keep in mind that when people give you something, there’s a reason for it. They have their own motivations for helping you.”
Jerry parks in front of the motel office. He pays for the room with a credit card and gives me the key. I consider asking him what his motivation is for helping me. But it’s soon clear.
He pulls a business card from his wallet. On the back, he writes down his toll-free number. The one he got for his sons. The one that never rings.
Jerry’s eyes are moist when he hands me the card.
“If you need something out there and you can’t get ahold of your dad, call me.”
CHAPTER 9
I get Jerry’s money’s worth at the Comfort Inn. In the morning, I hit the free continental breakfast in the lobby, loading up on bagels, cream cheese, sweet rolls and orange juice. I haul my booty, along with a complimentary copy of USA Today, back to my room, where I gorge out in front of Good Morning America . After a long soak in the tub and a shower, I pack the extra soap and shampoo samples, then watch the movie Malcolm X on HBO until checkout.
I walk down a commercial boulevard out of Boise, heading for open spaces. A large, balding man stops for me in a Nissan Sentra. He says he used to be an attorney in Boise but now lives in Hawaii.
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