The Walk Away

 Tired of all the baggage, he set off down the road.

He carried nothing with him. No backpack. No bottled water. No phone.  

He went without sunscreen. He wore blue jeans and a pale blue T-shirt. He wore slip-on tennis shoes. His socks were white and were almost to his knees.

He left when the temp was 93, the feels like skirting 105, the humidity near 80%.

He did not know where he was going, but going he was.

When he left, no one else was home. Melissa worked, and the kids were in school. He left no message or explanation.

After just one block, he was already feeling the effects of the heat. He suffered heat exhaustion very easily. Normally, he would not go out in heat like this, except maybe to pick up the mail.

Melissa worked. He did not. Not since the incident. Not since his small mistake. Twelve years of devotion flushed down the toilet with one error in judgment.  

And now he made no contribution to his family. He was a useless fifth wheel, draining resources. All his efforts turned to naught. It was hard finding a new job when you were fired from the last one for slugging your boss.

Only a block away from home, and he was already feeling the effects of the heat. He didn't sweat much. It would help if he did. He just felt disoriented.

Three blocks away, he turned to the woods. The shade helped. The swarm of bugs around him did not.

None of that deterred him from continuing to walk.

He crossed a creek. Even though the water was only ankle deep, it was enough to soak his shoes, making them sticky and damp.  

There must have been wildlife in the woods, but besides the buzzing insects, he saw nothing. A snake or a bear was too much to hope for.

By the time he reached the edge of the woods, the sun was starting to set. There was a stretch of farmland, a blueberry orchard. No fruit was in sight—it was not the season. He wouldn't have eaten if it had. There was no need to prolong this.

He found a dirt road and continued down it. It was day again, growing hotter. His brain baked.

He collapsed, twenty miles from home. Not an epic journey, but long enough.

A farmer found him. 911 was called, and he was brought to a hospital. He was feverish and dehydrated, but they soon rectified it.

No one could identify him.  

He had failed. And the hospital bill would cost his family.

He may remain unidentified, but how does that help Melissa collect the life insurance?

He could not walk away from his baggage. He had to go back and do the best he could.

He got up from his hospital bed, pulled out the IVs, and started to walk.

This time, hopefully, the right way.