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Poor Elijah
Chapter 2: On The Road Again

Chapter 2: On The Road Again

Elijah has been on the road for a week now. Sitting on a Greyhound Bus making an early morning stop in Chicago, he thinks about the trip he's already been on. First hitchhiking from Manhattan, he was picked up by a truck driver who drove him straight through Pennsylvania all the way to Cleveland. Elijah remembers being amazed at how much the farmlands of Lancaster reminded him of his own home and how seeing the Amish men and women made him feel like he was on a different planet.

As Elijah steps off the bus and into the bustling terminal in downtown Chicago, he looks up to see a giant clock tower with two bell towers perched atop it. The structure reaches upwards, looming over the city's skyline. It's nearly 1:30 a.m. and crowds are thinning out for the night from bars and stores as the people disperse onto the city streets to seek refuge from the cold winter air and snow.

Elijah goes to light up a cigarette when a young black man approaches him and beckons him over.

"Hey, man! You look like a brother, I've got a great deal for you. 5 bucks for some grass. You wanna feel good? Like get real high, stoned, loose, ya know?"

"I've never smoked before," Elijah replies skeptically. "Is it OK?"

"Yeah, man. Whatever," the man says. "It's good, brother. Don't worry about it."

Elijah rummages through his pockets when sirens blare from another street down.

"You know what, brother? I gotta go," the young man says nervously as he hands Elijah a small plastic bag of marijuana.

"Here, take it for free. On the house. And you should split too. The pigs are comin'!"

Before Elijah can utter a word in reply, the young man slips into the crowd, and disappears into the masses. Elijah stares blankly at the bag in his hand. He looks towards the street and nervously thinks about what to do. He stuffs the bag into his pocket and slinks into the shadows of the nearest alleyway, attempting to blend into his surroundings. As he steps into the darkness, Elijah lets out a sigh of relief and slides down the brick wall of the building until he is seated. He places his guitar case by his side as he settles in, trying to figure out what to do next.

Leaning back against the wall, Elijah stares up at the sky, taking in the dark stretch of clouds that move slowly across the horizon. He looks around and sees trash cans and dumpsters, some overflowing with waste, lining the alley, their metal exteriors glistening with frost. Old, rusting fire escapes and utility pipes are visible on the sides of the buildings, with icicles hanging from some of their edges.

He takes the bag of weed out of his pocket and picks out a joint. Placing it between his lips, Elijah fumbles to find his lighter, almost dropping it in the process. He takes a hit and instantly starts coughing. He takes a second to catch his breath, then laughs to himself. He remembers his first cigarette and how harsh it was, but then how holding in the smoke helped. He takes another drag and holds in the smoke before breathing it out and coughing again. He leans his head back and closes his eyes as he savors the feeling. A sort of light-headedness envelops him, accompanied by a gradual relaxation that starts in his body and seeps into his mind. It's as though invisible hands massage away tension, leaving behind a feather-lightness that cradles his body.

The world feels warm and fuzzy to Elijah, like a soft blanket wrapping him in a cocoon of comfort. Everything around him seems to melt away as he sits there with a smile on his face, watching the black night sky and listening to the sounds of the city outside the alleyway around him.

A cool breeze brushes against Elijah's cheek, causing him to shiver slightly as he gazes up at the starry night sky once more. The scent of dampness from melting snow or frost, mixed with the aroma of exhaust fumes from passing vehicles along with the smell of old bricks and a faint hint of coal smoke from nearby chimneys lingers in the air. It's almost like Elijah can hear his own thoughts and he begins speaking aloud to himself.

"I gotta make this work, man," he says to the sky above. "I gotta make it work for Ma. I'm gonna do it for you, Ma, I promise. I'm going to do it for you."

There is no response from the skies, but Elijah continues to gaze upwards anyway.

"I miss you. I'm sorry I couldn't make any money in New York. Sorry, Dad. But you didn't want me there. No matter what I did, it was never good enough for you. I always knew you weren't happy with me. Maybe it's better that I'm not there. You'd probably be happier if I had stayed in Orangeville and worked in the mines like you, wouldn't you, Dad?"

Elijah chuckles to himself as he takes another drag off the joint. Even though pain and sarcasm is coming from his words, he can't help but laugh.

"And I can just see you now. The look on your face if you heard I was going all the way to California.. But you know, maybe that's where I belong. Out there, in the sun, doing my thing, writing my songs. I think Ma would understand. She was always good at understanding."

Elijah finishes his joint and tosses the remnants into the snow. He rubs his hands together for warmth, standing up to lean against the wall.

"I'm talking to myself. This grass is good. That's crazy, man." Elijah says as he reaches into his pocket for another joint. He tries to wipe off the snow from his pants as he stands up.

As he lights the joint, another siren pierces the silence, echoing through the streets. Not sure if it's the same siren as before or a new one, he jumps as he looks in the direction of the noise. His heart is pounding as he searches for a place to hide. He ducks behind a nearby trash can and peeks out, scanning the area.

"Fuck! What am I going to do now? Where can I go? Think, man, think! Fuck, what do I do?"

Elijah hurriedly grabs his guitar and starts running. His mind is racing as he starts looking for an escape. His boots crunch in the freshly fallen snow as he runs. The chill of the frigid air seeps into his bones with each step and causes him to shiver slightly. He sees an all-night diner and hurries inside. The scent of grease and coffee permeates the air as Elijah seeks shelter from the cold.

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"Can I help you, son?" the waitress asks.

"Uh yeah. Can I get a cup of joe and some scrambled eggs?" he responds, his teeth chattering as he stands at the counter.

The woman eyes him suspiciously before turning and leaving to get his order. Elijah drops into a booth, settling onto the worn-out vinyl seat with cracks and patches. The faint scent of lingering cigarette smoke wafts through the air. His heart continues to race from the recent scare outside, making it difficult for him to catch his breath. Despite his hunger, the butterflies in his stomach only intensify the discomfort.

He sits in silence as he looks more around the diner. Now that he's calmed down a bit, he starts noticing the clinking of dishes, the clang of utensils, and the sound of sizzling bacon, frying eggs, and hash browns cooking on the grill. The normalcy helps him calm down. After about 5 minutes, the waitress returns with his order.

"Here you go, dear. Enjoy," she says with a smile, handing Elijah his plate.

"Thank you," Elijah responds, his mouth watering at the sight of the hot food.

Elijah quickly eats all of his eggs, enjoying every bite. He takes barely any time to breathe, swallowing them down with the delicious black coffee. after eating, he gets up to leave, stopping at the counter to pay the bill.

"Do you know where I could find a place to stay?" he asks the waitress.

"Try the YMCA downtown, sonny. They may have a room."

"Thanks, Ma'am," Elijah picks his guitar up off the floor and makes his way out of the restaurant.

The street lamps illuminate the snow-covered sidewalks with their artificial glow. The sound of tires rolling across the pavement can be heard in the distance, and the smell of exhaust lingers in the air. Elijah steps into the street and is greeted by a blast of cold wind. He pulls his jacket tightly around him, shivering as he begins to move towards his destination.

After walking for several blocks, Elijah turns a corner and comes upon a large brick building. On the front, there's a sign that reads 'YMCA.' Elijah pauses for a moment, before heading inside.

***

The following day, Elijah sits on a bench in a crowded bus station, waiting for a Greyhound bus heading to Denver. Elijah sings softly to himself, strumming his guitar absentmindedly. A man slowly walks towards him. The man is disheveled, his clothes are wrinkled and dirty, and his eyes are bloodshot.

"Hey man, you sound good." The stranger says, his voice hoarse and raspy. "Gotta cigarette?"

Elijah keeps strumming his guitar, only briefly looking towards the man, "Yeah, sure. Here ya go, buddy"

Elijah hands him a cigarette, which he eagerly accepts.

"You know, you have an aura about you," The man remarks as he takes a drag off the cigarette. "Something about your presence. Do you believe in reincarnation?"

"I don't know," Elijah shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "I've never really thought about it before."

"Well, I do," the man asserts confidently. "I think we've all lived before, and that we come back to learn lessons from our previous lives. Our souls are on a journey, a mission if you will, and it's our responsibility to fulfill it."

Elijah looks at the man with skepticism, unsure of what to say.

"Maybe." He replies. "Whatever you say, man."

The stranger smiles as he takes another drag off his cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply before blowing it out in a long stream.

"I think you're special, brother," he tells Elijah, grinning. "You have a gift. I can sense it. And I know these things because I've been reincarnated into this body you see before you as Dan Smith."

"Dan Smith? That's your name?" Elijah asks, amused by the strange man.

"Indeed it is. And what is your name?"

"Elijah McDougall." Elijah shakes the man's hand.

"Interesting," the man observes as he shakes Elijah's hand vigorously. "I can see your aura, Elijah MacDougall. It's purple and gold."

Elijah smiles politely as if to humor the man.

"That means you're a creative soul, and I've been given a gift to tell you things about yourself that I could never know."

Elijah scratches his head, wondering what this strange man might know about him.

"What kind of things?"

"For example," Dan states, his eyes boring into Elijah's with a penetrating stare. "You ate a steak dinner last night."

Elijah smirks, realizing the guy is full of it, but he decides to humor him since he's been friendly.

"Sure, Dan," Elijah concedes.

"Also," the man adds with a wink, "you enjoyed the company of a lady friend afterward."

"Ahh, right." Elijah nods as Dan's story sounds nicer than the truth. "Well, Dan...it's been nice meeting you, man, but I think my bus is here."

"Elijah," the man whispers, leaning close to Elijah's ear. "This one time I'm telling you the truth, brother. You need to listen. I have an important message for you."

Elijah turns towards the man, raising his eyebrows, surprised by the man's seriousness.

"Be careful. Follow the vibrations and don't stray from the path. Follow your heart. Good luck." Dan asserts with finality.

"Uhh, thanks, Dan. I appreciate it. Take care of yourself, OK?" Elijah says, standing up and patting the man on the back as he turns away.

Elijah heads toward the bus, carrying his guitar case. He climbs aboard, settling into a seat near the back, while the bus fills up with other passengers.

As the bus doors close, Elijah glances out the window and sees Dan waving goodbye, a smile on his face.

The bus pulls away from the curb and drives down the street, headed for Denver. After a while, Elijah feels himself getting tired as he watches the scenery pass by through the windows. Drifting off, he can hear the opening lines of "Bob Dylan's Dream" in his head.

"While riding on a train goin' west

I fell asleep for to take my rest

I dreamed a dream that made me sad

Concerning myself and the first few friends I had"

Elijah wakes up a bit and shakes his head. He thinks about his friends that he left behind: Johnny and Ralph, and wonders how they're doing. The warm fuzzy feeling Elijah felt back when he smoked that joint in Chicago is now replaced by a cold sinking sensation of doubt in the pit of his stomach. He rests his head against the window, hoping to shake off that feeling.

In the distance, Elijah catches sight of undulating hills that ascend towards the horizon. As he continues his drive through the Midwest, Elijah's uncertainty lingers—he's not quite sure if he's in Ohio or Indiana. He's only checked a map of the U.S. a few times. Nevertheless, he gazes at the expansive stretch of wilderness before him, briefly taking in the scenery. He closes his eyes once more, hoping to slip back into sleep as the journey continues through the heartland.

But even in his slumber, his mind races with questions and concerns about what lies ahead.

"I wonder what's waiting out there in California? Is anyone going to understand me? Do I even deserve a second chance or am I just going to fuck stuff up?"

As sleep overtakes him, his dreams are filled with images of his childhood home in Orangeville, surrounded by fields of wheat swaying in the wind. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Elijah can hear the voice of his mother whispering in his ear.

"It's going to be OK, baby. We all make mistakes sometimes and that's alright. You'll figure it out. I love you."

Her words bring comfort and calm to Elijah, helping him to relax as he falls deeper into his slumber.