“Will you go on your own?” the acquaintance asks me full disbelieve. His hands rest on the Freebird.
“Yes, alone” I respond … and continue my story.
He nods and listens, politely lets me finish me story an then asks “So, you’re going alone? Really?”
“Erh, yes…” I pretend it is nothing unusual.
It is the most giant leap I ever took in my life. Dare to, can and wanting to travel alone. I even have to, can’t do it differently. I leave behind a loved one. Not forever. I will see him in about two months. But we both know it will be different when I get back. We don’t exactly know what, but we know it will be. It covers our being together with a blanket of sadness. It feels like my stomach gets cut with a knife when I see the loss in his eyes.
I want to tell him that I will cancel everything, sell the bike and get in his car forever and ever. We both know that is not a solution. We can’t go back to where we were. We have to move on. Grow. He and I. The path I follow forces me to go alone and I don’t even know where I am heading. It’s bizarre.
When I look at him I feel love flowing. He has many a reason to be angry at me, to shout at me and call me a fool. To hysterically grab me and beg me not to go. But instead he gave me the Freebird as a gift, in which I take all my belongings. He gave me my mobile mini-home and sealed my journey with it. I take a piece of him with me and he is left behind, dealing with his pain.
I admire his courage and openness. That he, in spite of everything, sets me free to go is inhumane. I couldn’t have gone without it. It is the final push I needed. I abandon him because of a vague gut feeling and he, he loves me. And I love him. And I go alone.
“I couldn’t do that,” the acquaintance finishes conversation. He walks away. “Good luck though! Have a safe trip!”