Mountain tops in West Virginia. Deer on the side of the road; killed by carelessness in Pennsylvania. The Ohio River churns.

I drive throughout the night. Hours in the dark, thinking of you, feeling your touch on my face like a ghost reaching out. Spirits on 40.

Driving past St. Louis and over the Mississippi with its muddy banks and casino boats. Money floating on brown water that Huck and Jim paddled upon. An arch overlooking all of us.

All alone in this world, this country since you’ve been gone. Drive, drive, drive from one end to the other. From West to East and North to South. In search of something to keep me going.

And there’s that touch again. Your spirit trying to break through; a sign that it’s alright. I’m not alone.

But, I keep driving. Past Joplin, Carthage, Oklahoma, down into Dallas over to Amarillo where they have steaks big as your head.

Stay with me. Don’t go away. We’ll be there soon.