Crossing the State Line

Every morning just before I open my eyes, I'm dreaming about the ocean.

In my dream, I can hear seagulls and the waves meeting the shore with the spray making a whoosh back to sea.

I wake up to humid air, and to the echoes of the house, doors opening and clicking shut clock ticks, and always in the background the ever-present hum of insects outside my window. -"I'm still in Texas."

I look up at the ceiling fan, which has been on all night and manage to

reorient myself. Staring out at the trees, I try to imagine what's

beyond them. I can only imagine more trees with red dirt roads leading to lonely highways and churches. I still have no idea where East meets West or North meets South. I've always used the ocean as my compass.

Today we're going to Walmart in Many (pronounced maanee) to go grocery shopping. It's almost 50 miles away in Louisiana in the Sabine Parish. I was looking forward to this shopping trip, my first since I arrived. It would become a monthly errand.

I was hoping Louisiana would be different in some way from Texas despite the short 50-mile distance and couldn't wait to go.

My usually solitary temperament craved and missed society, even traffic. We cruised easily down the highway at 75 mph past forest, houses, signs for crayfish, and gator. When we stopped at an intersection, a sign pointing in the opposite direction spelled Nacogdoches. I said it out loud and was corrected. "People out here pronounce it Nacodish," Sarah says. I tried it out but liked my way better - Naaco doshas.

When you cross to Louisiana, the speed limit drops abruptly to 55, and you the impression that things happen even slower out here. Sarah drops her speed mindful of the limit but annoyed at the same time. There are hardly any cars out, but the State Troopers can't wait to stop the Texas plates coming through. A Trooper passes us from the opposite direction --- relieved we sped on.

We crossed the Toledo River, an expansive stretch of water where trees

stand over the top and continue to grow in it. It is man-made and one

of the most massive bodies of water in East Texas and Louisiana. We pass small boats with one or two people in them idly fishing, just waiting to catch "that big one" Catfish or Bass. I wanted the water to cure the feeling of missing the ocean, but it didn't entirely fill the bill. It was lovely with its calm water and surrounding trees. I tried to imagine the people that came to visit this river and where they came from. If they came from the forest, then surely it was a welcoming sight from the suffocating trees or if they came from the prairie a respite from the open skies. 

We continued on. Hardly any cars--traffic is never a problem in East

Texas. We came upon a town, which seemed like it was barely surviving.

Many empty buildings, a few fast foods places dingy and sad. We stopped and waited for a train to pass. It was almost exciting compared to the non-activity we've been having.

We finally arrived at Walmart. It stood alone, emptiness surrounded

it. Plenty of parking. Sarah parked as far away as possible. She hates to park close and complained that her brother and sister drive all over the parking lot to park closer to the door. Surely they'd park inside the store if they could. The heat made walking seem further. I couldn't wait to get inside where there was air conditioning! Something we didn't have at the house. We went in, and there were only a few people inside, which was surprising. So accustomed to busy stores in the Bay Area, this took me aback for a second. We collected groceries, its aisles had gumbo, spices I'd never heard of, and Cajun sausage. Someday I would try some of these flavors, but not today. Sarah is no fan of regional cuisine. No freshwater fish or bottom feeders, but fried chicken she loves!

Sarah is originally from Wisconsin and lived most of her life in

California, but she is a farm girl at heart. She moved here after

retiring, having traveled around the U.S. in an RV for 10 years. San Augustine was one of the more affordable places to retire.

Gathering our groceries we waited in line, I watched the clerk casually greet each customer, taking her time yet still efficient.

After all, what was the rush? Her accent seemed strong to me, and I had to

translate it in my head and watch her mouth as she spoke. With

a slow twang, she dropped her r's and used the same platitudes of "hon,

sweetie, and so forth on everyone, although she seemed to be only in her twenties.

Feeling like a fish out of water, I wondered if I would ever feel at home here. I was the one with an accent now, but at the same time, I worried about acquiring one. Would I start saying, "Y'all" or "Where you at?" Meaning, "what are you up to?" Only time would tell.