Savannah

I first met Timothy Fleming in the Canon City bowling alley roughly three and a half years ago, and thought fairly quickly that we could be friends, something that I don't normally feel around people that I've just met. It wasn't until a year and a half later, though, that we met again, this time in a Trig class at Canon City high school, and then acting together in the fall play there. Bowling, it turned out, was the thing that we did most for a while, and we became better and better friends throughout the school year.
Last fall, while both of us were going to community college in Canon I lived with Timothy and his family, renting a room from them, and though I felt that this qualified us for knowing how to live with each other, this, of course, is the real test. Though partially I feel that this trip is a way of fleeing my other life, and though Timothy represents a large part of that other life, as yet I have been thankful that he is here. Timothy reminds me every day more or what remains intact at home, that doesn't change. For being such a slow and constant thing, walking is unpredictable. There is no way to judge what will happen on any specific day upon waking, no way to say whether that day will yeild wealth of joy or pain, and what a friend walking alongside represents is a glimmer of solidity, and certainty.
Georgia has been taking care of us pretty well, aside from the June heat. Though there is still a lot of initial hesitation toward us, and questioning looks, more than anything we're greeted with curiousity and smiles upon entering a gas station or a grocery store, and we're consistently given little gifts to help us along.
Walking a couple of miles out of the little town of Woodbine on Friday a man pulled over in a red truck and handed two cold bottles of Gatorade out his window, along with a Frisbee disc that I had been carrying, which had apparently fallen off my pack at some point. No more than two miles later a white truck pulled over, following us into the shade of the trees for a break, and a woman, who we presumed to be the man's wife, gave us two bottles of Powerade.
"Some more drinks for you," she said. "And remember, the south isn't very friendly."

Timothy turned 21 Sunday. We sat for a good majority of the day outside of a Piggly Wiggly, then walked in the evening and through the cool of the night until one thirty before setting up our tent by the road. The only real celebrating we managed was the smoking of cigars in the ditch at eleven thirty or twelve, and I can't help but knowing that Timothy could have had a better time if he had still been at home.
But the last couple of days have been nice. We're in the city now, taking a couple of days off from the crazy heat via the Clarks, who picked us up by the side of road in the middle of the hottest day yet. Tomorrow morning we have our second distribution, and then we'll be heading out again.