Polaroids and Postcards | ✔️

Chapter 29: Trail of Tears

"Travel makes one modest. You see what a tiny place you occupy in the world." – Scott Cameron

•••

The next day, after we managed to breeze through the rest of Texas, we passed through Oklahoma. It was a small state, but it seemed so much bigger than anything I'd ever seen before. The small towns being overshadowed by massive mountains, rivers, trees... it was interesting in a rugged, nature-y kinda way. I guess you might even go so far as to call it beautiful—if you were into that kind of thing.

I was fully prepared to enjoy the scenery in silence, but true to form, Della wasn't going to let that fly.

"Wanna hear a story about this place?" she pressed, her feet thrown up on the dashboard in the passenger's seat. "It's a sad one!" she added, cheerfully. Her hair was thrown into a massive crown-braid, wrapped snuggly around her head like a halo. A few hours earlier she had painted her toenails while I drove, and they were finally dry enough for her to wiggle her now glittery-green toes in the sunlight that filtered through the windshield.

I scoffed. "You say it like the fact that it's sad should make me want to hear it more."

The sharp smell of nail polish still stung my nose and hung in the air, even though I'd rolled the windows down twice already. I finally gave up trying to escape the God-awful scent and focused my energy into my conversation with Della. After all, what else could I do?

"Why do you always tell me sad stories anyway?" I asked before she had a chance to respond to my previous comment.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, seeming confused. "When have I ever told you a sad story?"

"Um... try Douglas the Confederate Camel, for starters?" I laughed. "That was freaking sad."

"Not really though!" Della defended. "He died following his dreams. That's beautiful."

"You cried at his grave."

"It was a beautifully-sad cry."

"What does that even mean?"

"You know! When you cry because of something being so beautiful."

"Oh, right... I forgot I was talking to the World's Most Hopeless Romantic for a second there," I rolled my eyes. "Of course you would find it oh-so beautiful and dreamy."

"Don't you?" questioned Della, watching me closely.

"Uhh... not really?" I mumbled. I didn't want to hurt Della's feelings, but I wasn't going to lie to her over something so ridiculous. "Douglas still died. And that sucks. That makes it a sad story."

"But he didn't just die," Della responded, turning to look out the window. "He died happy. He died complete. He died... without regrets."

She sighed deeply as she stared out the window at the mountains. It was a wistful sound, full of expectancy and hope. For what, I didn't know. But I knew Della well enough by now to know that I wouldn't get any answers.

"When was the last time you cried, Jason?"

The question came out of nowhere, so I was unsure of how to answer at first.

"Last time... I... cried?" I paused, feeling self-conscious.

"Yeah. You've seen me cry how many times on this trip? I haven't seen you cry once."

"I don't really cry that much," I shrugged, staring straight ahead. "It's just not really how I process things."

"But everyone cries, Jason," Della interjected. "It's a basic biological function."