North, I think

I heard the weeping first, a wrenching kind of grief that makes your breath catch in your throat. Then I saw the hearse. That's when I figured the reverend wouldn't be home resting. He'd be inside the tiny church. More weeping.

He was sitting in a pew off to the side in a black suit so oversized that I thought he was slouching at first. But pillars like the reverend, they don't slouch.

His eyes lit up when he saw me, an angel in white slacks amid the black. I went to him and we embraced like old friends and confidantes. It's a strange kind of intimacy we have. We exchanged pleasantries in low tones, wary of smiling against the backdrop of tears.

"I need to talk to you about some things," I said.

Tuesday. 2 p.m. We agreed. I know because he wrote it into his pocket date book. Maybe there'd be a story after all.

I left then, stepped out into the chilly yellow sun, stepped into the car, pressed my head against the steering wheel and sighed.

At the stop sign I turned left instead of right. I didn't know where I was going. It didn't seem to matter. I pulled over half a mile down on the rural county road, made a preemptive call to the night desk, and slipped back onto the clear road. That's when I knew I was running.

Left at the sign. Right at the arrow. North. The sun was yellow, the air even chillier. I suppose there were some farms and ploughed fields. I suppose there was an apiary and a steep bridge, an historic district and miles of road. I suppose the sun went down and time went by like broken white lines. I was inside my own head, inside a stilled heart.

I looked down at the phone, at the time, and it hit me. I had obligations. Reading and assignments and words; those were my children, my ties. Friends. Friday night plans. A toothy goddaughter. Love.

I didn't know where I was. Left at the sign. Right at the arrow. North, I think. I dialed the number that would bring me back home.

If I got an answer, I'd find my way back. If I didn't, I'd keep going. Heads, you win. Tails, you lose. I held my breath.

"Hey," she said. "Where are you?"

"I don't know," I replied.

That's the thing with running without a plan. You always get lost.