But seasons wax and wane, and few glories of that era remained. I passed many abandoned factories and mills. Derelict looking factory and rail-road towns blurred into one another due to their frequency. The all-pervasive ambiance of nature towered over the works of men now deceased. High above the abandoned buildings and grimy towns were emerald mountains and hills cloaked with mist. Such a duality of beauty and ugliness was a sight to behold. At some point, I passed through the city of Reading, and lost track of where I was going. The terrain became kind of mountainous with a smattering of isolated farms and villages. The strange thing was that I didn't care the least bit about being lost.
After several more hours of aimless driving, I happened to chance upon a small village called Friedensburg. There alongside of a rather empty and non-descript road, under a drizzling sky, was a kiosk manned by a young woman. The stand read "fresh Organic Produce", so I decided to stop and buy a few ears of corn. The price of the corn was dubiously cheap, and I suspected fraud. So I asked the girl, Andrea was her name, as to the source of her produce. Apparently, Andrea didn't quite know the difference between organically produced versus mass-produced corn, since she was just selling some corn for her uncle. For some odd reason that conversation went on for much longer than I thought. Maybe it was the fact that we were the only two people along an empty road in the middle of nowhere with nothing better to do. Maybe it was just the corn.
The girl was rather lithe and very easy on the eyes. She looked to be in her early twenties, a brunette with big brown eyes, though I obviously didn't ask her age. Apparently Andrea never went to college and her family were mostly farmers or retired steel workers. Apparently, selling corn in the middle of nowhere is one of Andrea's 3 jobs. For some reason, I had the nerve to ask her what her future plans where. And her reply was to be a DJ in NYC. What an odd and out of place dream for someone who is probably my age, I thought then and there. But this Oriental have enough common sense to remain silent and let the girl continue her story. Andrea was obviously in love with a man from this place called Pottsville. He was studying at some sort of a trade school to fix cars in that "city." The standard story was then told. As soon as he was done with his learning, he was going to marry this girl and they'll live happily ever after. At least that's what she blurted out to me. I was foolish enough to ask when the ceremony was planned. The girl seemed uncertain, even fearful and replied that she didn't know. I don't know what was promised to her, but she sure seemed hopeful. I bought my corn, thanked her for the company, and left.
That night, after hours more of wandering, I rented a motel room at another tiny, non-descript village called Shoemakersville. Late at night, lying in bed, thoughts raced through my mind. Is this what love is like? Or is it just a desparately lonely country girl trying to tell her story to someone, anyone, who would take a moment to listen? In a person's life, there must be that special someone, that immortal figure, the one and only. Andrea believes that her one and only will marry her one golden day, such a simple and sweet ending. I wonder if my feelings for that special someone would ever be requited, but by the gods, how much I do want to believe it as much as that simple farm girl...
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