A Farewell at the Roadside

I love Spring Break. Even though it's technically the weekend, I'm feeling the unfettered freedom from adult responsibility. It's the kind of day where I watched a rerun of "Family Matters" and didn't feel guilty that I was wasting my time. I ate crackers for lunch and drank milk from the carton. It's the kind of day when I consider a box of fruit snacks to be a single serving.

But wouldn't you know it? I ran out of delicious snacking items: It was time to reload at the store.

As I grabbed my car keys though, an awareness of my slothfulness and obesity came over me, and I decided to run to the supermarket with a backpack in a vain effort to burn off some of my thunder-thigh calories.

It was pretty ugly outside. The wind and rain synergized into 45-degree blades of cold. Regular people, people with places to go and appearances to maintain, care about the rain. But Spring Breakers? Not so much.

Even with the angry weather, it was a wonderful day. Running out of chips and Fruit Gushers was the worst thing that could happen. I strapped on my running coat and took off with an extra pair of socks in my backpack. My stride was jaunty, and I bounded through puddles just to feel the cool water trickle down my legs.

And then I saw it. At first, I thought it was trash, collected together by the rivers in the gutters. But getting closer, the soaked teddy bears and dead plants revealed a roadside memorial to a person who must have died on that corner.

I've seen these memorials before, usually speeding by at 50 mph in my car. But up close, standing where someone died, standing where someone cared enough to offer gifts: this was something different.

Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the still legible messages inscribed on the signal pole. But 5 miles into the 7-mile trip to the market, I turned around and heavily jogged home. The Fritos didn't seem that important.