===

I left the next morning at 6am, as the sun rose. A quick shower and I was on my way. I felt better, but still as aimless as the day before, and even more lost, so I yearned to be in motion again. I still didn't know where I was going, but I decided that driving until I felt like it's enough was the best plan I could devise in these circumstances.

It was good to be in the car again. My paws grabbed the steering wheel and felt the familiar ridges of the cheap upholstery. I found comfort in the hypnotic movements and the dusty smell permeating the cabin. This was my space. I kicked into first gear and rolled through the parking lot, and soon I was on the road again. My mind lingered on the events from yesterday for a moment after I passed by the diner from yesterday, until I rolled the windows down and let the wind in. I was on the right path.

There were a few moments when I remembered the last night again. Each time I passed a truck, I looked into the driver's cabin to check if it was the bull from the day before. I knew the chances were low, but I felt like I should apologize, even if in truth I hoped I wouldn’t encounter him. I didn’t have any good words to offer him anyway. The further I got from Pennsylvania, the less I checked, until I stopped at all. I haven’t seen him ever again.

For now there was just me and the road, and the safe bubble I was watching it from, gliding over the smooth asphalt. A mixtape of solo David Sylvian and his earlier band, Japan, was flowing from the speakers. The monotonous landscape was like a balm on my troubled mind. Driving manual left me with less space for thinking. Focused completely on driving and the music, my mind switched off. I was leaving what I knew behind, moving towards the rising sun.

The states changed again, but the border was just a line drawn on the map, abstract and arbitrary. I stopped only at the gas station to refill the tank and my stomach. Forward and ahead. The unchanging landscape soon started to get to me, though. I wanted to get somewhere, but I felt like I was driving in one place, only the trees outside of the car moving and the rest staying still. But I knew this couldn't go on forever. There had to be more than this.

===

The day was slowly ending and I was tired after driving the whole time. I found some roadside motel again and got a bed for the night. It was way too soon to fall into the routine, but the movements became somewhat familiar. A short rest, a trip to a local diner, a shower and American Football. After the whole day in the car even the spartan room and diner food felt decadent, and I was happy to finish the day without any adventures.

There was one more thing I wanted to do before moving forward, though - see the lake up close. I didn’t get to the shore the day before, focused on doing the most miles I could, but now, in another state and done with driving for the day, I was no longer in a hurry. The motel was close to the shore, just a short walk through the trees was enough to get there. I only took my camera, headphones and a bag of chili lemon peanuts with me.

I walked out of the woods in the most scenic location I’ve been to by that point in time, safe for the Grand Canyon maybe. The view before me was serene, unlike the commercial beach I went to with my father a few months back. The lake stretched to the horizon, disappearing in the mist, joining with the sky. In my ears David Sylvian crooned softly, singing of rain falling on the waterfront, but the coast before me was crisp and bathed in the orange glow of the setting sun instead. My soul soared with the strings as my eyes took in the view. 

I had to sit down. There was a flat stretch of grass to my left and that’s where I headed. It was far from being empty - a few families with children and a few couples were there, bodies lying on the grass, strolling and running along the muddy coast. I found a neat spot with nobody between me and water and sat down there, paws sinking into the grass at my sides. Pleasure shoot up from my pawpads and through my arms, my brain happy with the contact with the ground. The scenery was so absurdly idyllic that I had to stop myself from laughing.

There was someone else there that I didn’t notice at first. The only person looking around my age, and the only person seemingly alone there. An otter, shirtless, was lying in the grass not too far from me, propped up on his elbows, looking at the lake through rather unnecessary at that time of the day sunglasses, shirtless. He was looking straight ahead, so I let my eyes linger on him a bit longer. The golden glow was shining at his chest, toned but not overly, less than mine at that point in time. He took good care of his body, that much was obvious.

My heart started to beat stronger. There was something in him that didn’t let me turn away. My thoughts circled around him like satellites pulled by his magnetism. I wondered what he was doing here, where he got from; was he a local or a traveler like me, on a search for something? This face, unmoving and unreadable, what could’ve lied behind it? What mind, what personality? I wanted to know him. I felt his pull, but there was something in me that didn’t let me act. I wanted to wave to him, do anything, but I could only look.

I left after twenty minutes maybe, when the same album I was listening to when I came there, Secrets of the Beehive, was ending for the second time. Waterfront accompanied me again as my paws led me back to the motel. I kept glancing at the otter through the bushes until he disappeared from view completely. As I walked into the shade of trees, with the slightest sense of defeat somewhere in the backdrop of my thoughts, it entered my mind that it might always be this way. Maybe I would always be just observing, never acting. Maybe it was my nature. It was a grim thought, but one I took very seriously.

===

I woke up in the middle of the night. There was some shouting outside; I got up and went to the window just in time to see the same otter I was on the beach being punched in the face by a deer, falling backwards onto gravel. The deer was clearly older than him, maybe in his thirties, and seemed inebriated but not totally drunk. He shouted something, spat and strode away towards the town, the otter observing him from the ground. There was blood dripping from his snout onto his T-shirt. 

My veins flushed with ice. I stood at the window, hidden behind the curtain, waiting for someone to come out and help the otter, but there was no one. I should've ran out to help him. I should have, yet I stood there, rooted to the spot. Then, when I could start moving again, my shaking legs led me back to the bed. I sat down on the edge and stared at the wall. I spent a good five minutes like that, feeling terrible with myself for not doing anything, until finally I reasoned with myself that I have to go there and help.

I put on the jacket and left the room, stepping out into the chilly September air. The wind hit me, much stronger than I anticipated, and I shivered in my flimsy jacket, rushing to the parking lot.

The otter was gone. On the spot where he fell there were only a few dark splotches and broken sunglasses. They must’ve shattered as he fell to the ground. I leaned down to pick them up, but as my pawpad grasped the edge of the metal frame, I changed my mind. I went up to my room again, packed all my belongings and left. Sitting in my car, I snapped another photo through the side window. Just a dirt patch, dimly lit with the motel's cold light, trees disappearing in the darkness stretching over the land. The eerie silence there didn't make it to the photo. I started the engine and then I was on the road again.