By city or mountain

That's right, it is called the road less travelled because it isn't used as much. And there's the other road, the one I've been down before. It was paved once and there it sat nearly five years ago, littered with potholes. And a year later it was repaved and there was the long road to recovery.

We know why it was closed. This long road seemed to be repaved with the best intentions, as they always are. Hell, maybe that was the point of it, looking back, that this journey was so long and voluminous that it would trump everything. Contradictions...eh, it will work out.

But it didn't, for a single reason not needed to be rehashed. For a time later I would hear your car, stuck in the on-ramp of this road. There I was, on the side, stunned you were there. Half surprised and half annoyed. The personality wavered. I was expected to fix this...to open the road to at least one lane so that it may be travelled again. We both knew better, though.

Much time was passing, and I was on a different road. Occasionally, I'd hear you were thinking of taking the old road again...I'd wander over and see your going the other way, taillights igniting my brain. The closing of our road was simply reinforced, and I'd wander back again. I hadn't given it much thought.

So one June night, I sit watching a 1974 Tonight Show episode and hear a car horn. Your car horn. You are broken down. You've called me - me - to fix this. I am without any proper tools...more stunned that you even showed up here to grow genuine concern. But I know this road as good as you, so I knew you'd need to be repaired before you go anywhere else. But why me? Was I the last repairman in your mind? I don't know that I'd fix everything in the finest manner. But I did. I was overly thanked and I was told you drive by again the next night.

When you did, it was much too late. "Let's work on it tomorrow, or anytime on the weekend." Well, this situation has occurred twice. I am told to bring tools to fix you, or more importantly, to fix this road...overgrown with weeds, broken promises, meandering off ramps. And yet each service call is a reminder of why this road is why it is: I can't say it's my job to care...it's not work, but I'd damn well rather look for a new road than sit by this call box and wait for a call that's supposed to come but never does. Again, and again.

It is useless to the both of us to say "end of the road." The road ended. I was at the end of it. And knowing you, you'll drive by again...see the end and wonder why. Not why you're there, but why you're there again. For your sake, you'd better hope I'm there next time you arrive. Don't forget the service contract you chose that read "no guarantees." Until then, wander I will.