Directions to My Heart

Exiting off Route 422 at the Royersford/Trappe exit, making a left at the traffic light, to the right is a Giant shopping market and miscellaneous stores where people spend their money on the weekend mornings for their families that live in this little suburbia town, I find myself visiting frequently.

At the next traffic light, on the left, is the Royersford Wawa on 10th Avenue and Main Street.

Turn left at this traffic light, which sometimes chooses not to work in this lazy town. So, whether it is green or not is up to the time of day I suppose.

Pulling into the parking lot, it becomes often difficult to find a spot since they are full at any given time of the day claimed by different people with different place to go on different time schedules. Some are late, some are early, some are bored, some are busy, some are rich, and some are poor. Once inside, no one knows your name or your intentions unless they are keen at the art of reading people, which I often find myself doing at all times.

By the look of our clothing of choice and the vibe we give, maybe one out of ten people can assume we’re going atop the hill down there, a mile away. Many stops in to buy cigarettes and coffee or the Daily Local. My purchase of choice is usually a chicken salad sandwich, peanut butter M&M’s, vitamin water, coffee or a fruit punch energy drink. A bathroom dash is always in order. Looking at my hair in the mirror is an unconscious confirmation of events.

Being inside this establishment is a notch in the journey and in roughly forty-five minutes, we will be at the top. Roaming the store from refrigerated drinks to the food counter and register, I purchase my items never accepting a bag for I know I will be putting them in my dirty, black book bag later.

Re-gathering at the car, once the driver unlocks the doors, we get in. Noises of food opening, bags un-zippering, change being jingled, and money being folded occur as the engine starts.

Brake lights dim, a flash of white light as gears go into reverse, backing away, into drive, we follow Main Street over the Bridge into historic Spring City, which resides in Chester County, Pennsylvania. Built in 1867, the population today is estimated to be 4,000, ninety percent white men and women. I imagine when I’m going to eat my food.

Sometimes I will manage to juggle my belongings and eat a sandwich and sip my drink on the uneven trail. It is far more enjoyable to sit and rest to reward myself after a successful walk. My favorite spot to do this is on the roof of Canteen, Limerick Hall. I refer to it as my ‘Zen Spot’. Climbing out of the window, sitting on the flat roof, dangling feet (two if you’re lucky) over the edge. The Administration building is to the left of you, Dietary to your right. Blooming trees surround you.

Parking the car behind the Burger King, the only fast-food establishment in this part of town, getting out, two feet on the pavement, pulling a hoodie over your head, gathering your food, batteries, flashlight, tripod, camera, film, lens filters go neatly into your book bag. Don’t forget to reach down and tie your shoes.