Living on Edge and Discovering What Remains of Wealthy
I've never considered social class as a destination you can get in yur truck in drive to until I looked at the Leon County map in my Texas Almanac after crossing the county line and saw a little dot off of FM 3 labeled Wealthy. And to think how many years of my life--not to mention thousands of dollars of tuition money I don't have--I've wasted working and educating myself in an attempt to socially mobilize on up the ladder when the road to becoming Wealthy was just a couple of hours away.
However, when I drove to the dot, Wealthy didn't appear. No signs, no businesses, no historical markers. Just an intersection of FM and country roads. I drove on at a loss for Wealthy, foiled yet again in my attempt to find the riches. If history is any indication, my chances of finding Wealthy were slim to begin with: the town was originally called Poor, TX, but when the small town applied to have their own U.S. Post Office, the 19th century bureaucrats in an act of utmost propriety I presume, denied the request. So, the locals, true to Texans' go-to-hell style of spirit and wit, changed the original name to its more auspicious and apparently acceptable antonym.
After my 3rd attempt chasing cell phone reception, wandering Leon County roads, and looking up U.S. Geological Survey geocodes from the 1970s, I finally drove by the only indication of Wealthy, TX.
Welp, you can't take it with you when you die, and so I left Wealthy, TX, no richer than when I arrived. Although the sense of peace I felt there, with the exception of when I pissed off the bulls with the intact balls in the cow herd, was definitely a gain. As was seeing the mockingbirds in the tree above the gravestones of a couple who died in their 60s less than a year apart from one another.