Creak: (n) a creaking sound
After eight-and-a-half straight hours of driving in the middle of the night, I stopped with my two buddies at a truck stop outside Lincoln, Nebraska.
I was twenty-two years old and had long hair, which proudly lay on my shoulders, defiantly displayed. When I walked into the truck stop, I noticed that nobody there had enough hair on their head to generate a hairball.
My two traveling companions were women—normally quite attractive, but after eight-and-a-half hours of slouching in a car, looked a bit ragged.
We found our way to a table and sat down. Even allowing for some paranoia, we were still the source of a roomful of stares. We didn’t care. We wanted something to eat, some coffee to drink, and to be doing something besides turning a steering wheel and trying to stay awake.
Everything went fine until it was time for us to leave. I stood to my feet and I got a painful catch in my hip joint. It was so surprising that I immediately sat back down, wincing from the agony.
I was scared. Because I was twenty-two and had no idea about pain—thinking a stubbed toe was excruciating—I was terrified.
The two ladies had already sauntered off to pay the bill, so I was sitting there, in a roomful of hostile strangers, wondering why my leg was dying. Gradually, I decided to attempt standing again. This time, though it felt a little tingly, my hip decided to go back to being workable again.
I had no trouble staying awake after that. I was intimidated. I was frightened.
I was experiencing my very first journey into becoming creaky. Fortunately, a good night’s sleep took away all the discomfort.
Now, when I stand up and my hips work at all, I want to shout hallelujah, and imagine myself doing a victory dance.
All of our bodies begin to creak.
And that is why it is so hard to stay hip.