Kindle Edition
Amazon
Category:
Drama
Publisher: Tom Winton
ISBN-10: B01B8MZMQA
Type: Fiction
Pages: 181
Copyright: Jan. 1, 2016
ISBN-13: 9781523803477
Price: $3.79 (eBook)
A troubled man drives across America in search of answers, but along the way he finds far more than he bargained for.
A common man of modest means, world-weary George McLast decides to forget all his problems and take the trip he and his beloved wife had only dreamed about before she passed away three years earlier.
Despite all the unnerving feelings he’s been getting in his chest, his son’s disapproval, and his precarious financial situation, he sets out across America following the same route John Steinbeck took in 1959 with his pet poodle Charley. And just as the legendary author wanted to do back then, George hopes to reacquaint himself with his country and its people.
But everything doesn’t work out as planned. Along the way George encounters far more than he bargained for, and so will readers. During all his adventures and mishaps you’ll feel like you’re right alongside him, sitting in the passenger seat of his old van. You'll not only read his words but you'll feel them as well.
Excerpt
Chapter 1
For thirty-five months my life had been a living hell. Every morning, noon, and night relentless flames ravaged my mind, my spirit, and my soul. You see, in 2011 my wife and I moved to that blazing-hot inferno they call Florida. And by the time we’d made it just halfway through the first nine-month summer in that overdeveloped, sub-tropical jungle, we absolutely hated the place. Then in September of the same year, with our hearts broken because we had made the move and couldn’t afford to go back to Long Island, my Lorna began to weaken.
It had come on suddenly, and I told her to see a doctor. But Lorna insisted it was only because she was a little tired. She was wrong. And she’d only been feeling that way for three days when, on the way home from shopping at Wal-Mart late one morning, she suddenly felt a vice-like pressure and tremendous pain in her left shoulder and arm. Groceries in the back of the van or no groceries I rushed her straight to Martin Memorial Hospital. But by the time we pulled up to the emergency entrance, Lorna’s breathing was labored. Three days later the woman I’d loved for more than forty years was gone.
I’m afraid I can’t tell you where I am as I write this story because that would give away the ending and it’s far too good a story to let that happen. I can’t tell you if I’m in heaven, hell or anywhere in between. I may still be alive in Podunk, Alaska or living in a chalet atop the world’s most scenic mountain. My mind could still be knotted in the same dark state of irreversible sadness it was three years ago, or it could have finally found its way to that most joyous of all destinations they call “nirvana.” No, I can’t give away any of that right now. But what I can do is start at the very beginning of my amazing journey. And if you want to come along you’d better buckle up. It’s going to be one heck of a ride.
By the time Lorna had been gone two years, I’d had it with my aimless life. Ever since her death, not giving a damn about anything anymore, I’d lived the life of a miserable recluse. Day after day I woke up in my aging aluminum prison, dreading to get out of bed. I no longer bothered with any of the other senior citizens in the retirement trailer park where I lived. I didn’t attend any more of their potluck dinners, go to the bingo games at the clubhouse, or take part in their community garage sales. It had nothing to do with most of the other residents at The Pink Hibiscus Mobile Home Park being considerably older than I was. That hadn’t bothered me before. And it didn’t have anything to do with the way the Schatz’s who lived in the trailer behind mine sometimes aggravated me.
Irv and Frieda Schatz were both nice enough octogenarians, but twice a week they would have a whole mob of other oldsters over for drinks and there’d be a lot of hooting and hollering going on. Sitting in their back porch every time, all of them lubed up pretty well with cocktails, they’d raise hell out there till about 10 PM. Since I went to bed at eight every night and my bedroom in the back of my trailer was only about ten feet from their porch, whenever they partied I had to pull a pillow over my head and toss and turn a while before drifting off. No, the Schatz’s were okay people and so were most of the residents that went to the park’s events. It was just that I wanted to be left alone.
I was no longer interested in anything. All I did to pass time was read for much of the day and watch Jeopardy reruns on TV at night. The only time I left the trailer was when I absolutely had to. I did continue to exercise at the local gym three times a week and go to the library every Monday, but that was about it. I even cut back on my trips to the supermarket by buying enough food for two weeks rather than one. It may seem funny now that I took early afternoon naps only to break the monotony but it wasn’t at the time. Neither was the slight squeezing feeling I had started feeling inside my chest. And that was happening more and more often as time went on. The whole ordeal was a soul-crushing, spirit-sucking experience. Finally, after two years of incarcerating myself, I decided to do something about it.
No matter how much anybody objected, I made up my mind I was finally going to take a trip I’d been putting off for far too long. With the way my heart had been acting up, and after what the doctor down at the VA hospital had told me, most people would have thought I was crazy to embark on such a long journey. But it was my life. And I was going to burn up whatever was left of it any way I damn well pleased.
The minute I got home the day of my physical examination I dialed my son’s number.
“Hey, Adam, it’s Dad.” I said after he picked up. “How’re you doing?”
“Oh fine, fine,” he came back as if preoccupied, “I’m just getting ready to go to the dentist with Jessica. She’s got a tooth bothering her. What’s up?”
“Well tell her, her favorite father-in-law is pulling for her.”
“Cute, Dad—like she has ten fathers-in-law. What’s going on? I’ve got to get moving here.”
“Well . . . I just wanted to let you know, I’m finally going to take that trip I’ve been talking about.”
“Oh hell, you’re not going to start with that again are you? Are you crazy? You know you’ve been getting that pressure in your chest. You can’t be running all over the country. That’s absolutely insane!”
Preparing to tell a little white lie, squirming in my seat, I came back with, “Not to worry, Son. I just came back from my yearly physical and the doctor said it’s nothing to worry about. He said when a guy’s getting up in his years it’s not unusual to get feelings like that now and then. Believe me, everything is up to snuff,” I lied again.
Adam didn’t say anything for a moment, and it made me plenty uncomfortable. Finally, after letting out a long breath on the other end, he said, “Dad, please don’t BS me. I don’t believe for a second there’s a doctor on this entire planet who would tell you that squeezing feeling is nothing. Now, what did he really say?”
Then it happened again. My heart flipped twice in a row, and I felt a slight squeeze both times. Quickly writing them off in my mind, telling myself it only happened because I was getting stressed, I told Adam, “Okay, he did say something about running a test or two. But I told him that if it really started to bother me I’d come back and get them.”
“Yeah, there you go. You need to call him back right now and forget this trip madness.”
“Okay Adam. Here’s the real deal. The bottom line is I’m not all that worried about what might happen to me. When your mother was alive we had dreamed for years about making a trip out west and back. And she didn’t live long enough to do it. I’m at the point now where frankly I don’t much care a whole hell of a lot about this life business anymore. I don’t like what I’ve seen happen to this country, your mother has been taken from me, and I just plain don’t give a damn anymore.”
“What do you mean you don’t . . . ?”
“Please, let me finish, Son,” I interrupted while straightening way high up in my recliner. “I absolutely hate where I live, too. I hate the fact that since your mother was two years shy of being old enough to be covered by Medicare the damn hospital took almost every dollar we had left from the sale of our place up on Long Island.”
“That’s all water under the bridge, Dad,” Adam snapped back in a louder voice. “The thing now is . . . .”
“Whoa! Whoa!” I interrupted a second time. “Hold on a minute here. Just let me finish what I’ve got to say, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, go ahead. I’m listening,” he said in a disgusted tone as if talking to an utter imbecile.
“Good! Just calm down and listen. When your mother and I came here to Florida, all we had to live on was our social security. There was no way we could pay for health insurance. After we’d been here just short of a year, she had the heart attack. Well, guess what, I think she was so brokenhearted it killed her. Yes, granted, she obviously had a few health issues, but I know this place finished her off. She absolutely hated it, just as I do, and I’ve been stuck here three full years now. Listen to me son . . . a person can only handle just so much unhappiness and for just so long. After a while something has to give. Like I just said, that was a good part of your mother’s problem and I know it’s a big part of mine. I am going on this trip come hell or high water. Now that’s the end of it. Amen.”
Trying to calm myself down, I looked up at the trailer’s low ceiling and let out a sigh. After that Adam finally relented. In a resigned tone he said, “There’s just no talking to you Dad. Okay, go ahead, do what you want. I suppose the next thing you’re going to tell me is that you’re taking that beat up old van—that green hornet!”
“Funny, Son! Real funny! First of all, it isn’t green, it’s turquoise. Well, it’s sort of a turquoise blue anyway. And yes, I am taking it. I just got back from getting new tires.” I wasn’t about to tell him that, as always, I’d skimped and only bought two for the front wheels.
At that point I could hear Adam’s wife, Jessica, talking in the background. She was telling him they were going to be late for her appointment.
“Okay, buddy, I guess you have to run,” I said.
“Yeah, we’re going to be late if we don’t leave now. But let me ask you, when are you leaving on this cockamamie adventure? I’ve got this bad, bad feeling I’m never going to see you after you go. Not only do you have something wrong with your heart, but it’s downright dangerous out there on the road. Sixty-six years old and you’re going to drive all over the country alone? I just can’t believe it.”
In a voice as reassuring as I could possibly muster, I said, “Don’t worry about any of that, Adam. I promise, you’ll be seeing plenty more of me when I get back.”
That’s what I said alright. But as those last words left my mouth each and every one of them sounded tinny, hollow, and they lingered in my ears.
The plan was to leave the following Saturday morning. And for my remaining four days in Florida, I was really busy getting everything ready. The first order of business was to pull the back seat out of the van. After standing it on its side in my jam-packed little storage shed, I shot right over to Home Depot and picked up a couple of sheets of plywood, a half-dozen 2x4s, and a 5000 BTU window-type air conditioner.
Since my ’99 Ford Econoline van was considerably larger than a minivan, I figured that with the rear seat out there’d be more than enough room back there. Using the wood I’d bought, I built a raised platform two feet high. And although it stretched all the way from the back doors to the backs of the front seats, I knew I’d be able to sit straight up and still have plenty of overhead clearance, even with my full-size mattress lying on top of the plywood. Not only that, but beneath the platform there would be all kinds of storage space.
Once it was all built and in place, I took out the driver’s side rear window and mounted the A/C unit. Now, that job took some thought and effort. It also entailed far too much swearing as I struggled in the heat and humidity to get it just right. But I finally did. After installing the support brackets it was good to go. My Coleman camping stove easily fit beneath the platform as did a can of fuel and some boxes with dishes, silverware. I also slid under there some clothes, books, three extension cords, two fishing rods, a tackle box, and everything else I thought I might need. Already next to the mattress lay the wooden baseball bat I’d always kept at my bedside for protection—just in case I had no choice but to do a little Louisville slugging. There was no need to worry about putting curtains over the side windows or the remaining one in the back of the van. Lorna had made them with her sewing machine before she’d gotten ill, and I’d installed them a few months before she passed on. But don’t think my heart didn’t hurt each time I looked at them while working back there. Thinking back about how we’d planned to take this trip together brought tears to my eyes more than once.
Figuring they could easily be pulled out every time I camped somewhere, I stacked my two green plastic Adirondack chairs atop the mattress. At the head of the bed, I also put one of those tiny refrigerators like the ones college kids use in dorm rooms and stood a five-gallon bucket next to it. The bucket was going to be my washing machine during the trip. You see, I’d stolen the idea from John Steinbeck. In his great little book Travels with Charley, about the trek he, too, had made cross-country in his later years, he’d mentioned how he put his dirty laundry in a similar container, added water and detergent, and simply by driving, agitated the whole works enough so that when he reached a destination the clothes would be ready to hang for drying. I certainly didn’t like the idea of actually paying for a new clean bucket or handing over another three bucks for the damn plastic lid but I did. I knew that even though it was a rip-off, in the long run it would beat the heck out of paying to do my laundry in coin-operated washing machines.
With everything set up in place and ready to go the morning before I was to begin my trip, I crawled beneath the van and changed the oil. And that evening Adam, Jessica and my sweetie-pie fourteen-year-old granddaughter, Dakota, came over to say goodbye. Talk about feeling blue! As soon as they left I put my gloomy self to bed. On the upside, though, the Schatz’s weren’t having one of their shindigs that night. And with the clock on the nightstand alongside me set for 4 AM, I only laid there for about fifteen minutes before falling into a deep sleep. Let me correct that. I should say that I fell asleep after fifteen minutes and another four missed heartbeats.
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