|No Way Home
Author: R.J. Peterson PM
I left because I didn't need them. Didn't want them. I could live without my family. I set off by myself to brace the harsh winter of New England, then the cool summer of Maine, the rainy autumn of the UK, and four years in exile on an island in the Atlantic. That's how I got here, in this lonely cell, waiting for death to lay a cold, bony finger on my shoulder. *Explicit language*Rated: Fiction T - English - Adventure/Hurt/Comfort - Chapters: 5 - Words: 5,642 - Reviews: 2 - Follows: 1 - Updated: 05-04-13 - Published: 09-25-12 - id: 3060952
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
The next two days in the hotel were uneventful. They mainly consisted of reading, watching movies and of course, something I'd never done before; flipping through the channels. I gave my room key back to the man in the lobby, because my money was probably going to run short and I needed to move on. I stepped outside and started walking down the road back to Manchester, my thumb out as always. I swear: one of these day I'll get arthritis. I walked for about ten minutes when some old guy came up to me in a car. "Whereya headed sir? Derry? Portland? Montpelier? Miami?" He sure was an excitable one. "Uh, Manchester'd be fine." I said, a little awkwardly. "Which one? Connecticut? New Hampshire? Vermont? Massachusetts? Maine? England? Boy there sure are about a million Manchesters in this world! Well hop in son, you can tell me in here." He was really excitable. "Well, the New Hampshire Manchester'd be fine." The guy looked a little discouraged. "Oh...okay..." he said, drearily.
After a few minutes he spoke again. "I'm sorry for getting a little riled up over there. I thought you would be the one to let me bring them anywhere in the world. I hold a one-man business. I call it the FITS. Free International Taxi Service. I'll take ya anywhere in the world for free. I got a nice boat which can travel from Alaska all the way to Russia!" I seriously thought he was joking. "You just go over the Bering Strait. 50 miles from Alaska to Russia. Considering that, it isn't much of a boat, sir." I told him. "Oh...well, from Alaska to Russia the other way!
"Anyway, my whole story starts maybe thirty years ago when I was thirty seven. I was a heavy drinker, and I also had a wife. But I seemed to like my drinking better. I loved my son more than anything, though. When I wasn't at the bar I was out fishin' with him or playing games while my wife sat alone, likely with mad jealousy. Anyway my son turned twenty one and I brought him to the bar for his first drink. I got drunk and hit h-a man. I was arrested and let out twenty years later, or ten years ago. I quit my drinking and dedicated the rest of my life to helping people and a couple months ago I had vision my life would be ending soon, so I started the FITS. I raised money to buy the boat I told you about.
"But people never took me up on any of my "round the world in 80 days" offers. They probably thought I was crazy. I just want to die a happy man." He finished his story. "Do you have a phone number? Like, is it in a phonebook or something?" I asked. "Yeah. Look it up in the New Hampshire phonebook, town of Boscawen. My name is Osaha Farmaw. Let me write down here. Call me anytime." He wrote his odd name down on a napkin and let me off on the snowy road in Manchester. "I'll call you up in a couple months and you can bring me to Manchester in England." I told him outside the car. He smiled and a tear came to his eye. "Thank you son! Thank you so much! I'll see ya soon!" He drove off on the FITS business.
After stuffing Osaha's name into my pocket, I went around looking for stuff to do. I was down to $370, so I had to get stuff that was worth it. A few books, movies (my laptop play DVD's, fortunately). I had some junk food left over from day one, so I was good for food, but I needed to get some water. I bought maybe ten bottles of the stuff from a convenient. I came around to a mall and went into the bookshop, taking a few that looked bearable. There was one table that said something around the lines of "Complete your Classics Collection Today!" I took a look. They had all the old ones that everyone's read like "Dracula" and "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn" and "Frankenstein" and "Call of the Wild." And they had "War and Peace" which was as thick as Al Jolsen's ego. There was another table which only had a one book. Well, there were 20 of them on the table but they were all the same book. "Catcher in the Rye." I read it in High School, as a requirement and I loved it. I got a tiny version of the book and left the mall. There really wasn't much there. Plus, Christmas decorations were every-fucking-where you go. It was heart lifting and all but every store you went into they were playing "Silver Bells" by Perry Como and not to mention Johnny Mathis singing "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" blazing on the overcoms, which were stale as the potato chips I finished this morning.
When I got outside, it was snowing. I stormed into a Burger King, cause I knew I'd start freezing my cahones off. They were, of course, playing "Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire" by Mel Torme, whose annoying way of singing the name "Santa" as "Sontah" was pissing me off. I ordered two triple whoppers (I was fucking hungry) and a large soda. After a million years I got the damn food. I went up to this new coke machine which looked like a regular fridge with a Coca-Cola paint job and a touch screen tablet built in. I'm not a big fan of Mountain Dew, but I like it's Coke Counterpart, Mello Yello. Never heard of it, huh? Go to the Burger King, the new Coke Freestyle machines? Right n the top right corner. Boom. Anyway, I went and sat down, and Mel Torme stopped singing and they put on a fucking marathon of Bing Crosby's "Christmas Classics" album.
In the Burger King I started reading "Catcher in the Rye."
"If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is where I was born, an what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth."
I always loved the "David Copperfield kind of crap" part. I got to maybe chapter 9 when I finished my food. I chucked the trash and went outside.
I went walking around Manchester, while it was snowing like the goddamn dickens. After a while I couldn't stand it. Where would I go? It'd be stupid to go to Wells Beach near Christmas. And summer was seven months from now. Fuck! Just what the hell have I got myself into? Seven months of "fuck-your-plan-and-do-whatever-the-fuck-you-fucking-please?" The anger fueled in my body and put some blood in my hands so I could stand the cold.
I ran into an apartment building to get warm. They were playing "Happy Holdidays" by Andy Williams, probably the most annoying as hell song they play around the holidays. "How can I help you, sir?" asked the man at the desk. "Just want to get warm." I told him. "I don't blame ya. It's just above ten out there." We talked for a bit about how annoying this damn song was. Then that "A Holly Jolly Christmas" by Burl Ives came on and we both groaned in annoyance. I asked him his name and he said "Spencer Caulfield."
For one thing, the main characters name in "Catcher in the Rye" in Holden Caulfield and he visits his teacher, whose got the grippe and his name is Mr. Spencer. Just then Perry Como came back on with his cliché "Home For the Holidays (As if none of the other ones are cliché, except for "Christmas in Kilarney" by that cliché Christmas Guy, Bing Crosby)." So I left.
I walked a few blocks when somebody jumped onto me. He put a gun right to my head. The one word that ran through my was Shit shit shit shit shit shit what do I do? "Gimme your wallet! C'mon! You're wallet, let's see it!" His arm was on my chest so I couldn't fucking move. It was a struggle because his damn arm, but I said "I don't have one." The bastard saw through my lie. He pressed the damn gun harder into my temple. "I. Know. You. Have. A. Damn. Wallet." I said I didn't have a wallet again he moved the arm restricting my chest and put the gun there. "I shoot this gun, it'll go right through your heart. Don't. Fucking. Tempt. Me." He pointed to my pocket. "Your wallet, please." Oh, be fucking polite now, huh, Mr. Vulnerable? Yup, with his arm out of the way I could kick him in between his damn legs. He fell and I ran away, with my wallet completely untouched
I decided to hitch. I didn't care where, as long as it wasn't here. Five days in New Hampshire was enough for me. The guy was going to Montpelier, Vermont. I went there with him.
I watched a movie on the way to Montpelier. It was about some guy who runs away from home and spends two years going around the USA and ends up dying in a bus in Alaska. Anyway, I ended up falling asleep on the sidewalk of some street, in the snow. Yup. I was that tired.