Nebraska Winds

By Gerry Aubrey

It is November, 1966. Tom is a lonely nineteen year old thousands of miles from home for the first time. It is the week of Thanksgiving. He misses his family and the girl he thinks is the love of his life. The pain drives him to takes desperate measures. He embarks on an adventure that leads him to a chance encounter with Judy, who changes his life forever. The relationship starts slowly, but they grow closer at every turn. Judy opens her world to him and Tom returns the openness. They find their lives mirror each other. Both have alcoholic fathers who suffer from the scars of WWII. They live in black and white worlds with no room for compromise. Her family is a collection of characters. She has a sister who acts out and is starved for attention. One brother is obsessed with the material and another one floats along in the world of the performing arts, content to move at his own pace. The third is a pragmatist who is easy going and the most stable family member he meets. Tom finds an uncanny connection with the brother in the arts who has been living in San Francisco since graduating high school last June. Jake is committed to music and is carving out a living with his guitar. Jake and Tom find they are both have creative pursuits in the written word as well. Judy takes a monumental risk and invites Tom to Thanksgiving dinner. It proves to be a catastrophe of epic proportions as the dysfunction of her family becomes the main course. Rather than drive them apart, it brings them closer as Tom sees his family’s problems and how their lives, though lived worlds apart, mirror each other. They both have a sad darkness in their past. She opens up about the pall that hangs over her family and has created an invisible wedge between all of them. They have all struggled in their own way with dealing with a monumental loss. They have never learned how to resolve the grief collectively. Tom opens up about his past and they find it creates a bond between them. But there is a problem. A series of brief encounters with an unstable coed named Wendy comes back to haunt Tom in a huge way. It begins with annoying stalking and mushrooms out of control. Wendy emerges as a haunting unstable presence as she becomes obsessed with pursuing Tom. She soon appears brandishing a weapon and acting out with it. She fills their lives with terror as she becomes completely undone. Will Tom survive? Will Judy survive? Will Wendy survive? The book contains countless twists and turns as it takes the reader back to mid-1960’s America. The emerging music and hippie world of 1967 is beginning to unfold. The tension of the Vietnam War is portrayed as it barges into the lives of the youth of the day. The cultures of San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury blend with the country life of Western Nebraska and the big city slickness of Philadelphia. The tale captures the zeitgeist of the era. Does Tom find the love and family life he was seeking? This little family in Nebraska is so much more than he ever imagined. It’s a love story and it’s a tragedy, but it is laced with humor. It will make you laugh, it will make you cry, it will entertain you, but most of all; it will make you want more when it ends. You will find yourself wanting to know more about Tom and Judy. Life in Nebraska is so much more than most would imagine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gerry Aubrey
• Release date: Jun 12, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463067710

Gerry Aubrey

I live in Blue Bell PA and maintain a residence in Palm Coast Florida. I have been writing my whole life. I wrote poetry for my college publication. I've written articles for magazines in my profession and had a newspaper column for 15 years. That column gave birth to my first book, Maintain Me I'm Yours, a "low tech" home maintenance book. I have written 2 other technical books that I sell nationwide at my training seminars. I also developed three training videos in my field. My stand up comedy experience shows in all of my works. They are sprinkled with humor but far from comedy books. My passion for the outdoors lead to my first novel, If The Trees Could Talk. Its a tension filled account of a backpacking trip that ends in tragedy. My latest book is a homage to my college days in Western Nebraska. It combines East Coast worldliness with down home small town Nebraska and mixes in a West Coast flavor. The backdrop for the book is 1966 America, the most volatile decade since the Civil War. The book takes a close look at America's dysfunction of that year. World War II vets returned home with huge emotional scars that went untreated. This framed family life for the Baby Boomers. The book looks at family life up close. It is driven by the tension of a fledging romance as it is attacked by a rejected woman who goes insane. The ending will floor you! Previous publications include Maintain Me I'm Yours, Roofing From Asphalt to Zinc, Home Maintenance, and If The Trees Could Talk.

Book preview

Nebraska Winds

Published by Gerry Aubrey at Smashwords

Copyright 2018 Gerry Aubrey

Table of Contents

Chapter One – Exodus

Chapter Two – Mind Games

Chapter Three – Judy

Chapter Four – The Connection Starts

Chapter Five – Tuesday Morning

Chapter Six – Wendy

Chapter Seven – The Bra Tag

Chapter Eight – IHOP or Vic’s

Chapter Nine – Who are You?

Chapter Ten – A Threesome?

Chapter Eleven – Jake

Chapter Twelve – The Letter

Chapter Thirteen – Stoned

Chapter Fourteen – Roka Lady

Chapter Fifteen – First Time

Chapter Sixteen – Meet the Family

Chapter Seventeen – Draft Talk

Chapter Eighteen – Dinner

Chapter Nineteen – Back to Small Talk

Chapter Twenty – Big Sister

Chapter Twenty One – Family Bonding

Chapter Twenty Two – Al & Phillip

Chapter Twenty Three – She’s Back

Chapter Twenty Four – The Truth Comes Out

Chapter Twenty Five – Draft Advice

Chapter Twenty Six – Things Heat Up

Chapter Twenty Seven – Jake Leaves

Chapter Twenty Eight – The Police

Chapter Twenty Nine – Back on Campus

Chapter Thirty – Final Interrogation

Chapter One - Exodus

Tom sat alone as he poked at his instant mashed potatoes and stared at the variety of colors in his rainbow meat. The peas had a washed-out olive drab sheen to them. His fork clanged against the metal cafeteria tray beneath the array of unappetizing servings the sweet ladies had just splashed out for him. His thoughts drifted to his home in the Philadelphia suburbs. He sat as an island of isolation amid a cauldron of activity. He was brought back to reality by a playful smack across the back of his head. Where ya’ goin’ for the weekend? Dennis barked down at Tom as he hustled past him.

Nowhere, Tom mumbled, without looking up at his friend who was weaving his way towards the door.

I heard they have a nice spread for you poor suckers that are stuck here. Last year, they said it was great, Dennis shot back, trying to both joke and lift his friend’s melancholy spirits in the same stumbling sentence.

I can’t wait, Tom responded in a sarcastic tone, but he knew Dennis meant well.

Where’re you goin’? Tom inquired.

Home. I got a ticket on the charter some of the guys put together. There are buses leaving in about an hour. We fly into Newark. There’re ninety of us. We’ll land about 3:00 AM. The flight should be wild! We fly back Sunday evening. Get back here about 10. We pick up a few hours on the flight back, Dennis continued as he made his way to the door. See ya next week, he shouted over his shoulder as he exited the cafeteria.

It was Monday, November 21, 1966. Thanksgiving was a few short days away. The dinnertime cafeteria was electric with shouts reverberating from one end to the other. Where you headed? was heard to a response of Vail from the other corner of the room as their voices cut through the cacophony of chatter that filled the bustling hall.

A blast of cold, wind-driven Nebraska air poured into the room as Tom scurried to his dorm, turning away from the biting wind. Tiny pellets peppered his face as microbursts of snow erupted and then subsided. Each wave punctuated the dropping temperatures. He kept hearing his father’s voice from a month ago. Sorry Tom, we just don’t have the money to fly you home at Thanksgiving and Christmas. It’ll have to be for Christmas, but the good news is the doctors are letting Al come home for the day on Thanksgiving. We’re hoping we can call and you can get a chance to talk to him.

When he arrived at his room he found his roommate packing a suitcase. Tom said nothing as his drooping shoulders said it all. He walked over to his desk and picked up a picture of Sherrie he took in June before he left. He thought of the four letters Sherrie had written him, the last, almost three weeks ago. Some guys get four letters in one week. I know I can get her to like me again if I just see her he thought to himself.

He opened his wallet. It had two black and white pictures behind fading and cracking plastic protectors. One was of Al in a basketball uniform, holding a ball. Tom idolized his big brother and was devastated when he had his nervous breakdown. The other, his sister Theresa, in her nurse’s uniform, the day she became a registered nurse. He wasn’t sure what he missed the most being this far from home, but having dinner with Al would be huge. Just like old times, he mused.

I heard it’s not that bad here over break, Walt said as he tried to lift his friend from despondency.

I think I’m hitchhiking home, Tom mumbled, hoping Walt didn’t hear him.

You’re going to do what? It’s about seventeen hundred miles. Its twenty degrees out there and its’ going down into the teens. You know that wind doesn’t stop out here. You’ll freeze your balls off, Walt shot back as he zipped his bags.

I’m not staying here, Tom replied as he sat on his stiff dormitory bed.

Got any money? There’s a bunch of guys going to Colorado. They’re renting a room and most of ‘em are sleepin’ on the floor. Did you try and hook up with any of them?

"I don’t ski. What the hell am I gonna’ do?

Half of them are never going to get on a slope either. They don’t have the money to ski. They’re going there to chase ski bunnies and drink that 3.2 shit. It won’t hit you here, but at eight thousand feet, it goes right to your head. It’ll get you drunk at that altitude.

Naw, I didn’t talk to anybody. It’s too late to tag along.

Okay. If you’re gonna do this, let me give you some tips: dress in layers, wear long underwear, a long sleeve tee shirt, maybe a flannel shirt, a sweater, and a coat would be a good start. You have gloves. Do you have a hat?

No.

Here. Wear this and pull it down over your ears, Walt instructed him as he threw him a knit hat from a shelf in his closet. My mother made me bring it out here, but I never wear it."

I’ll look like an idiot in it, Tom replied.

That’s why I never wear it. Hey; it’s not a fashion show out there. You want your ass warm, that hat ‘ll work. Besides, all you’re going to see are truckers. They don’t give a shit what you look like. Did you ever hitchhike cross country before?

No.

Well I did. Don’t stand on the side of the road with your thumb out. The trucks are travelling way too fast. They won’t stop. Go to a truck stop and ask around if anyone is going east. If you do get dropped off on the road, try and stay under a street light. A lot of the ramps are lit. Stay on the on ramp, not the main highway. They are going slow to get on the highway, so it’s easier for them to stop. Don’t walk. It’s a waste of energy. You can walk twenty miles in a day if you’re lucky. You’re going over a thousand miles. Walking twenty will just wear you out, and you won’t be any closer, he continued.

When did you hitchhike that far? Where was it?

I tried hitchhiking to Florida with another guy at Christmas break my senior year in high school.

"Did you make it?’

Fuck no. Police picked us up outside Richmond. I think it was in Hopewell. They let us sleep in the jail cell. They didn’t lock it. They said if they arrest somebody we have to come out. My parents wired us money and the cops dropped us off at the bus terminal. We bought tickets home and got home on Christmas Eve after three days on the road. I was cold as shit, dead tired, and so glad to get home. It was hell. My advice: don’t do it.

We’re your parents pissed? Tom responded.

My old man was mad when we got home. My mother was happy to see me. By Christmas dinner it started to get funny. My Dad teases me about how stupid I was. Let’s say everything goes great. You get home in two days. That will never happen in a million years, but let’s just say it does. You are now home for Thanksgiving, how are you going to get back on Monday?

I figure my parents ‘ll buy me an airline ticket Tom speculated.

On what? This is the biggest travel weekend of the year. You think you can just head down to the Philly airport, plop down a couple hundred bucks and fly back here? You may not get a flight till Tuesday or even Wednesday. Tom, this is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard from you, and you’ve had some stupid ones before. You think your old man is going to be happy spending that money when they told you they didn’t have the money to fly you home?

Tom just stared into the wall across the room.

Well, I gotta go. Last word; don’t go. Stay here. There’s a few chicks not going home either. There won’t be any RA’s in the dorm. My guess is you can hook up with some other broken hearted soul, and get her back here. You’ll have the room to yourself, and no supervision. If you stay here, you might get laid. If you try and hitchhike home, you’ll never make it out of Nebraska, and you’ll freeze your balls off. It sounds to me like staying here makes a lot more sense. See you next week, Walt finished. He banged his suitcase against the doorway on his way out and headed for the bus.

Tom grabbed a fistful of quarters from his desk and headed for the lounge phone. He called Sherrie person to person collect. The routine was if she is home, they tell him she’s in the shower. He then calls back and pays for the call. A dollar twenty five got him three minutes and another fifty cents got him three more. He spent as much as five dollars on a single call in the past. If they say she’s not home, that meant she’s out, or worse, she doesn’t want to talk to him. It’s a little after ten P.M. back in Philly. She’s was a senior in high school. It’s a Monday night. Her mother said she’s not home. That can only mean the worst. She doesn’t want to talk to him. He slammed the phone down.

Back in his room, Tom rifled through his dresser and pulled out his warmest long underwear. He hadn’t worn it yet this year. He found a long sleeve tee shirt, a flannel shirt, and a sweater as he spent the next few minutes dressing, including thin socks covered by wool socks he found in his drawer. He reached to the back corner of the sock drawer, and pulled apart a pair of thin black socks he never wore. This was his safe. He had four twenty dollar bills in it. He put the money in his wallet giving him a grand total of ninety dollars and change. He thought that might be enough money to buy a bus ticket from Omaha if he ever got that far. He completed his outfit with his winter coat, gloves, and Walt’s stupid looking knit hat.

Coming out of the Commons driveway, he stuck out his thumb and the first car stopped.

Goin’ in town, he said as he pulled open the back door. The front seat was taken.

We’re going to Vic’s, the driver responded. Where in town? He continued.

Can you take me to the truck stop, I’m hitchhiking home, Tom asked?

Sure, it’s not that far.

Thanks.

The car swung into the truck stop and Tom got out. He thanked the driver as the Nebraska wind slapped his face.

Good luck, the driver responded.

He entered the truck stop to a sea of activity. Tom felt like everyone knew each other and no one knew him.

Scuse me, startled him back to reality as a baritone three hundred pound trucker made his way to the door Tom was blocking. What now? Tom mulled as his quandary continued unresolved.

Fuck it, Tom thought to himself as he unzipped his coat and wove his way through the maze of hustling waitresses and jostling truck drivers. He claimed an open stool at the counter as his piece of real estate for the evening. After about an hour of shouting over his shoulder, Going east, to drivers shuffling by his stool, he gave up asking and stared at the bottom of his coffee cup counting the grounds that had escaped the mesh filter in the brewer. East was not a popular option. The waitress’s white uniform had dribbles of coffee down the front. A warm smile formed through her burgundy lipstick. He felt a twinge of sympathy for the middle aged woman. Want another refill? She offered.

No, just the check please, Tom muttered as he responded from under a blank stare.

Have a good night and Happy Thanksgiving, she finished as she ripped off the check from her pad, and placed it face down. Her name, Sally, and a phone number were on the side facing him. If you have nowhere to go for Thanksgiving, call me. We can always squeeze in one more at the family dinner, she offered with a sympathetic smile.

Thanks, Tom mumbled through half a smile. He left and headed out onto Rt. 71. It wasn’t any warmer. The wind stung the tip of his nose and the edges of his ears. He pulled out the knit cap and tucked his ears under it. He began walking, stopping as cars came by, and sticking out his thumb. He felt stupid in that hat but it did its’ job. A car stopped.

It was a newer car, maybe a 1967 Buick. It was warm. The leather seat fit just right. The new car smell was buried under cigar smoke. Sinatra singing Strangers in the Night created and inviting ambiance, despite the pungent aroma.

Where you headed? The driver asked.

Down to Rt. 80, he responded as he reached up and pulled off the hat.

I’m not going that far. I’m goin’ ‘bout five miles down here to my mother’s place, he responded.

Tom warmed and his mind wandered as he drifted in solitude.

The driver broke the silence. So once you get to 80, where are you goin then?

East, Tom replied as he stared out through the windshield watching the telephone poles whiz by. I’m going to Philadelphia.

Woo. Philly? Really? What are you, one of those students from the college? My guess is your parents don’t have the money to fly you home, so you’re goin thumb it and worry ‘bout getting back when you get there. Is this your first Thanksgiving away? I felt the same way. I was stuck in Lincoln and I wanted to get home so bad. The school had a nice dinner. I cried myself to sleep. My roommate had gone home. I’m thinking poor me. I got through it.

The car slowed as it approached a driveway. Tom thought, Boy this ride was short." The driver pulled a business card out of his pocket.

What’s your name? the driver asked.

Tom, he responded.

I’m Jack, the driver said as he reached over to shake hands.

"This is far as I’m goin. I grew up here, many years ago. I’ll make you two offers. First, if you want to go back to the campus, I’m gonna to be here ‘bout twenty minutes. You can wait in the car, or come in, meet my folks, whatever you like, and when I’m done here, I’ll run you back. If you want to keep goin, good luck.

Anyway, here’s my card. My phone number is on the back. If you end up back at college, and I’m bettin’ you’ll will, call me Thanksgiving morning. Call collect if ya need to. I’ll come pick you up at the college and take you to our house for dinner. My wife puts together a nice spread. And, you can bring a friend or two. I know you’ll feel kind of stupid comin’ by yourself. I have a little land, a few horses you can ride if you come early."

Tom half smiled. Thank you. That’s a nice offer.

So which is it? Going back tonight, or will you call me on Thursday?

I’m going to keep going, but thanks a lot for the offer. I appreciate it.

Jack reached over as they shook hands again. Hang onto that card, Jack added, I’m serious about the offer.

Tom stepped out into the relentless frigid blasts. He looked at his watch and it was almost 9:00 PM. There was one solitary street light about a quarter mile down the road and it became some semblance of security, like a light house to a sailor. He walked to it and stood there waiting. He could no longer bend his little finger. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He wiped them away, and sniffled.

Chapter Two – Mind Games

Tom’s thoughts rolled back to the night before. It felt like years ago at this point. He remembered the tap, tap, tap of a key wrapping on the dorm window. Tom knew all too well whoit was. His heart jumped, but his soul cringed. He unlocked the window and slid it to the side.

Hi, came the high pitch voice that entered along with the cold air. Can you come out?’ she asked as Tom glanced over his shoulder hoping his roommate didn’t return and question the intrusion.

I told you not to come over here. I gave you the dorm phone number, he said.

It was busy, she replied.

Okay, Okay, Go over to the Commons, I’ll be over in a few minutes, Tom commanded her through the open window. He then slid it closed before she could reply. The lock clicked into place. Again, he glanced nervously over his shoulder relieved that his roommate had not returned.

Tom thoughts continued to reconstruct Sunday night: sitting at his desk and studying for the Econ quiz he took this morning and aced. But last night was not about Econ. It was a secret world Tom had created. It satisfied a need more than a want. It was carnal pleasure that lacked emotion. It was visceral, with no affection. He closed his eyes during the encounter and drifted to fantasies that filled him during the interludes.

He could spare the time. His academic responsibilities were current. He thought about his coming to Nebraska with dedication, determined to make good after four years of what he perceived as a disappointing high school academic performance. The half hour excursion fit his schedule

He thought about hurrying off to the Commons where Wendy was awaiting his arrival. They meet and exchange pleasantries. There was no embrace, no kiss, or displays of emotional attachment. This was a protocol that both had accepted. It was a primal exchange, nothing more. There was small talk about each other’s studies and the weather. There was no mention of the coming holiday weekend. They hurried across the wind swept parking lot to the last row of cars where the Red Mustang sat. Wendy unlocked the door. He pushed the passenger seat forward to maximize the room in the back seat. Tom piled into the back seat. Mustangs are not built for this, he thought to himself.

Wendy pulled off her jacket wearing a loose fitting oversized sweat shirt beneath it. She ignored the biting cold. She climbed in between Tom’s open legs. She reached down and began massaging him. She rubbed his leg with her other hand, and soon reached up behind his neck and pulled his head down to plant an open mouthed kiss on his lips. She remained gentle avoiding the adolescent laced excitement that often made this type of kiss clumsy and forceful. She was kneeling