Mother Road Redeemed

By R.J. Ingalsbe

Aaron Flaherty is forced to confront his addictive personality when it nearly brings him to an untimely end. Needing real change, he decides to relocate from his native Buffalo, NY to Los Angeles, CA, tracing Historic Route 66 along the way. Before leaving, Aaron receives an encrypted, anonymous email from one of his past lovers, persuading him to follow her clues among the fascinating attractions lining Americas Main Street. Aaron deciphers the several clues along the way and finally meets the mystery woman, Maria, amidst the Santa Monica Pier. They fall ecstatically in love while traveling the coast together, and shortly afterward they engage to be married.
All seems well once they settle into their new lives. However, the hidden reality behind Maria slowly manifests, and it is beyond anything Aaron could have ever imagined. The ultimate mystery for Aaron to grasp, therefore, is how the love of his life can be involved in a desperate, radical event. Like so many business partnerships along the Mother Road, their relationship is forced to reconcile the warm, charming past with the cold, hard present. Can he understand and still love her? One thing is for sure--through their suffering Aaron is transformed, allowing him to move beyond his former addictions and lead a truly fulfilling life--a life inspired by the forsaken sense of community found among the struggling small towns of the Mother Road.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781546200956

R.J. Ingalsbe

R. J. (Ronald James) Ingalsbe has earned degrees in religion, psychology, and wellness promotion. His previous book publications are titled Universal Spirituality, Health & Well-Being: A Guide for Teachers, Counselors and Seekers, and a novel that incites grassroots movements in As the Tide Slowly Turns. Now his third major publication, Mother Road Redeemed is inspired partially on R.J.'s real-life experiences and partly on his response to the temptations of romantic idealism and addiction. His favorite hobbies are playing guitar, songwriting, and strolling along the shores of Southern California beaches.

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1

CONFRONTING DEMONS IN BUFFALO

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Like a formless lump of near-hardened clay I lay there, feeling as though a recalled soul thrown purposelessly back to the precreation void – body, mind, heart, even my once burning passion for life, all bereft of Spirit. Still, with some breath of life, now far from the garden, Eve’s descendent had led me to a familiar dark cave with fruit in hand, naively thinking we could hide from the Light…

Her name was Shauna. It was the second night together, having met just the day before during happy hour. Fortunately, she’s not the type to ask questions first. I at least respected her for giving into her passions and freeing herself from the opinions of others; in that sense I’d say we were kindred souls.

If she had asked I would not have had any problem disclosing the fact that the night before meeting her I was with someone else, and the week before that it was another, and the week before that, and the week before that – a seemingly endless regress in time with no first cause in sight. It’s fair to mention that, at times, I needed to take a break; maybe a week, maybe two, so that the next one would be slightly better, with a bit more sensitivity and a stale newness which allowed me to keep the trip going. I still chuckle, just a little, to recall adopting a motto that one of my buddies often used – It’s not the kill but the thrill of the chase. Admittedly, there were times it was quite thrilling.

This time, however, it was different. There were no words for me to describe it then but the feeling was overwhelming. It was one of sheer dread, accompanied by an emptiness I never thought existed. In fact, my attempt to share this with my peers in the addicts’ support group in the church basement was entirely futile. After having listened to what seemed like countless stories of weakness and despair, in the middle of my first chance to speak I suddenly ran out of the church and into a nearby graveyard. While leaning on a large stone I swung my head back and forth with lungs grasping hard at the crisp cool air, being sure that no one had followed. Seconds later, I ran into the nearest liquor store and purchased a large bottle of Jack. With the cover of an overcast early-autumn night, I snuck back into the cemetery. Before then I rarely drank Jack straight. Before then I never had that singularity of purpose.

I woke up in a detox center; it was the next day but for all I knew it could have been a year later: Aaron Flaherty, do you know where you are? beseeched the nurse looking intently over me. I had yet to be able to focus my eyes fully, and all I could do was shake my head. However, at that point, I had my first clue.

After the amnesia slowly gave way to thin slices of recognition, I felt a profound disappointment. This was not what I had intended, not where I wanted to be! It did not take long for me to see that what was always a matter of freewill now became a forced situation; change was on the way, whether I liked it or not. The doctors were sure to keep persuading me that I needed to stay for the duration of the cleansing. I at least gave them that, for I knew that I could check my precious freedoms until I was able to convince them I could walk the straight and narrow on my own, perhaps in a month, give or take.

In the meantime, once my physiology stabilized enough, I attended the on-site meetings with my addicted cohorts. Some were hopelessly hooked on alcohol, some on harder drugs. There were what I deemed as supplemental addictions as well – compulsive gambling, impulsive eating, and uncontrolled sex. Originally, I identified with none of them.

The whole thing was nearly unbearable. Around the circle we went, confessing our sordid sins to each other, as if talking about it was ever going to cure anything. When this began all I could do was secretly scope the room to see how I might escape, when the time was right. But there was no escape; they had all the angles covered.

So I tolerated those first few weeks while my body started to feel better than it had in a long time, despite the sweats and shakes in the early going. Looking back, I have to give credit where it’s due. When it came time for Katalin – a tall, silky Hungarian girl with full lips and wide bright eyes – to offer her account, something had suddenly changed inside me. I’m sure, at first, it was an inevitable sexual stirring that almost made me leap out of my chair and saunter next to her, with an ample supply of pick-up lines to choose from in my advance.

Since my usual modus operandi was hopelessly subdued, I slowly let in the sweetness of her voice, the sincerity of her carefully chosen words, and the seeming impossibility that such an angel could be captured inside this hell with the rest of us. Despite wanting her, desperately, there and then, I was also recognizing that a more powerful instinct was sneaking up on me, an intrigue that kept me going; a mystery that I just had to solve.

In her story Katalin revealed, much to my chagrin, a caring husband and a young child. She broke spontaneously into a stream of tears as she vomited the poison of having hurt the ones she loved most dearly, of begging for their forgiveness, and of having been granted a pardon by those most damaged by her runaway drinking. Now she had me captured, in a way I could never before allow. This bruised woman, as she spoke so sweetly and eloquently, was beginning to dominate my emotions. Like with the bedroom dominatrix, I playfully resisted, at first, but eventually succumbed to the overwhelming power.

Still, to this day, I think of Katalin, in her unassuming way, as the needed spark for giving me any chance for recovery. They always say – God works in mysterious ways – and though I’ll never be one so bold to admit to knowing exactly Who or What God is, I’ll certainly give Him or Her or It the credit, ultimately, for putting me in that room against my will and having used my appetite for beautiful women to get through to me.

Before I was released, the therapist helped me to uncover some crucial insights. They were what I really needed to be able to successfully make my way in this world, without falling into the same deadly traps or slipping on the same old facades encountered throughout my first forty years. Of course, the fresh ideas were not, in and of themselves, sufficient to turn me around; they had to be accompanied by a painful period of about nine months of practicing a life of sobriety. In that period were three relapses, all in the first two months, but when I lived clean for the next seven months, it was around that time I really knew I could lick this addiction thing! Never to be too confident, I am constantly reminded, Once an addict, always…

I don’t even like to repeat it, the urge to move on is that strong. However, certain thoughts kept circling in my mind after being released, especially in regard to my moral character. Dr. Dan, the therapist, tried hard to steer me away from looking at it all through a moral lens. He was successful in getting me to start seeing things in a different kind of light, but first it seemed that I needed to purge myself of some memories.

Even in the middle of it all, I never believed the likes of old Mrs. Wentworth, our neighbor, who claimed that I was a no-good drunk and womanizer. I could never understand why she always had to be so harsh. I mean, wasn’t it pretty chauvinistic for her to label me in that way while any woman I was with was playing the same game? Were they really victims?

Don’t get me wrong, I learned a lot during therapy about things like denial and rationalization, but I sure wish I could go back and talk to Mrs. Wentworth and others so they could see what’s really going on, starting with the fact that every woman I womanized was, at the same time, manizing me! Not to sound like the victim, myself; if Dr. Dan taught me anything it is the need to take full responsibility for my self – my every action, my every spoken word, and even any thought that I create in my mind. But I can say with much confidence that every woman I slept with in the past was struggling with many of the same things I was, though just as blindly. At best, my ex-lovers were all codependents – what an interesting word that is!

Like I said, I wasn’t the only guy doing it, by far, and the many women seemed just as willing, so I didn’t think much of it. But that didn’t make it any less painful, down the line. Of course, it didn’t help that my drinking was out of control; one addiction easily feeds another.

So, I really had no clue about what drove me to the point of nearly ending it all. Thanks to the good doctor I no longer feel guilty about everything, and I’ve come to finally forgive myself for whatever amount of moral indiscretion I created. And I still have a few people to see and come clean with, for certain things that happened – nothing too outrageous; it definitely could have been a lot worse!

Once I became fairly stable, I began writing in a journal. Day One of my new life – life after drunken death and torture in the detox chamber – had the priceless insights inscribed as follows:

November 5

Dear Diary,

As you know, I write under the strong encouragement of Dr. Dan, so if I say something annoying, you can blame him… Spoken like a true addict – hah!

It helps to know that underneath this whole wayward ride was FEAR! With Dr. Dan’s help I’ve found that when we live in a mostly fearful state, we live a sad kind of irony – the fear we entertain in our minds actually, in the long run, brings on what we feared in the first place!! This is so important for me or anyone else to understand: We go around trying to protect ourselves from pain and some form of suffering or another, for fear of having to experience that pain and suffering ever again. What we don’t usually realize is that the defense mechanisms we play out ultimately cause the very suffering we try to defend ourselves from!!!

This was a huge life lesson, and I had to work hard to digest it well so I could apply it to my situation. And I did, eventually. In my case, I was running to anyone willing to have no-strings-attached sexual encounters, in the name of freedom and independence. Partly true, but as I was shacking up with each temporary partner, and as I was covering up our exhausted bodies with the sheets before falling asleep, I was also covering up the fact that I was trying to protect myself from the pain of relating, and the suffering of a love-gone-wrong.

I know this now because, like a magical Sigmund Freud, Dr. Dan guided me into a tour of my past, via the route of my unconscious. The significant stop-off along this historical trail of mine was 21 years ago, when I split from my one true love, Samantha (Sammy). I remember very early on trying to bury the pain of her leaving me with endless rivers of alcohol. Eventually, the drunken bouts led to liquid courage in the bars, approaching the wanting woman anywhere I could find her.

Now, as hard as it is to admit, all the drinking and all the thrill-seeking was there just to try and protect me – from having to love that deeply again, from leaving me so vulnerable and at-risk for yet another soul-shattering break up. Yes, Fear had me on the run this way, and little did he tell me that I was running in one big circle: What I started running from I eventually ran straight into – a world without love and meaningful relating.

Plus, on top of this, now I’m thinking that maybe I also felt, as I began the binges, that there was some other way, a way totally different than what everyone else sought as the holy grail; that is, holy matrimony and the type of salvation it promises, with the American Dream and kids to carry on your legacy, and all that…

And maybe that is what I still seek, that other type of salvation, that even Dr. Dan couldn’t help me with. But one thing is for sure – running around with available women and cheap booze is not, and never will be, the answer!

Earnestly,

Aaron

2

GETTING SOME DIFFERENT KINDS OF KICKS

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Due to the feeling of having a new lease on life and having more energy than I had in a very long time, a growing restlessness gnawed at me as I finished the school year. After completing my rehab the administration allowed me back with a part-time course load in the spring semester. Being an instructor of philosophy in a four-year state college wasn’t a bad way to make a living, though I always regretted not having the guts to put myself out there, to write, to expound my own theories, and dare to contribute. I only did what little I needed to do, in that regard. Nevertheless, having what I always believed to be a privilege in sharing the world’s finest thoughts with eager and open-minded students was something I simply cherished, and it showed in the students’ evaluations of my performance.

In fact, from the first days of encountering Descartes’ Meditations and Nietzsche’s Thus Spoke Zarathustra and other mind-blowing logic-laced trips, I was hooked. That transcendent feeling of freely orbiting in the stratosphere with the stars of metaphysics, or diving deep toward the nether-ocean floor to mull with the crusty masters of epistemology, or climb the high-minded mountains for a visit with the hermetic visionaries of good-life ethics… These were my first drugs. Now, like my hopes for sex and alcohol, I consume them in moderation, and from a need to reconcile with the demands of the sobering real world.

It was in May of that year that I knew I needed a fresh start, one that matched this outside real world with what was going on in my revitalized inner world. So I began to ponder which areas in the country were the best prospects for my long-sought self-realization. Buffalo, in spite of its long, cold winters, has its virtues, like the explosion of life in the late spring, with lush green fields and a sudden rainbow of colors everywhere you looked. The three months of summer bring on a wholly different world than what is endured through most of the other months, though the autumn hikes through the changing landscapes of the southern tier mountains and state parks are nothing less than breathtaking!

Nowhere in the Northeast was going to get me where I needed to go, and neither was anywhere in the South, though a temporary stay in New Orleans was certainly in order, to get back in touch with my musical roots and with the sense that all aspects of life are worth celebrating; nobody knows these things better than the folks of NOLA. But what really pointed the way for me were the warm and vivid memories of a family vacation we once took during my childhood. It was my father’s idea to load up the station wagon and take us all – my mother, brother, sister and I – on a two-week trip down America’s Main Street, otherwise known as Route 66, or the Mother Road.

There was still a good amount, then, of the original or near-original attractions alongside what was once our country’s central freeway, many of which were established before the interstate highway system was introduced. My first excursion down this famous road was near the time it was to be decommissioned and given the new status of Historic Route 66. Regardless, we could see that its magic still existed. The small-town charms and quirky attractions, such as the big blue whale in a beautiful animal-themed park in Catoosa, OK, the many family-owned cafes with food so good your mouth waters just thinking about it, and the Cadillac Ranch, a line of ten vertical, half-buried Caddies of different years in the middle of an empty field in Amarillo, TX… these and many others still had the power to pull speeding vehicles off the road and fast into the local lore.

As much as I was enthralled by all the small-entrepreneur efforts to lure us to their wares and open our wallets, with every bit of pure fun that went with it, nothing captured my soul like what was waiting for us at, literally, the end of the trail – the Pacific Ocean and Santa Monica. While every stop along the way had something interesting and peculiar, Santa Monica – with its gentle air, vibrant blue sky, sprawling beach, amazing pier, and every possible type of human activity – was, as my young mind concluded, surely the last step before entering heaven.

I noticed that my sudden recollections of this time in my life came back with a rush of excitement, and I could feel my body become lighter and lighter. The exhilaration heightened when I coupled the future with the past, envisioning myself driving freely westward along the famed route. Countless others were called to the Mother Road with a promise to take them away from their miseries and toward the fulfillment of their dreams, and to enjoy the myriad riches of the Golden Coast. Plus, I had already applied for a professorship in the philosophy department of UCLA, and they were interested. So, I was starting to seriously entertain the whole idea. As the next few weeks passed, I began sharing my plans with friends on Facebook. They were all either happy for me or jealous, or both.

Then something happened that I still have a hard time believing. In mid-June, while doing some Google research on the old route, an odd email caught my eye. The name of the sender was encrypted, "[e-mail]," a title I did not recognize, whereas the subject line of the message was simple but compelling – Aaron, do you dare?

The first impulse was to disregard it as spam and just one of those fairly clever gimmicks used by so many online marketers; I nearly clicked the delete button. It was probably those four letters in her username …c-a-l-i… that made me do otherwise. So, I opened the email, and it read as follows:

Hello Aaron. Don’t erase me; I’m real!!! You know me or, at least, you did. You may not have known it at the time, but I thought we had something special. I really fell for you and I had a strong sense that you were falling for me, too. We shared some pretty nice things together!

Then you suddenly pulled away. You wouldn’t return my calls or answer my emails after that. I knew it was still pretty early and that we never committed. But let me tell you – you messed up! You’ll never find another like me, I can promise you that!!!

Now, before I go sounding very needy or scare you into thinking I’m some sort of stalker, I realize you have your faults, and I have mine. You should also know that I’ve been married, and divorced. No kids, but trying to make something work when the chemistry’s just not there… well, you get the picture. The thing that surprised me the most during this time was how often I found myself comparing him to you. He’s a good guy, but he never made me feel the way you did. I’m not sure what it was, but you sure had it!

So now, it just so happens that I’m planning to move to Cali. I have been working remotely this last year for a company based in L.A., and suddenly they’ve asked me to join them there, with an allowance to relocate. I was, at first, a little afraid to move, especially to a place so far away, but after they flew me out to take a look around, I was instantly hooked!

Then I, with what I thought were vain hopes, decided to seek you out one last time, just for the hell of it. That’s when I saw your current plans on Facebook. WOW! I still can’t believe it!

So, here’s the deal – I am giving you a second chance. I am also taking RT 66 and will be leaving around the same time you do. Actually, I plan on always being just one step ahead of you. So, I invite you to look for my clues; I’ll leave several along the way… But, like I said, you blew it the first time around, and I’m still a little hurt, so now you’ll have to work for it; you’re going to sweat a little to get this good thing back!!!

So, how about it? You game? One way or another we’re both headed for the same place, so we might as well have a little fun! And if you don’t follow me, well, that’s okay, I’ll live – there are a lot of fish in that great big ocean. But maybe we owe it to ourselves to see if there’s something more. In the meantime, I’ll know if you’re on my trail.

In any event – happy travels! California, here we come!!!

Best wishes,

Annie X

I must have read this message ten times before putting it aside. A flood of mixed feelings ran through me: Awe, from having made such an impression without knowing it; sadness, from seeing how I affected her; angst, from being confronted in this manner; joy, from being given a second chance; resentment, toward my past ineptness, and other feelings that rose and fell as fast as the ocean waves caught in a violent storm. Once I had the chance to settle myself down some, the rush of excitement came back through my veins. This is truly amazing, screamed my thoughts. Then I just had to try and sort this all out in my journal, soon after that same evening:

June 3

Dear Diary,

I tried to figure out who this mystery woman could be behind the whole RT 66 thing, but with the information she gave me it isn’t nearly enough. All it does is narrow the field of possible candidates, but there were