The Two Seasons

By Xlibris US

The two Seasons follows the lives of three close friends, through the triumphs and tragedies, the hopes and doubts, the fears and joys, the love, the hate, the unrest and the longing for fulfillment that is the human experience.
The story is a year in the life of Paul Mueller, a seemingly directionless, nontraditional college student, his multitalented and well-loved pal Tommy Riley, and their troubled friend Theodore Sullivan.
Its a story of life, death, grace, and forgiveness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493168712

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by J.P. Haberman.

cover illustration by Al Kettner

ISBN:   Softcover   978-1-4931-6872-9

             eBook         978-1-4931-6871-2

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 06/20/2014

Xlibris LLC

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

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Contents

I

The Winter

Chapter 1:    The Dull December

Chapter 2:    Over The River And Through The Woods

Chapter 3:    The Garden In Winter

Chapter 4:    A Chance Meeting At The French Roast

II

The Spring

Chapter 5:    The Promise Of Spring

Chapter 6:    The April Skies

Chapter 7:    The Three Wiseguys

Chapter 8:    The Eclectic Troubadour

Chapter 9:    New Times/A Revolution In Thought

III

The Summer

Chapter 10:    Three Chords and the Truth

Chapter 11:    Biofeedback

Chapter 12:    When Love Came To Town

Chapter 13:    Grace

IV

The Fall

Chapter 14:    A Longer And Deeper Look

Chapter 15:    The Ghost Of Hemingway

Chapter 16:    Request For Pardon

Chapter 17:    Afterimage

To see a world in a grain of sand

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in your hand

And eternity in an hour.

. . . He who shall teach the child to doubt

The rotting grave shall ne’er get out

He who respects the infant’s faith

Triumphs over hell and death

The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons

Are the fruits of the two seasons.

. . . God appears and God is light

To those poor souls who dwell in the night,

But does a human form display

To those who dwell in realms of day.

-William Blake, Auguries of Innocence

a.) I have many to thank

My God, for never leaving me in any of those dark places, and for the blessings he has given me along the way. And for sending that angel my way when only he knew how badly I needed one at that point in my life.

My wife, for her love and support, for her grace and her patience and all things I admire her for. For being a wonderful mother and for being strong when she needed to be. For her frequently reminding me to ‘stick to the fight when you’re hardest hit; it’s when things seem worst that you must not quit’. And for providing me with the encouragement when I needed it the most.

My two young children, who have seemed very forgiving of their Daddy while he was away working on his Magnus Opus. Daddy loves you with all his heart.

Gabby and Hanna, for their patience and understanding when my long and strange hours (and lack of a cell phone for nearly 6 months) limited our correspondence. I can’t wait to see you again, I’m so proud of you both 37580.png

Al Kettner, of Dragon’s Lair Tattoo, Owatonna, MN for the cover art.

Also… Kentageous Stress and the Velvet Room, Elvis Aaron Presley, Johnny Cash, Boss Grant and the Johnny Cash Revue, John Mellencamp, Macklemore and Ryan Lewis, U2, John Fogerty, Richard Snell, Miley Cyrus, Glenn Danzig, Neil Patrick Harris, the Sexy Sax Man*, Nigel Tufnel, the Gear Daddies, Henry Rollins, and many, many more for their inspiration.

And the great writers and philosophers: Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky, Nietzsche, MLK, Emerson, Thoreau, Twain, Steinbeck, Jon Hassler, Jack Kerouac, William Blake, Mary Shelley, T.S. Elliot, Oscar Wilde, Marilyn Manson, Ernest Hemingway, Elaine Pagels, Deepak Chopra, Tim O’Brian, ad infinitum.

To Steve Burke, Barack Obama, Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey, Willie Nelson and so many more for speaking out against an outdated paradigm created by previous, ‘greater’ generations. I realize there was a time when marijuana illegalization created jobs in law enforcement and corrections, but those days have long past. I signed several petitions this last summer supporting gay marriage. I thought it was great to see so many people come out and support them while they pressured the lawmakers. They should be proud of the changes they created. I hope, as the marijuana legalization movement slowly spreads across America, that we can ban together again for that movement as well. Power to the People, hell yeah!

And to the scientists, too—there was Albert Einstein, Nels Bohr, Gregor Mendel, Alexander Shulgin, Dmitri Mendeleev, Dr. ‘Ned’ Williams, Darwin, Amedeo Avagadro, and that list could go on forever as well.

b.) I have many to pray for

For those that continue to endure the anger, the emptiness, the despair, the fear, and the isolation of chemical dependency and psychological/physiological trauma. Don’t give up, you are not alone.

JPH

1 Corinthians 9: 24-27

J.P. Haberman is also the author of the 2013 International Cheese Throwdown.

Obama on pot

President Barack Obama says he views marijuana as a ‘bad habit’ and a ‘vice’, but no more dangerous than alcohol.

As has been well documented, I smoked pot as a kid, and I view it as a bad habit and a vice, not very different from the cigarettes that I smoked as a young person up through a big chunk of my adult life. Obama told The New Yorker’s David Remnick. I don’t think it is more dangerous than alcohol

He said, We should not be locking up kids or individual users for long stretches of jail time when some of the folks who are writing those laws have probably done the same thing.

The first step to improving our nation’s marijuana policy is admitting that marijuana is less harmful than alcohol, Mason Tvert, director of the Marijuana Policy Project said in a statement. Now that he has recognized that laws jailing adults for using marijuana are inappropriate, it is time to amend these errors.

(Taken from http:news.yahoo.com/Obama-marijuana-football-184222270.html)

a Ph.D. on traumatic brain injuries

A recent report reveals that major depressive disorder (MDD) may be the most common and challenging mental health condition that patients encounter following a TBI—53.1% of TBI patients in the study experienced MDD at least once in the first year after their injury. Another study showed that suicidal thoughts and attempts are also common reactions to TBI—23% of the participants had thoughts of suicide, while 17% actually attempted suicide after their injury. These higher rates of suicidal behaviors may also be connected to MDD following TBI. Though these statistics may seem a little scary, it doesn’t mean that you have to be without hope when it comes to coping with these issues during recovery; a good TBI treatment center should recognize that addressing their patients’ mental health issues is a key component of the recovery process.

(Taken from Depression and Suicide among Patients with Traumatic Brain Injuries, written for Neurologic Rehabilitation Institute at Brookhaven Hospital by Rolf Gainer, Ph.D., August 6, 2011)

I

The Winter

If words could speak, they’d mean even less…

-Jellyfish (the king is half undressed)

Chapter 1

The Dull December

Paul was just thinking to himself how nice it was that, on these shortest of December days, the sun rose so late in the morning. The coffee smelled good, too. It smelled very good for motel lobby coffee, and he couldn’t help but become aware of the man walking behind him in the otherwise empty hallway of the motel just outside of Chamberlin, South Dakota only a few days before the Christmas holiday.

He stopped outside his door and reached down to set one of the coffee cups on the floor so that he could take his keycard from his pocket when the man stopped behind him.

Let me help you out, The taller man in the green sweater vest and red tie said to Paul before he could even set the cup down. He seemed jolly, and added, You look like you’ve got your hands full.

The guy in the red tie swiped his master key through the lock and opened it for Paul.

Thanks, Paul said, then shuffled past him and through the doorway.

Have a good day, sir, The man in the red sweater nodded his head, turned and left the room. The heavy door slammed itself shut behind him.

The bathroom door of the motel room came open as soon as the room door had shut. Chris stood there with a towel wrapped around his waist and shaving cream on his face.

Duuuuude, Chris strained his face as he said this, Was that the manager?

Must have been, he had the keys to this room, Paul answered to that, setting Chris’s cup on the bathroom counter top.

It smells like pot in here, Chris paused before he began shaving again, I bet he smelt that, eh?

"He’s probably smelt, seen, and heard, a lot of shit out here in the middle of nowhere, Paul picked his duffle bag off the floor and set it on the crumpled blankets atop one of the beds. The guy at the desk was saying Chad Greenway is legend out here."

"Who’s Chad Greenway?"

He plays for the Minnesota Vikings pro football team… Do you know why they call that thing a goatee?

I don’t Chris rinsed his razor in the sink, But I bet you do.

I thought you would, Paul found the pint of vodka in his bag and went to the bathroom to unwrap one of the complementary plastic cups. "It resembles a goat’s beard. I figure that’s gotta be Latin or Greek or something of that sort. I thought you’d be able to speak those languages after a year and a half of anatomy classes."

You would have thought so. Are Christian and Robert still eating?

Yep, Paul mixed orange juice and vodka in his plastic cup and stirred it with his toothbrush.

Holy shit, those two can eat, Chris came out of the bathroom, buttoning his shirt when he found Paul mixing his breakfast on top of the refrigerator. You’re going to be pickled by the time we get home.

Paul brushed Chris’s observation aside, then walked to the window and leaned closely to the glass to see if any of the landscape was visible in the darkness beyond it.

I drove my leg yesterday, Paul shrugged, then turned his attention to the television set when the local forecast became available. I’m having a drink for breakfast this morning. I’m hoping to sleep most of the way back.

I think I see your point. Chris took an empty coffee tumbler from his bag and filled that about halfway with the orange juice Paul had in the fridge, I ain’t driving either. And I’m on vacation, and I’m going to spend most of the drive texting Lexi because her roommates have all gone home and she’s there alone and she’s nervous about the trip… Mind if I add a good shot to my breakfast?

Help yourself, Paul handed him the plastic bottle about the time Christian and Robert returned to the room.

Christian and Robert were classmates of Paul and Chris’s at the chiropractic school in Bloomington, Minnesota and were in very good spirits much of the time. They were both from Norway and had naturally formed a solid friendship while overseas. The two would have family flying in to Minneapolis/St. Paul about the same time Chris and his girlfriend, Lexi, would be leaving from the same airport destined for Calgary, Alberta.

They grabbed their bags and were happy to go outside and start Chris’ pickup for them while they had their cigarettes.

Chris was packing his toiletry items into his backpack while Paul flipped through the channels on the television. The coverage on the news network turned to the aftermath of the Connecticut school shootings.

Oh my God, Paul said, turning the volume entirely off. I can’t watch anymore of this. It’s really hard to believe that there’s a God that could forgive a person for something like that.

What are you talking about, man?

I just couldn’t imagine dropping your kid off at school, saying goodbye and then never seeing them again.

Your country has a major gun problem on your hands, He drank down the rest of his motel coffee and pulled his Artic Cat coat over his shoulders.

When does your flight leave?

6:25. Chris answered, waiting while Paul finished his drink and gathered his belongings, So if you’re not sobered up by that time, we can always just drive and park in the ramp. We were only going to be gone for 5 days.

No, He gagged slightly on the last of his cocktail and followed Chris out the door, tossing the plastic cup in the trashcan as he left. I’ll be fine. I’m going to sleep the whole way home.

You should be pretty well sedated by now, eh?

Christian and Robert sat in the cab of Chris’s truck with the interior light on, parked just outside the exit on the east side of the building. The northwest wind ripped through the open parking lot and across the whole desolate landscape of eastern South Dakota in the dark that morning above the banks of the Missouri River while Paul stood, holding his bag while Chris arranged the equipment and luggage that cluttered up the bed of his half ton pickup truck.

The truck was beginning to warm when they got in.

You know, Chris said to Paul as he stretched the seatbelt across his jacket in the back seat of the cab, Big Sky was pretty cool even though the weather didn’t work out the best. But, seriously… the trip sounded like a whole lot more fun when we planned it back in October.

Paul slouched down in his seat in the back, hoping to become as comfortable as possible in the space provided. Chris was soon engaged in messaging Lexi, his family and friends. The Norwegians spoke with each other in foreign tongue as the grey Chevy moved along Interstate 90 on a cold, clear and blustery morning at the start of the winter season. The miles rolled by as darkness transcended dawn, and the landscape didn’t seem to change. He saw only white, snow encased hills that stretched on as far as a horizon that seemed hundreds of miles away.

Reading for short periods helped to break up the morning, as Chris had fallen asleep shortly after the sunrise and the Scandinavians carried on their own conversation in the front of the cab.

In one of the several paperbacks Paul had brought with him, a page was marked and highlighted. A page he realized he would have read and taken note of his junior year of high school when he had written a paper on it for Mrs. Hanson’s literature class. It stated that man was never satisfied, and that if you gave him one thing, he would only want more. The author went on to suggest that, instead of a liability, this insatiability might be an asset to our species, a trait that would make us superior to animals that are satisfied with what they have. He had highlighted that passage 6 years earlier, as an idealistic young man with great intentions. Now he had the opportunity, or possibly the necessity, of looking at the same idea from a different vantage point.

Many of his perspectives had changed in the past several years. It was part experience, part illumination that brought the changes about. Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essays rung loudly in his ears—’When we have new perception, our minds will gladly disburden itself of its hoarded treasures as old rubbish’. He could see now that his ideals had worn thin since then, as had his faith. To remedy this, he reasoned, he would need new perspective.

The long stretch of interstate highway across South Dakota, the northeast corner of Wyoming and the whole state of Montana was familiar to him. He’d driven this stretch before with his friends, in a different time and a different place, but on the same highway.

His cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket and he removed it to check a text message. He stuck the phone back in his pocket, pulled his ski hat down over his eyes, folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes.

Chris Haskins

Chris was Paul’s classmate, roommate and landlord. He had bought a house located about three miles from the school and rented it out to four students while he lived in the basement. The rent from the four tenants was enough to pay his mortgage and then some. Chris wasn’t only an elite athlete and an excellent student, he was a sharp businessman as well.

Paul and Chris had good rapport with each other from the start. They did from the day Paul showed up to help unload the horse trailer full of possessions Chris had hauled down from Calgary and backed into the driveway of the four bedroom house just north of I-494 off of Penn Avenue. Chris had been greatly disappointed a month earlier when Paul broke the news to him that he would be transferring back to MSU to finish his bachelor’s degree and start graduate school the following year.

I could tell your heart wasn’t in it anymore, He said to Paul that day, It’s going to be unfortunate not having you around this place, but I think it’s a good decision. You told me yourself—you came here to study physiology and neuro and stuff like that. You were here as an academic, not to become a health care provider.

Robert was in the same class as Paul and Chris, and he too knew that Paul would be dropping out of the program. Robert and Paul had gotten along very well through their 3 semesters together in Bloomington, but knowledge of Paul’s exit plan and the fact that he had one of his own countrymen along distanced them for much of the trip. By the time they would return to the Twin Cities, Robert would shake his hand, wish him well, and tell Paul to send him an email sometime.

Chris was a Canadian martial arts master and Paul had a great deal of respect, and even admiration, for that. He was also the top student in the class. Paul seemed to have earned a mutual respect in return from his classmate, though more for his work ethic than anything else.

If you put that much energy into your studying, you’d be at the top of the class! Chris had told him one day while they were lifting at the gym.

On this occasion, however, he was humbled. He couldn’t pinpoint the change of heart surrounding the matter, but he could easily identify the distractions that had exhausted his once steadfast ambitions. He’d been home to Gopher Valley a number of times over the fall, moving his possessions from the house in Richfield to his parent’s place for the interim. He’d already had acquaintances asking him why he was dropping out of school.

"Michael’s going to medical school. My brother is going to medical school, not me. Paul explained loudly to his old middle school math teacher at the downtown gas station in the rural farming community. I was going to chiropractic school, but now I’m going to pursue a master’s degree at MSU."

"You got what degree?" The old man asked Paul.

He wasn’t too dismayed by the popular opinion that leaving the chiropractic college to finish undergrad was a setback. Paul didn’t see it as a setback at all, he saw it as quite the contrary, actually. He felt satisfied with the time and effort he’d put into the study of the human machine and the B.S. he’d be earning would, coincidentally, be a human biology major. The way he’d left, however, was less than classy.

Chris had delivered a humbling blow about a week before they had left on the trip.

Late one night during the second week of finals, Paul had entered the darkened house assuming that everyone was either sleeping or studying. He passed through the living room and had turned to go down the hallway when he heard Chris’s voice from the kitchen as he passed. He looked to see Chris sitting at the table. The kitchen was lit by only the light under the hood of the stove. He sat there at the little table in the kitchen, in his boxer shorts in front of a bottle of whiskey and a glass of cola.

You never showed up for that anatomy lab practical, did you? He asked.

Paul was startled, and he felt an honest shame as he humbled himself to tell his friend why he bailed on a lab practical that a professor was kind enough to reschedule for him.

He’s a professor, Paul had tried to reason, I’m sure he’s failed lots of students before.

That’s bullshit. Dr. Anderson went out of his way to allow you to make up that exam. He got up and walked over to Paul and, standing uncomfortably close to him, continued, And you ghosted him. And you know it. Look, I can dig the outsider charade you’ve been putting on, but this… . He backed away, leaned against the side of the fridge, I’m disappointed in you man.

The words hurt. He had let a friend down.

The trip had, in fact, allowed the time needed for the two to put the incident aside.

Is Lexi excited or nervous about flying out to meet the rest of your family? Paul asked Chris sometime around noon once they were northbound on I-35.

Maybe a little of both, He answered lethargically, slouched in his seat with his jacket draped over his shoulders as a headrest.

You gonna get her a cowboy hat while she’s out there?

I should. I could teach her how to ride, too. He looked over and grinned before returning to his magazine, She says she’s never ridden a horse.

I doubt there are many people here in these parts that have.

It was 3:32 that Saturday afternoon when they finally exited off the interstate on to Penn Avenue. That was according to the clock on the bank, which also informed him that the temperature was 16 degrees. Five minutes later they dropped the Scandinavians at their apartment complex.

Good luck in your studies, Robert said to Paul, with a crushing handshake, You are a good man, Paul Mueller.

Thanks, Paul said in return as the giant Norwegian removed his gear from the back of the truck, You’re gonna make a great chiropractor someday. It’s all about the hands, buddy; it’s all about the powerful, healing hand. Best wishes to you as well, my friend.

They left them there and Paul assumed safely that he’d probably never see either of them again.

They left the lot and drove quietly until they were nearly back to the interstate, when Chris finally broke the silence.

You know, He said once they had rolled to a stop at the last light before crossing back over I-494 into Richfield, I worry about you sometimes.

"I hope not. Paul scoffed at such a thought, You’re a busy guy. I wouldn’t want you to waste your time doing something like that."

Oh, come on, He shielded his eyes from the sun that sat low in the western sky. Shit, man, a year and a half ago I sat there next to you in our first class… . Dr. Davis’s 8:00 radiology class. You believed in yourself then and I thought you’d be one of the top students in the class when we first started here. Of course I didn’t realize how slow you Americans are. You started off well, too. That first semester you were right there with me… . Then about this past summer, you just drifted away from the rest of the group. That’s why Jason and those guys don’t like you bro, it’s because they think your aloof.

What, are you fuckin’ kidding me? Aloof? Paul was surprised by that revelation, even slightly amused by it.

I want you to know something, Chris told him. I want you to know that, because my relationship with Lexi turned out very well, I haven’t forgotten what happened with yours. If you can tell me that your decision to leave school has nothing to do with Lisa or any of the things you’ve got unresolved, I can leave it to rest.

I wanna go to grad school… . Maybe teach, do research of some sort someday… . He gazed out the window to the east as they crossed over I-494, where the late afternoon traffic continued to thicken on the salty roadways. I’ll get it back together. I always do, I’m just in a rut. That’s all.

Ha, Chris humored himself with the thought, I shouldn’t be worried about you. You’re not the kind that’s going to go sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

Paul appreciated the observation.

You gotta be out there somewhere, Chris added as he pulled into the driveway, I trust you’ll keep searching until you find him.

The one story house was a bit of a mess when the two entered. One of the roommates was only about an hour’s drive from home and had spent his days off at the house, and he apparently hadn’t been alone.

Turning on the lights in the warm house, Chris was relieved to see that Joe and his buddies had been respectful of Chris’s property when they had been there to stay. They just hadn’t cleaned up their mess yet, that was all.

Paul cleared a spot on the coffee table, set his bag there and sat down on the davenport. Chris went about gathering his luggage for his Christmas visit back home, neatly gathering his backpack, duffle bag and suitcase in the living room next to the door.

Lexi won’t be here for an hour. Chris said, opening the living room drapes of the east facing picture window, Want to have a whiskey?

They had their whisky at the table in the kitchen, the light from the lowering sun subdued by the thick rows of pines behind the house passing across the table between them.

Remember that time I found that box of Ho-Hos under Lisa’s bed? He chuckled meekly in a state of sleepiness and boredom.

What reminded you of that?

Oh, He sat perpendicular to the table, stroking his goatee, Because this is where I was sitting when I saw them, right here. You look through that doorway and your looking right at the head end of her bed, and that’s where they were. Plain as day, that box of Ho-Hos seemed very out of place.

No. It’s not something you’d be expecting to see.

Poor girl, Chris said with a hue of remorse for the humor at her expense, She just doesn’t have the discipline to have any success at losing weight. She’s got too many things working against her. Her genetics are enough of a setback.

Paul sat silently, wondering if Chris was foolish enough to think that the average person would even have a fraction of the discipline he did.

Huh, Chris spun his whisky glass in a circle, ruminating in thought. I guess we all have our Ho-Hos under our bed in one way or another.

The neighbor’s dog barked outside as Lexi’s sedan pulled into the driveway. Chris groaned as he got up, only now taking inventory of the muscles that ached as a result of the dramatic switch from three days of snowboarding followed by two in the pickup. Paul got up to get his jacket and gloves and followed him out, taking the suitcase as he did so.

Hey Lexi, Paul greeted her in the driveway, Did you bring your six shooter?

She wore a pink and grey warm up suit and looked like she belonged on the cover of Fitness magazine.

Have a good Christmas! She gave him a hug after he had put the suitcase in the backseat, You’ll have to come back and visit us sometime. Let us know how you’re doing.

Paul politely feigned his intention to stay in touch then turned his attention to Chris.

"Remember when we watched that film Frankenstein?" Chris asked him.

Sure. Why?

Then you remember the scene when Captain Robert Walton meets Victor Frankenstein?

Of course I do. Paul, reciting the line of Aiden Quinn’s character, Do you share my madness?

Chris laughed and gave him a hug, "That’s the essence here, man. Hang on to the madness—Do epic shit."

I will. Paul assured him, following him around to the passenger’s side door, You two have a good time. Enjoy it.

You too, I’ll be waiting to hear from you. Was the last thing Chris said as he closed the car door.

Paul smiled to himself; he had found an honest friend and a worthy adversary. He only wished he could be at the school in January when Lexi came back with a ring on her finger.

He became aware of the chill and began to hurry back into the house, the car honking once as they back into the street. He turned to see the two of them waving goodbye.

ideologies

Inside the house, the only light that remained on was the one in the hallway. He turned that one off and went back in the kitchen, turned the stove light back on and sat down to finish his whisky.

The motion light in the driveway shut off a little while later, and stimulus distanced itself from him enough that he could feel the deep brooding within himself. It was a sensation (or lack of) that he had come to both covet and loathe. The room felt still, and silent, and this too accentuated the solitude.

He thought that having learned so much about life on the macroscopic, microscopic and the molecular level, he’d have some insight on what and where happiness and satisfaction were to be found in the human being. First it was the brain, then certain portions of the brain and then on to certain nuclei. He recalled reading about how amazed scientists were to discover receptors for certain neurotransmitters that had been once thought to be localized only in the brain existed in the human digestive tract. He remembered how surprised he was to learn that the spinal cord, and not the brain, was responsible for the production of certain enkephalins.

He had come to the school with such lofty ideals. Now it seemed that the only difference between here and there was that, only now did he know that he didn’t believe in as much as he thought he did. He was living hand to mouth, and it was every man for himself in a world of mistaken identities. He felt like he’d figured some things out, but the apple of knowledge had morphed and he couldn’t discern it from an orange or a pear to save his life.

Three semesters at 24 credits a pop alongside an overzealous student body had left his ambitions exhausted. It was time to start over again.

He finished his drink, put his jacket back on and went out the back door to smoke. When he was done, he went back through the living room, locked the front door and laid down on the davenport and read by the lamp on the end table until he felt a warm fatigue overcome him.

He awakened in the dark on Sunday morning, with the familiar ring of sweat on the back of his neck and the muted pressure inside his skull. He could hear the traffic intermittently a block away on Penn avenue and got up to go to the bathroom, making his way down the darkened hallway with one hand on the wall.

He reached in and flipped the switch on and flinched in the light. Then, his thoughts slowly began to sort themselves as he emptied his bladder. He had used a compass to make his way around in a national forest a few days back and now he was lost on the roadmap of life.

His phone read 4:13 AM. He unrolled his sleeping bag and rested until shortly after the dawn began to fill the blinds of the living room window. After pulling his van into the driveway, he loaded his belongings in and went back inside to make coffee for his drive home. He waited, leaning on the countertop as the coffeemaker began to crackle and gurgle, staring at the mess on the dining room table.

The beer bottles and cans, poker chips, pizza boxes and decks of playing cards were all half concealed in their own shadows, looking to him like the remnants of a lost civilization in the eerie glow of the listless morning sunlight that passed through the old yellow drapes of the house on Chestnut Street.

He reminisced about a television show about a man that turned into a monster when he got angry and, as a result, got run out of every town he tried to settle down in. Since no one knew that the mild mannered scientist was the monster, he quietly left town at the end of each episode, just a man walking down an empty highway as the credits rolled across the screen. He was fascinated by how much differently the synopsis looked to him now, some 17 or 18 years later. It seemed to him a parable of sorts, and wondered if it paralleled his own life at all.

Paul looked around the living room and dining room area and wondered if he’d miss the place.

The coffee was done. He filled his thermos, dropped his phone in his pocket, and left his key on the kitchen counter. He took one last look, pulled on his gloves and left the house, locking the door behind him.

Chapter 2

Over The River And Through The Woods

The sun was another hour older in the sky as the flat farmlands transitioned into the wooded Minnesota River Valley. There wasn’t another vehicle in sight by the time the four lane was split by a wide, thickly wooded median. It was that same spot on the southbound side of the 4 lane the