Anywhere Except Yesterday: To Each Their Own Goodbye, #1

By J.T. Dodds

Luc Barbon, upon discharge from the army, was on autopilot heading to the Ozarks. His plan was to bury himself in an educational foxhole, insulated from the insanity of the Vietnam War and national angst. Somewhere he could rewrite his story.
He is on a mission to leave a past of self-doubt and fear of commitment behind only to find himself in an enclave of passion and prejudice. Love and learning dissolve in an unforeseen twist of fate.

After an inhospitable stopover in an Arkansas prison, the Greyhound Bus terminal in Dallas, Texas is as far as money and time will take him. His off trail diversion into sex, drugs, and rock & roll were just a few of the obstacles he encounters in pursuit of his goal, until fate once again writes the next chapter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.T. Dodds
• Release date: Nov 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798224352128

J.T. Dodds

John, a citizen of the United States and Canada has been writing poetry for over half a century delving into themes such as relationships, spirituality, creativity, and his passion for life, John has self-published a collection of 15 volumes including two enchanting children's books composed in verse, namely A Sneaky Twitch of an Itch and The Journey Home, as well as a compilation of essays and poetry centered on the subject of aging, titled Comes A Time. While permanently living in Ajijic, Mexico, with his artist wife, Candis, John has penned 5 novels under the pen name J.T. Dodds: a trilogy titled To Each Their Own Goodbye, consisting of Book 1: Anywhere Except Yesterday, Book 2: A Long Way From Nowhere, and Book 3: When Tomorrow Is Never Enough, two standalone novels, If You Are Born To Be A Tamale, and Wanting To Breathe Here In.

Book preview

DEDICATION

––––––––

To all those who have traveled the same road

and detoured along the way never to be seen again.

Also by John Thomas Dodds

Poetry

In Our Own Backyard

A Still Silent Space

Sen-Essence

Aging Beautifully in Light of You

A Stroll Through the Village of Ajijic

Small Altars Where the Sun Performs

Places That Hold An Energy Of Love

Footprints In The Dust

Learning To Lean Back On Living

Kats Kids & Kreativity

Father Hunting

Free To Be Me

Gone Fishing

Children’s Poetry

A Sneaky Twitch of an Itch

A Journey Home

Fiction

Anywhere Except Yesterday (J.T. Dodds)

A Long Way From Nowhere (J.T. Dodds)

When Somewhere Is Never enough (J.T. Dodds)

If You Are Born to be a Tamale(J.T. Dodds)

Essays

Comes A Time Of No Retrun (2023)

Sometimes life takes you on a pendulum’s swing,

and when you end up on the other side of yesterday you gotta go with the flow, or it’s going to swing back

real fast, and leave you hanging.

– To Each Their Own Goodbye

A TWIST OF FATE

ONE

––––––––

As the sun rose over Nashville, Tennessee, fleeting shadows and shards of light shredded his reflection in the window. For Luc Barbon, having never ventured south of the Mason-Dixon Line, the apprehension he felt boarding the Greyhound overnight express in Buffalo finally relinquished its grip. Today the dream he had harbored for the last few years was only hours away from coming to fruition. The bonds that had tied him down for lack of belief in himself were scattered baggage left along the side of the road behind him. Life is what waited for him, and it had to be anywhere except yesterday.

He recalled William Faulkner having noted that Everyone in the South has not time for reading because they are all too busy writing. Luc believed the two attributes he lacked in order to write the great American novel were a Bachelor of Arts Degree, and a story to tell. He thought perhaps that spending time at an obscure college tucked away in the Ozarks might be the perfect place to accomplish his goals, not taking into account the possibility of some twist of fate. He had applied to multiple colleges both in Canada and the States prior to discharge from the army, searching for a creative writing program, and chose the Ozarks as a place that had both history, mystery and obscurity.

The Greyhound pulled into Little Rock, Arkansas mid-day. After a short layover Luc transferred to a local bus for the final leg of his journey. It was seventy-seven miles to the city of Arkville, nestled in the Northwest corner of the state, and home of Ozark Mountain College. With a couple dozen cities and towns along the route: Haig, Mayflower, Clebb, Happy Bend and Pisgah to name a few, and the bus stopping at most them making the two hour drive an anticipation eternity.

Thankfully it was a short walk from the bus station to the college lugging his life’s possessions in a military duffle bag and his constant companion his portable typewriter. He entered the administration building early enough to complete his enrollment, get his dorm room assignment, a meal card, and have his picture taken for his student ID. The G.I. Bill was his ticket and covered all expenses.

Southern hospitality was on full display at the registration office. The staff took turns asking how his trip was, congratulating him on choosing Ozark Mountain College, thanking him for his military service—all in an accent that was music to his ears. His French Canadian accent in turn garnered a few smiles, as was their polite confusion trying to identify the whereabouts of his home in Ontario, Canada. Luc felt he’d have to get used to the ‘thank you for your service’ bit, although his preference was to put his short military career behind him and get on with his life.

Luc Barbon stood on the steps of the administration building and put his duffle bag and portable typewriter on the ground. He opened the campus map they had given him, and surveyed his surroundings. It was the end of August and the beginning of clear skies, sunshine, and perfect temperatures for this corner of the world. With most students living within a hundred mile radius, the campus was quiet on the Thursday before Labor Day weekend.

Born in Buffalo, he was raised in the French quarter of Toronto, Ontario. His Canadian parents worked in the States during WW11 and moved back to Canada before he finished grade school. Luc graduated from a French-Catholic High School, and in search of a world beyond the boundaries of a tight-knit community upon graduation he crossed back into Buffalo and joined the army. After three excruciatingly long years confined to army bases, for the first time in his young life he was finally free to be.

Scanning a nearly empty campus Luc felt like a stranger in a strange land; not a bad feeling though, since he loved Robert Heinlein’s novel, and felt akin to Valentine Michael Smith arriving on earth from Mars. There was a magical mystery about the unknown that resonated within him. It’s why he loved math. He knew if he never took no for an answer, he’d find a solution to whatever came his way. Luc took the newest of the Beatles songs to heart—the magical mystery tour was coming to take him away.

He followed the map across the campus to Brown Hall, taking in architecture dating back to the turn of the century, and the oak trees that had been around longer than the paved environments he was born and raised in. The dorm was a 3-story, all-male residence. Students were required to live on campus until they completed sixty credits, which at first didn’t go over well with Luc, having lived in a barracks since leaving home. It made sense, considering he would be living off the G.I. Bill, and a hundred and sixty dollars a month would only go so far. It bought him tuition, books, room and board, with a few bucks left over to squander.

The room came with a long list of do’s and don’ts, all designed to prepare the student for a rewarding college experience, none of which registered with him; he only needed a place to crash, and study, beyond that it was all frills. Brown Hall being the newest residence on campus, each room was furnished with a spacious closet, two desks, two beds, two dressers, and reading lamps. Since his room was for double occupancy, there was also one roommate lying on his bed reading Frank Herbert’s Dune. Lenny lay the book down beside him and stood up at the edge of the bed.

"Hello roomy, welcome to the planet Arrakis. I’ve been expecting you to show any minute. It’s Luc, right? Grunt no more I hear, and an alien from the far North no less.

Lenny spoke rapidly tying his sentences together almost in a stream of consciousness. He was a tall, lanky 6 footer with a mane of jet black hair tied back in a ponytail. His oversized proboscis was surrounded by acne marks that looked more like potholes than pockmarks. What stood out immediately to Luc was his pale skin color and penetrating light grey eyes that hugged the root of his nose. The two of them couldn’t be a more disparate couple of roommates: Luc was 5’9" and brandishing the remnants of a military haircut.

Luc found a spot on the vacant bed and dropped his duffle bag, then placed his portable typewriter on the empty desk. He walked over to his new roommate and shook hands. You’re Lenny, right. They told me at the Registrar’s office I’d be bunking with another Army Vet. See you made it through alright, not missing any limbs. They also said there were a couple of us around; everybody still slugging it out, or on their way to Nam, I’m guessing.

We are the only ex-GI’s bunked here so far. There’re hoping for a lot more survivors over the next few years. I haven’t a clue who else is in the building except the den mother. He’s here I think to keep us out of trouble. Don’t mind the mess, no inspections here. This is my second year in the room. My last roomy got scared off half way through the semester and moved to a single room on the top floor. Lenny paused to let that sink in, and got no reaction. He watched as Luc dumped the contents of his bag on the bed.

You have an empty dresser and half a closet. Doesn’t look like we’ll get our threads mixed up.

I’m not well equipped with civvies: jeans, tee shirts and cutoffs. It’s my wardrobe for now. I left my parka in Toronto, figured a jacket would suffice in the Deep South.

You won’t need anything warmer than a sweater or jacket. Winter here is short and sweet, it’s clear sailing until the end of October. It does snow here on occasion. Not into idle chit chat and with the curiosity of a hermit, Lenny lay back down on the bed and picked up his book. Make yourself at home, I’ve almost finished with the last chapter. I haven’t been able to put this one down. When you’re through unpacking maybe we’ll swap war stories. Returning to Dune, Lenny was quickly beamed up to another planet.

Luc was not looking forward to ‘swapping war stories.’ The only action he saw was overhead—C-130’s heading off to the killing fields carrying men and supplies, and returning with body bags. As a microwave SYS repairman his weapons were hand tools and test equipment. The past three years were mostly forgettable with one exception, the accumulation of the GI Bill, which made it possible for him to go to college. Raised by a single mother there wasn’t any financial support from the home front, and his under a hundred a month pay from the army didn’t bankroll a future B.A. As with most of his life, he was on his own.

It didn’t take long for him to find places for his meager possessions, and sitting on the edge of the bed he surveyed his new digs. It wasn’t anything to write home about. Then again he didn’t write home. It was an improvement though over what he had lived in for years. He had finally landed, and as soon as he rolled over and his head hit the pillow, he was out like a light—only to be awakened in what seemed like minutes.

TWO

––––––––

Lenny was standing at the end of the bed. His towering presence was enough to startle Luc out of his hypnopompic state where he was climbing another ladder in a fluid world of snakes and ladders.

"Thought you might want to catch breakfast, the cafeteria cattle call closes in a half hour. I’ll wait outside.

The aftermath of fifteen hours sleep was disorientation while he scrambled for a clean tee-shirt. He made a quick stop in the dorms community washroom and threw water on his face and brushed his teeth; no time to shit, shower and shave. His stomach ruled. Missing dinner last evening and not having eaten a decent meal in two days, he was starving. His disorientation waned when he stepped out of the dorm into the morning sunlight, and took a deep breath of country fresh air. Lenny got him to the cafeteria on time, and conversation was held to a minimum until Luc shoved the third empty plate of biscuits, sausage gravy, grits, and strawberry bread to one side, and his forehead came to rest on the table.

Looks like you’re going to live. You made a big impression on the kitchen staff after three helpings. There are a few perks living on campus, one is you don’t have to worry about grub. Can’t think of the other ones off the top of my head. Be grateful, in downtown Arkville the Sonic Drive-In is fine dining.

Luc raised his head up from the table, raised his arms, and then rolled his shoulders, like a cat stretching his muscles after eating. Those biscuits and gravy reminded me of the army’s shit on a shingle. Difference is it tasted like real food."

"Sawmill gravy, supposedly dates back before the Civil War as a morning caffeine to pump up lumberjacks cutting down trees all day. It’s a staple around here, along with possum pie and fried pickles. You’re in for a taste treat.

Lenny looked around. The cafeteria was empty except for staff. Come Tuesday, after the holiday it will be wall to wall students. Being a loner he liked it like this.

So you’re from Canada. What brings you here? You certainly weren’t looking for Poutine on the menu. Maybe fries with chocolate gravy, another Arkansas favourite.

Never been to the South. Wanted to avoid winters and find a warmer climate than Ontario, Canada. Also not as dry and desolate as southern Arizona. I was based there for my last stint in the army. I wanted something different. You know what I mean?

You came to the right spot for different. A better description would be other worldly. Maybe one of your ancestors may have settled here. The French explorers came to this state and to them the Indians were known as Akansa. By 1881 it was spelled Arkansas but pronounced Arkan-saw.

That was as far as Lenny was going to go with the small talk. You into Sci Fi?

"Heinlein, Asimov. I’ve read a few. I like Twain’s fiction. Did you know Twain wrote science fiction? I loved The Mysterious Stranger."

"He also wrote Captain Stormfield's Visit to Heaven, and had a rivalry with Jules Verne."

I’m impressed. How do you know all this, Lenny?

I grew up in a world where to survive I looked for any other world I could find other than the one I was living. It still holds true today. I was a hitchhiker on a highway of books. Literary heroes were my guide to the future.

Books it seemed was a topic of conversation his roommate was into. It was a comfort zone where he could express himself, and only knowing Lenny for a short period of time he figured he had a roommate on the same wavelength. It was a good start. When the conversation waned Luc looked around and was surprised at the empty cafeteria.

I suppose I ought to clear my dishes.

Classes start next Thursday, and students will be descending on this campus over the weekend like swarming locusts. This afternoon I’m off to visit my grandmother. She lives in a rural community outside of North Little Rock. Plan to be back here on Labor Day.

Is your family from there? Luc picked up his tray and stood up.

Grandma Stone is the only family I got in the Rock, at least the only one I care to associate with. There was a sudden sharpness in his response, which changed rapidly and softened. Bless her heart, she turned 90 this year, and would tear me a new asshole if I didn’t come to visit on holidays.

Luc dumped his tray, and complimented the staff on the meal. He knew from eating in army messes to stay on the good side of the hand that feeds you. Standing outside on the steps of the cafeteria, the new roommates surveyed the campus. Unlike yesterday’s quiet introduction on the commons, students were milling about or gathered in small groups, others were lugging suitcases towards the dorms. The flow in and out of the buildings reminded Luc of an Escher painting.

Looks like it has already started. The swarming that is. When are you leaving for Little Rock?

"Early afternoon. There’s only a couple buses a day heading east. You’re on your own Saturday, Sunday, and sometime Monday. Let’s head for the library then I’ll give you the grand tour. You need to get a library card first thing, and check out Dune since I’m finished with it."

The library was Lenny’s go to place on campus for he too lived in a world of books. For him, it was a refuge from the college milieu and the memories of Nam that haunted him.

Sounds good. Lead the way.

Lenny wouldn’t have lasted a day as a tour guide at Disney World. His critique of campus life was pure cryptic cynicism: The cheerleaders here are called The Golden Suns, and like Icarus you don’t want to get too close. The girls’ dormitories are guarded like field bases in a war zone. The name of the football team, Wonder Guys, fits the definition of strange and surprising. Since Ozark Mountain is mostly an agricultural college he warned Luc, At several times a year certain odors wafting across campus are breathtaking.

Traipsing around campus Lenny showed no inclination to dig deep into Luc’s background, nor did he share his, and other than criticism of the social norms, which he reveled in, he limited his monologue to the functionality of buildings, Luc pointed out on his campus map. This suited Luc, who on the surface exuded a confidence that reflected his French background, accented by a welcoming smile, all the while maintaining a self-effacing distance when it came to talking about himself. After Lenny left, he spent the rest of a sunny warm day sitting on the commons’ lawn, his back up against an oak tree reading Dune, his head focused on the desert planet of Arrakis.

THREE

––––––––

Rising at dawn was a habit he carried over from the military where for whatever reason sleeping in was antithetic to the Code of Military Justice. Saturday morning in the cavernous cafeteria he had no problem finding an obscure location to sit quietly alone with his thoughts. He decided to chill out for the day after a whirlwind of new faces, new places, and a lack of any foothold in his new reality, and get in touch with Luc.

His last assignment with the army Signal Corps was in Ft. Huachuca, Arizona, once home of the 10th Cavalry Regiment, an all-black unit the natives called Buffalo Soldiers. Sequestered in a barren and desolate area near the Mexican border fostered in him a desire to escape the mundane, maintaining the insular environment that appeared to be his lot in life dating back to his childhood Once free of the bondage of ‘service’ he returned to Toronto for only the second time in three years. He found he had nothing in common anymore with the world he had left behind. Growing up in a single parent household, his mother had seldom dated; now she had a partner, a good, solid Catholic Francophone who worked with his hands, under the unforgiving scrutiny of the Lord. Although he loved his mother, and his extended family, the dynamics no longer worked for him. He had outgrown a religion and a neighborhood that had remained stagnant in his mind; where most of his high school friends were married and employed. The French quarter quickly became confining.

As was his dorm room in Brown Hall after he rearranged his space several times, finally coming to the conclusion there was only so much he could do with a closet: a sliver of a window looking out onto nothing in particular, a hallway leading to the community bathroom, and a rec room dominated by a television. With the exception of watching an occasional baseball game, TV was a habit he never acquired. He briefly introduced himself to several students filtering into the dorm with their luggage, then re-occupied the space under the oak tree with Bradbury’s Dune.

His first overseas assignment Camp Warin Thailand, was a hotbed of temptation. He couldn’t however, break the moral absurdity of sex for the sake of sex, instilled in his psyche from a relentless celibacy of Catholic education, and the reason he was still a virgin. Until now that is. On a hot, muggy August day, free from the constraints of yesterday, watching the parade of southern belles promenading around the campus in cutoffs and tee shirts he found it difficult to concentrate on spice on the planet Arrakis as being the most valuable substance in the universe.

Sunday was a day of restlessness, not out of any anxiety, it was plain old boredom. He decided to explore the city of Arkville. Hardly a city in his terms, the population was as small as an ethnic neighborhood in Toronto or Buffalo. His excursion took him through the center of town, eight blocks from the college, and then five miles to a bridge crossing the Arkansas River to the neighboring postage size city of Dardanelle. He knew from his research a good portion of this corner of the world had been a Cherokee reservation in the early 1800s. About the time his ancestors settled in Quebec. The natives successfully farmed the land until the white settlers and Federal Government forced them on a trail of tears to resettle in Oklahoma. A hundred and fifty or so years later it was still farmland with, as Luc observed a nondescript mixture of faceless old and prefabricated buildings.

What had caught his interest, through prior reading about the area, was the magnificent Ozarks. Mountains, forests and rivers that covered Northwest Arkansas, Oklahoma, Missouri, and a touch of southeastern Kansas, all with a rich history dating back to the civil war. Walking was only going to get him so far in either directions, and he knew what he needed to do—with what he was able to save from his measly paycheck in the army.

FOUR

––––––––

On his way back to campus through Arkville, Luc crisscrossed the main drag searching for a used car dealership. Being in the heart of the Bible belt, Sunday he figured nothing would be open and no one would skip church to go looking for an automobile. He was curious to see what might be available knowing there wouldn’t be a metropolis of possibilities, and he’d probably have to go to Little Rock.

Nothing impressed him on the first lot he ran across: five pickup trucks, a camper of sorts, and several cars in various degrees of disintegration. The second lot included a couple dozen cars and trucks mostly Fords and Chevies with one exception to made in America—a white sporty looking vehicle at the back of the lot with a Volkswagen emblem stuck on its nose. With the engine in the trunk, to Luc it looked kinda like a squashed Beetle. He was tall enough to look over the