How Many Roads Pt. I

How Many Roads
By Taylor Dyer








































“How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man.”
-Bob Dylan
























I
The sky above was grey; the shade of grey that makes you forget that there is a sky, to forget that anything exists above the tops of houses and trees. The whole day held an atmosphere of quiet and stillness.
A boy walked along a quiet street. It was a quiet town, big enough to have a downtown and a Main Street, but rural enough to have woods within walking distance, and trees in view from any point in the town.
He didn’t know why he was walking, or to where. It was not important. It was a quietly grey January day, cold enough to discourage most walkers, but warm enough for those used to walking. He walked along in solitude and silence just enjoying the ability to change his own scenery and a chance to be alone.
Soon he found houses to be scarcer and uncut forests to be in greater abundance. He decided that he’d like to walk along the snowmobile trail that cut through the center of town and out into the untouched forests that bordered it.
He turned off the street and trudged through the crunchy, packed snow that covered the trail. Soon all he could see were trees except almost at the end of his vision he could see the occasional car cut across the trail. They seemed to come from nowhere because he was too low to see the road.
A sudden gust of wind ripped down the trail and he pulled his collar up to protect his throat. He looked off through the trees to his right. He could see quite a distance through the leafless trees, naked for winter. The amount of trees made it hard to focus.
He turned off of the trail and decided to walk in the woods for a while. It reminded him of when he was young and his parents lived in a house that his father had built, squeezed into the trees of 40 acres of uncut Maine forest. There was a small yard around the house, and since he had been very young this was where he was forced to spend most of his time. The woods had always felt like more of a fence then, holding him in rather than the freedom that they offered now.
He could still feel “the groove” as he liked to call it, of the herb he had done after school, and he took a step back to realize how content just walking without a place to go had made him. He took a long reaching step across the slight depression that separated the raised trail from the beginning of the tree line. His foot got tangled in some brush and he kicked to dislodge it.
A sudden sound in among the trees made him look up from his feet. His eyes caught motion and immediately focused. He recognized the fleeting silvery shapes as deer. A group of six or seven all in different states of running away, lithe legs outstretched, reaching for the snow covered ground, white tails raised. All of them a picture of startled grace.
In an instant they were gone as if they had never existed. He had only been able to catch mere glimpses before they were out of view, but they were printed on his memory like single frames from a film. Now that they were gone he realized how silent it was in the forest. The fluffy snow that blanketed the ground seemed to deaden all sound. The air in the woods seemed somehow thicker as if it were swallowing all outside sounds, keeping its inhabitants in a bubble of peace and silence. The only sound was that of the occasional shifting of boughs overhead and the impact of the snow that was dislodged from them.
He stood, just soaking in the awe of the moment. Had there been anyone to speak to he would have been speechless. He decided that he liked that there had been no one to share the moment with. It was sublime only in its solitude.
He walked on. He followed a set of tracks for a time, still walking on in absolute silence. He didn’t really see or hear or smell or feel anything as he walked. He just went on experiencing the entire moment as a whole.
Suddenly he realized that it was no longer silent. A faint humming permeated the air, throbbing loud and then soft. He realized it must be the highway. He must be further out than he thought.
A sudden thought of home entered his head and he turned and began to walk back towards town.




***

A boy, who was maybe a man, sat on his bed leaning against the wall. His name was Darrell Streeps. He slumped against his wall and the bed doing nothing, just thinking. His sparse room was decorated in all drab colors, grays and flat blues, highlighted by the grey light coming from the windows. It was a perfect room for thinking. Were he too much younger he would have been daydreaming, but at this age it was thinking. Or maybe meditating.
He thought mostly of his experience in the forest earlier that day. The beauty of the deer, the silence of the forest, the soft coating of snow, the awe of the moment.
It reminded him of his childhood home, tucked back into the Maine woods. It was the only other place he had lived and felt more like home than the house that he lived in now. He thought of the tree house his father had built for him there, back near the dog run and the dog house. He remembered the dog he had had there. A Dalmatian, an adult male that thought he was the beta male in the family, named Bally. A fireman’s dog. He remembered the day they had had to give the dog away because he had developed and allergy. He could still see the man driving up the dirt driveway in a shiny red convertible to come pick up the dog. Fire engine red. He couldn’t remember if he had cried or not. He couldn’t even remember if he had liked the dog or not. His mother had told him that the man who was taking him was a fireman, and that he would be a real fireman’s dog. He had believed her then, firemen must drive fire engine red convertibles when they weren’t driving their trucks.
His mind could drift on from subject to subject like this for hours. He didn’t know how long it had been when he heard footsteps coming up the stairs outside his door. His friend Robert came through the door.
“Hey.”
“Hey, your mom let me in.”
“Cool.”
“So what have you been up to man?”
“Not too much. Been around. You?”
“Oh, not a whole lot, just got back from the bar with the old fellas.” A fond grin crossed his face. The “old fellas” were the contractors and carpenters that rob worked with. Rob was not 21 he was 17 going on 18 like Darrell (or maybe he was 18) but the guys that he worked with always took him out to their bar after work for a few beers and a relaxing end to the work day. They were all old hands in the Maine contracting scene, men who got up early and earned their living with sweat and skill. They had taken a liking to rob because of his hard work and his drive and treated him like one of the guys.
Robert Stevens was certainly more man than boy. He was about 5’10” with a square thick frame. He was in great shape and had been Overton High School’s bruising fullback. Darrell Streeps had loved running behind him, with his huge shoulders made strong by a lifetime of outdoor labor. He had a face that showed well beyond his 17 (or was it 18) years, with lines that told of hard years and eyes that hinted at a beaten body. It was still a friendly face covered by a thick winter beard and topped by short curly hair.
“Oh yeah? How was the bar today?”
“It was good real good. The guy who tends bar there is real nice, he’s pretty chill.”
The bar was an old establishment that had sprung up back when the mill was in town. The mill had long since closed but the bar still stuck around, just getting by, as so many people and businesses did now that the mill was gone. It was a family run business populated by old regulars. Everybody who drank there knew everybody else. They all knew rob, or “Little Robby” as they liked to call him. He was only served drinks when the “Old Fellas” decided to buy a round. Had he gone in alone he probably would have been turned away as a minor.
“That’s cool.”
“Yeah, so you been partying lately?”
“Oh well you know me.” Darrell Streeps said with a laugh.
“Yeah I do. Oh that reminds me. I got something for you.”
He reached into his stained jacket and pulled out a pint sized bottle of golden liquid.
“Black Velvet. The finest Canadian whiskey seven dollars can buy. I had one of the old fellas pick it up for me. I had to tell them it was for your birthday though.
“Thanks man, you know my stomach can’t handle the expensive shit.”
“Yeah I know, I was there that night. I hope that won’t be happening again soon.”
“I dunno man my birthday is coming up soon. Hey, how do the old fellas know me?”
“Everybody knows you Streeps, everyone that follows football anyway. You were the best running back Overton has seen since Julius, even if coach couldn’t see it. As soon as I mentioned your name the old fellas started jawin’ about this season. They really lit into coach, they said with our line and me leading the way you could have carried us to the playoffs if coach had given you the chance.”
“Yeah but that’s just old guys talking in a bar. Fact is, I didn’t.”
“Yeah, but we still had an alright season.”
“Better than the last couple. Hey man thanks for the birthday present. You know I’ll put it to good use.”
“Yeah your right I do, that’s the problem, your welcome though.”
“So what have you been up to anyway?”
“Oh you know this and that, working mostly. The old fellas keep me pretty busy.”
“Yeah I bet, how’s Jessica?”
“She’s good. She keeps me busy too.” One of those devilish grins that women love split his big face. Darrell couldn’t help but laugh. “So how are you keeping busy, aside from partying I mean?” you planning on playing ball in college?”
“I dunno yet. If I do it will be at a small division three school. Coach is talking to the scouts from the maritime academy for me.”
“Damn that’s cool. Any women in you life lately Streeps?”
“None that last past a weekend.” Darrell Streeps said with a brief laugh.
“Yeah I kinda suspected as much.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Nothing it’s just… well I know your style with that sort of thing, that’s all. Don’t get hot over it.”
“Well we don’t all find our Jessicas in high school.”
“I know. I know, I didn’t mean anything by it. Don’t get mad at me.”
“I’m not mad.” Said Darrell Streeps.
“Well you seemed a little hot there for a minute.”
“I’m not man. It’s cool.”
They were silent for a while. Not an awkward silence. The kind that can pass between two friends who don’t know what to say.
“So what are you doing right now anyway?”
“Nothing. Talking to you.”
“You wanna go down to the weight room? Maybe we’ll run into Owen.”
“Yeah man sounds good. Let me grab my shorts and tell my moms I’m leaving.”
“Alright cool. I’ll go start the truck.”
Darrell Streeps tucked the bottle of Black Velvet in a drawer of the bureau near the head of his bed. He grabbed his wallet and his knife and slipped on his shoes. He yelled down the hall to his mother and headed out the door.

***

Robert Stevens had an old beat up Ford pickup. It was flat grayish blue with a faded white stripe running the length of it horizontally. It had small rust spots in places. The old ford V8 roared as Rob revved it up. Darrell Streeps climbed in.
Darrell Streeps lived right in town so it didn’t take long for them to get to the school. The weight room shared the basement of the old gym with the boy’s locker room. It was a good gym with mostly free weights. It was all old equipment but it was well maintained and all in good working order. It was this room that Darrell had made his second home for the past five years.
It was here that he had built himself into what he wanted to be. He had basically started from scratch. He remembered his first day walking into this room as a scrawny 105 pound eighth grader. He had been tall and all skin and bone back then, no muscle to speak of and especially no fat.
He pulled off his shirt and changed into his shorts. He looked himself over in the mirrors that covered two of the walls. He was 6’2”, tall and lean with brown shaggy hair and penetrating ice grey eyes. He still didn’t carry a scrap of fat but now he was considerably bulkier. Every inch of him was covered by tight, hard muscles, with veins sticking out like chords. He had a large well defined chest, and taut abs. he supposed women liked his body, they seemed to. All that had mattered for the past four years was that it could get the job done on the football field.
He walked over to a bench and started loading weights on the bar. Rob was over by the stereo.
“Hey, what do you want to listen to?”
“Got any Zeppelin?”
“Of course.”
Robert Stevens put the CD in and pushed play. The music hit Darrell like a wave washing over his body. His mood changed almost immediately to suit the song. He felt the forlornness mixed with the stoic acceptance of Robert Plant’s lyrics.

Good times bad times
You know I’ve had my share
Well my woman left home
For a brown eyed man
And I still don’t seem to care

He laid down on the bench and did a set, letting the weight down slowly to his chest and then exploding upwards. Inhaling on the way down and exhaling as he pushed up, just as he had been taught to do. His feet were planted against the floor. His back arched slightly as he used his entire being to push the weight up. Robbert Stevens stood behind the bench at the ready in case he needed help.
He finished his set and got up from the bench. He felt great. He loved lifting. It made him feel good. He figured it must be the endorphins, but he thought it was something more. It made him feel powerful. It made him feel like he had accomplished something. It made him feel like he had the power to control his destiny. It made him feel like a man.
He looked at himself in the mirror again. Face red, powerful chest heaving, the veins standing out on his arms and chest. I built this he thought.
“Hey, you going to Henderson’s tonight?” Robert Stevens called from the leg press machine. He extended his legs and thrust the weights up. There was a loud screech of metal on metal as he twisted the safety levers. “I guess it’s supposed to get pretty crazy.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s supposed to be going?”
“Ummm Tommy said he was going. He’ll probably bring Sharon. Jeff, Kevin, Justin, tiffany, Julia, Brian Newcomb, Thomas, Beth, Bruce, Rachel Hudson, Nick Adams, Miller will probably be there. Ummmm… yeah it should be a pretty good time. Their getting a couple of kegs and a few bottles. Probably make punch again, or maybe jello shots.
“Sounds sweet. You going?”
“I’m not sure. I gotta work tomorrow but… I’m thinking about it.”
“Sounds good. If your going you can count me in.”
“And if not?”
“I’ll probably find my way there anyway.” Darrell Streeps said with a grin.
“Yeah I thought so.”

























“All games contain the idea of death.”
-Jim Morrison





















II.


Darrell Streeps stumbled down the hall, away from the noise of the party. He was, by this time very drunk. He felt warm, and good, and dizzy. He stumbled from wall to wall, supporting himself sometimes with his hands sometimes with his whole shoulder and arm. He traveled this way all the way to the bathroom all the while managing to keep his drink upright.
He closed the bathroom door behind him, shutting out the last of the party noise. He leaned his back against the door and gathered himself, letting his vision clear. He pushed back with his arms and launched himself off the door in the general direction of the toilet. He caught himself on the wall next to the toilet and held himself steady. He unzipped and relieved himself. He could tell he was truly good and drunk. If he had just been buzzing he would have felt his head clear as he pissed. He flushed the toilet and walked to the sink. He leaned on the counter and caught his image in the mirror. He did not immediately recognize it as his own. He knew it was his but he didn’t feel that usual familiarity the he felt when he looked in the mirror. He gave himself a crooked smile and went back to join the party.
He was greeted as he entered back into the thick of the party. It was a medium sized house and was packed with high school students in different stages of drunkenness. It was a crowded place to try and walk especially if you weren’t very well balanced on your feet, but the atmosphere was jovial and it was a pleasant walk.
“Yo! Streeps, how you feelin’ tonight?”
“Feelin’ good Dave, feelin’ good.”
“Hey Darrell.”
“Hey baby. You’re looking real good tonight.”
“Hey Streeps where you been man?” Robert Stevens came walking up to him with a short beautiful blonde in tow, clinging to his big arm. He was a bit jollier than usual.
“Oh, I was just taking a piss. How you feelin’ tonight Jessica?” he asked the blonde.
She smiled up at him. “I’m fine Darrell, I’m driving. How about you, you look like your having a good time.”
“Oh I am. You know me.”
“Yeah I do Darrell. You take it easy tonight, alright?” She smiled up at him again with those big blue eyes and in that moment he loved her very much.
Robert clapped him on the back and said “You have a good time Darrell. I think we’re headed out.”
“Alright you two, you have a good night. And Jessica, don’t you take advantage of my little Robby.”
They both laughed, and he loved them both. He knew they would get married someday. It was just a question of when.
“Bye Darrell. You don’t need a ride do you?”
“No I’m gonna be here for a while longer, I’ll find a place to crash. Bye guys.”
They left. He sat down on a couch next to a young brunette. She was maybe a year younger than him. She was very good looking, trim and fit with a nice figure, a nice smile, and dangerous eyes. She looked over at him. He smiled. She smiled back. He was hooked.
“Hi,” he said with what he hoped was his best smile. “I’m Darrell.”
“I know who you are.” She said with a beautiful laugh.
He gave her a confused look. “Yeah? How?”
“I go to your school.” She laughed again. “Your very drunk.”
“Nah, I’m alright.” He gave her a crooked smile. “How about you?”
“I’m feeling pretty good.” She laughed again.
“You have a beautiful laugh.” He said. As he did he looked into her brown eyes and put his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him, putting her opposite arm over him and laying her head on his chest. She looked up at him. “Is that all?”
He smiled down at her. “No of course not. Every inch of you is beautiful.” He pulled her closer and leaned down for a kiss. Her lips came up, but then she pulled back. Shit. He had thought it was going well. She untangled herself and stood up, a little shakily at first, but then she steadied herself. He stayed on the couch watching her. She straightened out her jeans and her sweatshirt. Damn, she had a great figure.
She reached down and took his hand. She tried to lift him up off of the couch, unsuccessfully. “Are you coming, or not?” she looked down at him with a playful smile.
“Well jeez girl, if you want me to get up your gonna have to pull a lot harder than that.”
She laughed again, that beautiful laugh. She dropped his hand and walked a few tipsy steps towards the hallway. She looked back over her shoulder. “Come on.” She demanded.
He laughed and got up off the couch, took hold of her hand and let her lead him down the hall. They looked quite a pair, stumbling (him more than her) through the mass of people, him holding his drink, her pulling him by the hand, him stopping to take a drink, her tugging him on. The trip up to an empty bedroom seemed to take forever. They must have weaved through at least forty people before they finally got there.
She pulled him in. He grabbed the doorknob and pulled it shut behind them. He stopped by the door, and tipped his drink up, draining it.
“Come on.” She called from the bed.
He set his drink down, adjusted his belt and pulled off his shirt.
“Alright baby, I’m here.”

***
Darrell Streeps lay against the head of the bed, drinking from a bottle of whiskey. The girl was sitting on the edge of the bed straightening herself out. The room was heavy with silence. He didn’t know what to say. Every time the silence became too much for him and he felt like he should say something he stifled it by taking a drink from the bottle. He was getting quite drunk again; if he had ever sobered up.
He turned his attention back to the girl. She pulled her shirt down over her head. “I’m such a slut.” She said to no one in particular.
Girls sure had a way of making you feel shitty about things.
“Well,” he said bitterly. “I’m glad I made you feel so good about yourself.” He took another drink, looked down at the bottle, tipped it back and finished it off. He was starting to feel a little mean.
“Oh Darrell” she said tragically. She reached out and stroked the side of his face gently. “You really shouldn’t drink so much.”
Her compassion angered him. He tossed the empty bottle in the corner, not hard enough to break the glass.
“Why do you care?” he asked “you don’t know me.” His voice was heavy with anger. It dripped distaste.
But her voice still held its caring timbre. “I see you around.” She said. “I know you better than you might think.”
“Oh yeah?” he said unconvinced.
“Yeah” she said “I know that I never see you happy. Even last night. I know you’re a happy drunk, but that doesn’t mean you’re happy when you’re drunk. I couldn’t even make you happy.” She seemed a little sad at this last part.
“Hey. Hey,” he softened his voice “you made me plenty happy. I definitely enjoyed myself.” He tried a grin.
She laughed. Not her full beautiful laugh. “I know you did.” She said “I enjoyed myself too.” She blushed. “But that doesn’t mean you were happy.”
“You sure seem to know a lot for somebody I just met last night.” Darrell Streeps said.
“I know people.” she said. She got up off the bed and walked to the door. She turned back to him. “My name is Melanie.” She said. “ If we ever see each other again you can call me Mel.” She left and closed the door behind her.
He lay there on the bed, missing his whiskey bottle, and missing the girl he admitted to himself. He had that empty feeling again.
He got up and picked up his empty whiskey bottle. “Let’s go get full again Streeps.” He said to himself and walked out to rejoin the party.
Her words haunted him for a time. Not a long time. Soon nothing bothered him. He stuck around downstairs enjoying the party until he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open anymore. He stumbled up to the bedroom where he and Melanie had been. He crawled into bed and fell asleep with a drink by his head.




































































III




Darrell Streeps leaned back against the banking of the railroad tracks. Robert Stevens passed him the joint they had rolled. They had rolled it in the paper from a large cigar; he pressed it to his lips and inhaled. He held it in until he felt it burn in his throat. Then he looked up into the clear blue sky and blew the smoke out slowly, watching it catch the sun, curling and dissipating. He laid his head back on the grass of the embankment and stared up at the sky, letting the sun warm his face.
It was a secluded spot, very near to the center of town, being just a couple of minutes walk from the nearest convenience store and the high school. But it was completely secluded it had a large stand of trees between the streets and buildings of the town and the field that fell away from the banking of the tracks. It was accessible either by following the railroad tracks or a trail through the woods that came out behind a small woolen mill.
The embankment of the tracks was tall and lying against it Darrell could see nothing but the trees off to the right and the field directly in front of him. A small stream ran through a stone aqueduct under the tracks and emptied into a small pond a little distance off into the field. The field was all knee to hip high grass, broken by stands of brush and a group of cat nine tails near the pond. The grasshoppers and other insects were making that gentle hiss that fields make under the late spring sun. Darrell could dimly make out the sound of the machines working in the lumber yard on the other side of the trees that capped in the opposite end of the field. On the other side of the tracks a stand of trees sheltered a residential area from the sights and the sounds of the railroad tracks.
The sun was warm on Darrell's face and the weather as well as the chemical circumstances made the spot an idyllic scene. It was a place that they often used to enjoy these small indulgences, and was a spot they frequented often during the late spring and summer months.
Darrell Streeps lay with his head against the soft grass. He looked at his two friends sitting there in the grass, like children, carefree and naïve. Darrell was happy. He was in a good mood, there was beautiful weather, and he was in great company. As Darrell looked at his friends’ laughing faces suddenly a cloud moved over the sun. While it was still bright out everything had a slightly darker pallor to it. Colors took on a greyer tint. He could almost feel the mood of the group do the same. He looked at his friends and he no longer saw the care free happiness of childhood. All around them all he could see was the grey mist of a slow death. Suddenly they seemed like haggard old men who had seen too much. Their eyes seemed to have a look like he had seen in the eyes of soot stained coal miners. Or in all those pictures of war. That same empty look that glared back at him, or through him rather, from the eyes of soldiers and refugees. He looked out at the beautiful field and sky, and back to his friends. What a strange place for his friends to be fighting a war. What a strange war they fought.
He looked at Robert Stevens. His eyes took in the big overworked body. Like an old Clydesdale that had pulled too heavy a wagon for too long. His brawny shoulders had a sag about them as if they belonged to a man forty years older and weaker, forty years more tired. He worked hard and he played hard. Darrell thought he was trying to build a palace for Jessica. It was at least obvious he was trying to build a future.
When Robert wasn’t working or with Jessica he was usually out partying with Darrell. He supposed they cut quite a pair on Friday and Saturday nights, “beer drinkin’ and hell raising”. They’d gotten into fights together in other towns and hadn’t lost many. They were young men in their prime doing their best to throw themselves away, or at least to see how much punishment they could take. They had enjoyed every minute of it.
He turned to his friend Caleb as he blew out a hit in a well practiced familiar way. He sat sprawled on the hillside, his lanky body looking relaxed almost to the point of non existence. Darrell Streeps remembered how bright Caleb had been in middle school. He had always done his homework, and had been well liked by all his teachers. He remembered playing peewee basketball with him, and then playing with him on the all star travel team. He had always given him shit for playing soccer instead of football.
He thought back to the night he had first introduced Caleb Lawndale to pot. They were both freshmen, and Darrell had started smoking a few weeks before. It was a new and exciting world and he was eager to share its secrets with his friend. He had spent the night at Caleb’s house and they had smoked it out of his bedroom window from a corn cob pipe, which Caleb later named john boy and would serve them faithfully for years to come. They had spent the rest of the night eating ice cream sandwiches and laughing hysterically at Monty Python.
Caleb had taken to marijuana at an alarming rate. It didn’t take him long to pass Darrell in how much he smoked. He now smoked in a week more than Darrell would in a month. It also wasn’t long before he discovered other drugs. Darrell Streeps looked at his friend and wondered what he would do with his life.
He turned inward. What did he have in store for his future? He could sense that same mist around himself. He thought of his first drink, his first fight, his first time being with a girl. He had been twelve when he had had his first drink.
Robert Stevens passed him the joint. He took it and hit it greedily. The cloud moved from in front of the sun and the world became bright again. Darrell Streeps lay back, closed his eyes and let the sun warm his face.
***
They sat there for a while enjoying the beautiful day. Caleb rolled a few more joints from a pouch that he wore around his neck. They lay against the hillside in the soft dry grass. The sun was warm on their skin. He had his shirt off and was lying on top of it, soaking in as much sun as possible.
They whiled away the day there laughing, smoking, joking. Occasionally they would toss a Frisbee between joints. This was their favorite pastime when they were burnt. It reminded Darrell of when he used to go to the beach with his father and his aunts.
“So Darrell, you going to school next year?”
“Yeah I’m pretty sure. The maritime academy is interested. I sent an application.”
“You’re gonna be a sailor?” a very stoned Caleb Lawndale suddenly broke in.
“Maybe,” Darrell Streeps answered his friend. “Or maybe I’ll just go to State and party it up.” He gave them a big grin.
“Yeah college would be pretty sweet.” Caleb Lawndale said.
“Are you going?” Robert Stevens asked him.
“I dunno, I guess. I haven’t filled out any applications.”
“Jeeze man, you really need to get on that. You should already have those in.” Darrell Streeps said.
“Where do you want to go anyway?” Robert asked him.
“I dunno. I guess State would be fine.”
“You gotta get your shit together dude, what do you want to do?”
“Umm… get high.” He gave them a laugh and the little group fell into silence.
As he lay there worrying about his friend Darrell felt the ground under his head begin to vibrate and hum.
“Train’s coming Robert Stevens said as he passed the joint to Caleb.
Soon they heard the whistle and saw it coming around the bend in the tracks. They all stood up on the hill to watch the train go by. Like three little boys happy to see the vision of their toys come to life.
And then all of a sudden it was roaring past them, a screaming, towering mass of steel. Its wind blowing their hair as it passed. From where they stood on the hill the wheels contacted the tracks at eye level. They squealed by, metal screeching on metal, throwing sparks into the bed of crushed rock that surrounded the tracks. The train towered above them like a large steel beast. The empty cars swayed back and forth, top heavy, as the train sped through, looking as if they might tip over at any moment. They carried nothing but graffiti, obscenities, mottos, illegible words, names, symbols. Anonymous messages from another town. Some hastily scrawled, some artfully done. White Power. Fuck. Larry was here. John loves Sarah. Fuck pigs. All these sped by, messages in their steel bottle, borne across a barren sea from one lonely isle to the next.
Darrell watched the dull colored metal speed by in awe. The train seemed to go on forever. He looked to his friends. All stood in silence gazing at the intruder to their tranquil environment. The noise was so loud it eliminated any conversation, deafening each to all but his own thoughts.
And then, as quickly as it had come the train was gone. They watched the last car fall off into the distance, leaving their serene habitat. As if the beast had seen all it had wanted of this land and was off to rape the next. It had come and it was gone. But others like it would come again. And they too would leave just as quickly. A permanence of impermanence.
They all, moving as one, took a few steps down the hill and lay back down in their former positions. They just sat in silence for a while, soaking in the sun and relaxing body and mind alike.
“Where do you think that train was going?”
“I’ll tell you where it’s going.” Said Robert Stevens. “It’s going back up to Bradford to get a load of lumber and pulp. Then it’ll come back through and on down south to Windsport to unload.”
“It’s nice down there in Windsport. Those rich kids throw the craziest parties.”
“Yeah they do Streeps. Remember when you got in a fight, with like five or six of ‘em. Me and Tommy Douglas had to come bail your ass out.”
“Yeah I remember. That kid had a nice huge house.”
“Man you had two of ‘em down and bleeding on the floor, before one of them got a hold of you and the rest rushed in. you were so drunk you could barely stand, but boy were you dishing it out that night.”
“Yeah I guess I was.” Darrell said unenthusiastically.
“Now why did those guys want to bash you head in again?” Robert asked with a playful grin.
“Umm, I’m not sure I remember. I was pretty drunk that night.”
“No I bet you do.” Robert continued. He knew Darrell didn’t want to talk about it but he kept on prodding with that same devilish grin. “I seem to remember something… you were all wet for some reason.” He started to snicker a little bit.
“Come on Darrell. Why’d all those preps want to beat your ass?” Caleb broke in with outright curiosity. Robert was laughing full on by now. “Come on Darrell tell him.”
Darrell looked down and ran his hands through his thick hair sheepishly. “Well the guy whose house it was caught me in his pool with his girlfriend.” He said embarrassed.
Robert Stevens roared with laughter.
“Holy shit!” Caleb exclaimed. “Then what?”
“Well he said something along the lines of: ‘Get the fuck off my girlfriend!’ and I was piss drunk so I yell back at him: ‘Gimme a minute preppy, I’m not quite finished yet!’”
Robert was rolling on the ground now tears pouring down his face. Caleb sat there with a mixture of delight and incredulity on his face.
“Well he jumps down into the pool and starts coming at me. So I untangle myself and step up and cool him right there in the pool. A couple of preppy girls came and fished him out. I went back over to that girl, Katie or Cassandra or some shit, and I finished up.”
Robert was wiping his eyes and between bouts of laughter he said: “He got up an’ cooled the little rich kid right there in his own pool. Ka pow! One big right, right up under preppy’s jaw. And then…” he started laughing again and it was a minute before he could continue. “And then… hahahaha, and then he just swims back over and finishes what he was doing!” Robert fell back on the ground with a fresh ripple of laughter and tears.
Caleb Lawndale stared at both of them in amazement. Darrell was laughing along with his friend now starting to feel his eyes water up.
“He must have been the big dog around there; probably captain of the soccer team or something, cuz as soon as you got out of the pool a whole shitload of his preppy buddies came at you.”
“Kid had like three sports cars of his own, probably had a yaught too.”
“Man you shoulda seen yourself standing there by the pool all wet, in just your shorts. Actually you weren’t standing, you were more like wavering.”
They sat there laughing on the hillside. “Fuck Windsport! Fucking rich kids, got everything handed to ‘em whenever they want it. ‘Can I have a car dad?’ ‘Can I have the beach house for the summer?’ ‘Can I have some money for beer?’ Fuck them!
“That was our night though, wasn’t it Darrell? Not theirs.”
“Yeah I suppose it was. It sure would be nice to get outta this shit town though wouldn’t it?”
“Yeah it would.” Caleb Lawndale said.
“I’d like to just leave. Drop everything and just start walking. Hitch a few rides to some place warm and sleep on a beach. Panhandle and do odd jobs for food.”
“Yeah, and for drugs too.” Caleb laughed.
“So you would just want to bum it?” Robert asked with disgust.
“Yeah I guess. Just get out there and live. Survive. Wake up in a different place every morning. See different faces every day. Just experience life.”
“You two are crazy.” He said. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah maybe your right.” Darrell Streeps said. He lay back down under the sun and fell asleep. Soon he was dreaming of an open road into the setting sun.































“Five to one baby,
One and five,
No one here gets
Out alive.”
-Jim Morrison

























IV


Darrell Streeps stumbled down the steps. The cold night air assaulted his skin. As he reached the bottom step the ground moved up through his spinning world to meet him. He emptied his stomach violently there in the grass. His stomach muscles convulsed painfully, heaving to rid his body of the poison he loved to fill it with.
After he was finished he crawled away from his mess and lay down, cling to the ground for dear life to keep from sliding off the tilting earth. He fell into blackness

***

Darrell awoke slumped against a wall. The room was abuzz with humanity. The walls hummed with the jumble of undistinguishable conversations. The house was crowded. Bodies bumped, drinks spilled, things broke. Everything was a sea of chaos.
Darrell’s hand fell on the half finished bottle at his side. He raised it to his lips feeling its stinging familiarity in his throat. He looked around the room from his spot on the floor. Drunken kids stumbled by him, stepping over and around him. Over in the corner a girl was crying, alone. By the table two burly hicks were taking turns trading punches. Several people lay, already passed out in various places, in puddles of vomit or beer. Or both. One boy sat on the couch, eyes staring, unseeing, mouth open.
He watched as a pretty girl slapped a drunken boyfriend and left the room in tears. He watched as guys half carried, half guided girls to bedrooms, or bathrooms. He watched as beers were chugged, stomachs were emptied, fights were fought.
He sat there watching and drinking. An outsider, observing silently. He watched the people from his town do their best to kill themselves. The people he had grown up with. They lived such meaningless, mundane existences here in this bullshit town. This was the only time they felt alive. When they were destroying themselves. He thought about the people who would probably never leave. They would spend the rest of their lives in this mundane shit hole. Working a shit job, living on tiny pleasures and beer.
“That ain’t gonna be me.” He muttered to himself, and proceeded to drink himself back to unconsciousness.

***

Robert Stevens stood in the kitchen sipping a beer. He looked at the boy he had been talking to, he forgot about what, football or something. He had a good buzz going and he was happy. He finished his beer and went to the fridge for another. Jessica would have to drive tonight.
He looked around and spotted her by the couch in the living room, talking to a group of her friends. She saw him and smiled a beautiful smile at him. He couldn’t wait to leave and crawl into bed with her. He’d check on Darrell and then they’d leave. He smiled back at her and left to search for Darrell.
He found him, slumped against a wall with a bottle in his hand. He was contemplating the bottle with the look of a man contemplating an open jawed lion. He watched a battle take place on his friend’s face. And then he lifted the bottle up, tipped his head back and emptied it, a dribble running down his jaw to his neck. He let the bottle drop. He rolled his head back and fell limply onto the floor with a thud.
He shot back up instantly, bleeding from a cut under his eye. He started to whimper. Robert Stevens rushed over to help his friend.
“Come on Darrell, you’ve had too much. It’s time to go.”
Darrell made an unintelligible groan and tried to lay back down on the floor.
“Come on Streeps, work with me.”
“I’m gettin’ outta here man. I’m getting out. I’m leaving Robby. I’m out man.”
“Yeah man lets get you outta here.”
Darrell didn’t think his friend understood. He passed out as he was carried to the car.


END OF PART I cont'd part II