| General Fiction posted April 9, 2022 |
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A good life has a Road of Dreams. A great life has many!
Which Road of Dreams?
by Reese Turner
He had only been to Massachusetts once. Back when he was a boy, his parents drove up from Texas to the 1964 World’s Fair and included the Bay State to see old friends from the Army… Now, he was riding with a woman he had met in New York. They both had left their homes and states to begin their careers in New York City.
Monroe loved Mass from the moment they entered. As she drove through her little town of Duxbury, just next door to Plymouth, he remarked to her, “You grew up on a “Currier and Ives” post card! This place is beautiful and quant and all that other neat stuff!”
Arriving at her childhood home, he was greeted by her mother who lived there alone. A warm and welcoming Commonwealth woman, Monroe would later refer to her as “a gentle lady who has never used an “R” – even in a moment of anger.”
Long walks through the Myles Standish Forest, along the pristine Duxbury beach, eating lobstah and clams (both fried and “steamahs”) along the waterfront at Plymouth Hahbah. He was captured by it all. A fourth generation Texan, his ancestors having moved to Texas from Alabama after what he called, “the war of Northern Aggression”, but here he was, captured, a prisoner of Massachusetts.
Oh, sure, he was also quite taken with Helen. But, for Boomers working on careers and enjoying life, their relationship back in NYC never got past second base. It just seemed to stay there inning after inning, metaphorically speaking. Eventually, he took a new job in New Jersey, so the relationship ended – not in anger, but in that New Yorker term “geographically undesirable” which becomes relevant when toll bridges and tunnels enter the equation.
Months passed. They dated others, but occasionally talked… which slowly went to seldom. Then, one day, she called and gave a friendly, “why don’t we get some wine and snacks and drive down to Cape May on Saturday? I’d just like to catch up.” Monroe was elated! “She actually called me? She reached out to me?”
But there was a snag to the day. As they sat on that blanket, gazing out at the sea, he said, ”Helen, I’ve been given a new position. I’m going home to Texas. They want me to cover six states down there for a product line they want to promote.”
That tough yankee gal had never shown much emotion, but she had a hint of tears in her eyes as she struggled out, “Well good for you! More money, I suppose, or is the big deal going home to Texas?”
“Sure, I suppose that is a big deal. But, after living in the Philippines during Nam and traveling with the Navy to Hong Kong, Taipei, Japan… and, now, these nearly three years in New York and Jersey, I’m not so tied to Texas like most Texans. Most think there is no other place, but I’ve seen lots of other places. I just want to make more money!”
They toasted. They hugged, but the ride to Morristown was quiet. She let him off and drove away…
Two weeks later, he was in the Houston area house hunting. He told friends, his parents and by phone call to Helen, “I’m so tired of living in apartments! I want a house with a yard like when I grew up! With the GI Bill, I get a low interest loan with easy approval so I’m shopping this week.” Helen wished him luck and asked, “Do you really enjoy mowing the yard and all that stuff?”
“Gladly! I’m twenty-eight. I am ready!”
Little did he realize he was ready for more than that! He found the house, bought the house, moved in, phone installed, immediately called Helen. He described the neighborhood. It had a community pool! He described his yard and the two little neighbor girls who came over to help him plant grass in the front. He described the interior “three bedrooms upstairs. Two baths up, half bath down. Great kitchen! The naïve fool had no idea why he was going into such details with Helen. He never imagined that deep down, not too deep, he was trying to sell her a new lifestyle. That never crossed his empty little man head. Helen was his buddy so he was certain she was really interested in all he was saying…
Weeks passed. Winter passed. Phone calls continued. Almost daily…
Late March, Monroe called Helen with an idea... “I’ve got to come up to Jersey for meetings. If you could pick me up at Newark on the fourth, we could go out to Cape May to celebrate your birthday, then drop me in Morristown Monday. Any chance?”
“Let me check my calendar. I’m pretty busy these days. Oh, wait, I do have that weekend open,’ laughed Helen. “Get me the flight details. I’ll pick you up. Same Beetle.”
She did. Their old favorite hang-out, Cape May was waiting with all the bars, restaurants, arts and crafts – perfect place for weekend lovers. But these weren’t lovers, they were buddies, right?
Checked into the hotel, baggage to the room, opened a bottle of wine to celebrate her birthday weekend. Toasted. Sipped. Kissed. Kissed. Kissed. Etc, etc, etc… And before they had finished that first glass of wine, he pleaded, “Will you marry me? I love you and I want to spend my life with you.”
“It’s about damn time”, said the tough yankee not known for being overly romantic.
Four months later, after a “partyfull” Duxbury wedding with family and friends, they loaded the Beetle, hit the road for Texas. Years later, she maintains that day truly began their trip on the “Road of Dreams”.
Monroe, however, still maintains their “Road of Dreams” actually began on their first trip. After all, he fell in love with Massachusetts first, on his first day there.
Their grown kids say, “it’s any road to those strange places they point that motorhome.”
Still dreaming…
Road of Dreams contest entry
He had only been to Massachusetts once. Back when he was a boy, his parents drove up from Texas to the 1964 World’s Fair and included the Bay State to see old friends from the Army… Now, he was riding with a woman he had met in New York. They both had left their homes and states to begin their careers in New York City.
Monroe loved Mass from the moment they entered. As she drove through her little town of Duxbury, just next door to Plymouth, he remarked to her, “You grew up on a “Currier and Ives” post card! This place is beautiful and quant and all that other neat stuff!”
Arriving at her childhood home, he was greeted by her mother who lived there alone. A warm and welcoming Commonwealth woman, Monroe would later refer to her as “a gentle lady who has never used an “R” – even in a moment of anger.”
Long walks through the Myles Standish Forest, along the pristine Duxbury beach, eating lobstah and clams (both fried and “steamahs”) along the waterfront at Plymouth Hahbah. He was captured by it all. A fourth generation Texan, his ancestors having moved to Texas from Alabama after what he called, “the war of Northern Aggression”, but here he was, captured, a prisoner of Massachusetts.
Oh, sure, he was also quite taken with Helen. But, for Boomers working on careers and enjoying life, their relationship back in NYC never got past second base. It just seemed to stay there inning after inning, metaphorically speaking. Eventually, he took a new job in New Jersey, so the relationship ended – not in anger, but in that New Yorker term “geographically undesirable” which becomes relevant when toll bridges and tunnels enter the equation.
Months passed. They dated others, but occasionally talked… which slowly went to seldom. Then, one day, she called and gave a friendly, “why don’t we get some wine and snacks and drive down to Cape May on Saturday? I’d just like to catch up.” Monroe was elated! “She actually called me? She reached out to me?”
But there was a snag to the day. As they sat on that blanket, gazing out at the sea, he said, ”Helen, I’ve been given a new position. I’m going home to Texas. They want me to cover six states down there for a product line they want to promote.”
That tough yankee gal had never shown much emotion, but she had a hint of tears in her eyes as she struggled out, “Well good for you! More money, I suppose, or is the big deal going home to Texas?”
“Sure, I suppose that is a big deal. But, after living in the Philippines during Nam and traveling with the Navy to Hong Kong, Taipei, Japan… and, now, these nearly three years in New York and Jersey, I’m not so tied to Texas like most Texans. Most think there is no other place, but I’ve seen lots of other places. I just want to make more money!”
They toasted. They hugged, but the ride to Morristown was quiet. She let him off and drove away…
Two weeks later, he was in the Houston area house hunting. He told friends, his parents and by phone call to Helen, “I’m so tired of living in apartments! I want a house with a yard like when I grew up! With the GI Bill, I get a low interest loan with easy approval so I’m shopping this week.” Helen wished him luck and asked, “Do you really enjoy mowing the yard and all that stuff?”
“Gladly! I’m twenty-eight. I am ready!”
Little did he realize he was ready for more than that! He found the house, bought the house, moved in, phone installed, immediately called Helen. He described the neighborhood. It had a community pool! He described his yard and the two little neighbor girls who came over to help him plant grass in the front. He described the interior “three bedrooms upstairs. Two baths up, half bath down. Great kitchen! The naïve fool had no idea why he was going into such details with Helen. He never imagined that deep down, not too deep, he was trying to sell her a new lifestyle. That never crossed his empty little man head. Helen was his buddy so he was certain she was really interested in all he was saying…
Weeks passed. Winter passed. Phone calls continued. Almost daily…
Late March, Monroe called Helen with an idea... “I’ve got to come up to Jersey for meetings. If you could pick me up at Newark on the fourth, we could go out to Cape May to celebrate your birthday, then drop me in Morristown Monday. Any chance?”
“Let me check my calendar. I’m pretty busy these days. Oh, wait, I do have that weekend open,’ laughed Helen. “Get me the flight details. I’ll pick you up. Same Beetle.”
She did. Their old favorite hang-out, Cape May was waiting with all the bars, restaurants, arts and crafts – perfect place for weekend lovers. But these weren’t lovers, they were buddies, right?
Checked into the hotel, baggage to the room, opened a bottle of wine to celebrate her birthday weekend. Toasted. Sipped. Kissed. Kissed. Kissed. Etc, etc, etc… And before they had finished that first glass of wine, he pleaded, “Will you marry me? I love you and I want to spend my life with you.”
“It’s about damn time”, said the tough yankee not known for being overly romantic.
Four months later, after a “partyfull” Duxbury wedding with family and friends, they loaded the Beetle, hit the road for Texas. Years later, she maintains that day truly began their trip on the “Road of Dreams”.
Monroe, however, still maintains their “Road of Dreams” actually began on their first trip. After all, he fell in love with Massachusetts first, on his first day there.
Their grown kids say, “it’s any road to those strange places they point that motorhome.”
Still dreaming…
Monroe loved Mass from the moment they entered. As she drove through her little town of Duxbury, just next door to Plymouth, he remarked to her, “You grew up on a “Currier and Ives” post card! This place is beautiful and quant and all that other neat stuff!”
Arriving at her childhood home, he was greeted by her mother who lived there alone. A warm and welcoming Commonwealth woman, Monroe would later refer to her as “a gentle lady who has never used an “R” – even in a moment of anger.”
Long walks through the Myles Standish Forest, along the pristine Duxbury beach, eating lobstah and clams (both fried and “steamahs”) along the waterfront at Plymouth Hahbah. He was captured by it all. A fourth generation Texan, his ancestors having moved to Texas from Alabama after what he called, “the war of Northern Aggression”, but here he was, captured, a prisoner of Massachusetts.
Oh, sure, he was also quite taken with Helen. But, for Boomers working on careers and enjoying life, their relationship back in NYC never got past second base. It just seemed to stay there inning after inning, metaphorically speaking. Eventually, he took a new job in New Jersey, so the relationship ended – not in anger, but in that New Yorker term “geographically undesirable” which becomes relevant when toll bridges and tunnels enter the equation.
Months passed. They dated others, but occasionally talked… which slowly went to seldom. Then, one day, she called and gave a friendly, “why don’t we get some wine and snacks and drive down to Cape May on Saturday? I’d just like to catch up.” Monroe was elated! “She actually called me? She reached out to me?”
But there was a snag to the day. As they sat on that blanket, gazing out at the sea, he said, ”Helen, I’ve been given a new position. I’m going home to Texas. They want me to cover six states down there for a product line they want to promote.”
That tough yankee gal had never shown much emotion, but she had a hint of tears in her eyes as she struggled out, “Well good for you! More money, I suppose, or is the big deal going home to Texas?”
“Sure, I suppose that is a big deal. But, after living in the Philippines during Nam and traveling with the Navy to Hong Kong, Taipei, Japan… and, now, these nearly three years in New York and Jersey, I’m not so tied to Texas like most Texans. Most think there is no other place, but I’ve seen lots of other places. I just want to make more money!”
They toasted. They hugged, but the ride to Morristown was quiet. She let him off and drove away…
Two weeks later, he was in the Houston area house hunting. He told friends, his parents and by phone call to Helen, “I’m so tired of living in apartments! I want a house with a yard like when I grew up! With the GI Bill, I get a low interest loan with easy approval so I’m shopping this week.” Helen wished him luck and asked, “Do you really enjoy mowing the yard and all that stuff?”
“Gladly! I’m twenty-eight. I am ready!”
Little did he realize he was ready for more than that! He found the house, bought the house, moved in, phone installed, immediately called Helen. He described the neighborhood. It had a community pool! He described his yard and the two little neighbor girls who came over to help him plant grass in the front. He described the interior “three bedrooms upstairs. Two baths up, half bath down. Great kitchen! The naïve fool had no idea why he was going into such details with Helen. He never imagined that deep down, not too deep, he was trying to sell her a new lifestyle. That never crossed his empty little man head. Helen was his buddy so he was certain she was really interested in all he was saying…
Weeks passed. Winter passed. Phone calls continued. Almost daily…
Late March, Monroe called Helen with an idea... “I’ve got to come up to Jersey for meetings. If you could pick me up at Newark on the fourth, we could go out to Cape May to celebrate your birthday, then drop me in Morristown Monday. Any chance?”
“Let me check my calendar. I’m pretty busy these days. Oh, wait, I do have that weekend open,’ laughed Helen. “Get me the flight details. I’ll pick you up. Same Beetle.”
She did. Their old favorite hang-out, Cape May was waiting with all the bars, restaurants, arts and crafts – perfect place for weekend lovers. But these weren’t lovers, they were buddies, right?
Checked into the hotel, baggage to the room, opened a bottle of wine to celebrate her birthday weekend. Toasted. Sipped. Kissed. Kissed. Kissed. Etc, etc, etc… And before they had finished that first glass of wine, he pleaded, “Will you marry me? I love you and I want to spend my life with you.”
“It’s about damn time”, said the tough yankee not known for being overly romantic.
Four months later, after a “partyfull” Duxbury wedding with family and friends, they loaded the Beetle, hit the road for Texas. Years later, she maintains that day truly began their trip on the “Road of Dreams”.
Monroe, however, still maintains their “Road of Dreams” actually began on their first trip. After all, he fell in love with Massachusetts first, on his first day there.
Their grown kids say, “it’s any road to those strange places they point that motorhome.”
Still dreaming…
(My Word program said exactly 1000 words while yours says 1003.) We who wander indeed do have MANY roads of dreams so this is not my life, but it is very similar. We start dreaming when we see something on TV or in a magazine which tells us that we need to go there. Then mapquest gives us alternative routes and we explore what to see on the way and back. It becomes addictive to the point that our house is for sale and we will load our motorhome for a life on the road until we tire of it. Our children think we are crazy, but they are laying their own roads toward their own dreams. May they explore many!
Pays
one point
and 2 member cents. Artwork by Amaresh Ch Barik at FanArtReview.com
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