1992 (Part Two)

The next two weeks went by uneventfully as they prepared for the big move. Frank offered to pay for the plane tickets, which was one less thing they'd have to spend what savings they had on. On their final evening together approached , he started feeling his nerves returning. Something deep, deep down in the pit of his stomach was telling him that the whole thing would end horribly.

He promised he'd never return, but there he was. That little voice that he could never get rid of told him that he'd never leave once he got there. He tried to shake the feeling as they drove to the airport, but it kept nagging him.

When they'd finally reached the airport and made their way to the drop-off point, the little voice had become louder and louder, and he was having trouble keeping it under control. He walked to the gate with Ruby; a blank stare on his face. His body moved almost mechanically as his mind wandered. They reached the gate and he turned to her to say his goodbyes, but she was already breaking down in tears as she was handing over PJ.

"I don't know if I can do this," she sobbed. "It's just too long."

He wrapped her in loose hug with the baby between them.

"Don't worry," he whispered into her ear. "Everything is going to be okay. I'll call you everyday and it'll all be over before you even know it."

She continued to sob, becoming more hysterical by the second.

"What if the plane goes down? What if you or PJ get hurt there? If something happens to you I'll have no way to know. This was a terrible idea! Let's just go home and..."

"Relax, baby," he said. "Everything is going to be fine. I wrote down my parents' number on the fridge; Mike's too. Nothing is going to happen."

She continued to cry as the boarding announcement came. He put his hand under her chin, raising her eyes to meet his.

"Toughen up, soldier. You'll be home soon," he said, laying on a sweet tone. He reached down and gave her a small kiss on the forehead as he took the baby from her. She was still sniffling, but the sobbing had stopped at least. They shared one last embrace, and he and the baby boarded the plane.

His father surprised him again with business class seats, so they could spend the six-hour flight in comfort. He was no stranger to long flights, with the worst being the 14 hours it took to get to Seoul. This would be the PJ's first time on a plane though, and he'd heard that baby's could be notoriously fussy once the cabin pressure started to change.

Thankfully, the flight was uneventful. The baby only woke up a handful of times on the entire flight, and only cried once. He hoped it was a sign of good luck to come. He felt like he should have tried to sleep himself, but he could never get more than a few minutes of rest on planes; something about the constant whirring sound or trying to sleep sitting upright. The only thing he could do was try and keep the voice down.

It kept telling him that he was always one step closer to failure, danger and throwing away everything he'd worked so hard for since he'd left. It quieted a bit after he got a few drinks in him, and it was virtually non-existent by the time they changed planes in Seattle. From there it was only about an hour to Helena, where Frank would be waiting for them.

As they approached, he saw the sun rising over the Rockies for the first time in years, and it replaced that horrible dread that had been building up with something different. Peace? Happiness? Paul didn't know, but he thought he may have liked it.

The captain's voice coming over the intercom cut off his train of thought.

"We are now commencing our descent into Helena, the local time is 5:43 AM and the temperature…" the voice faded into the background as it all fell into place for him. Like it or not, Montana was his home, and had been for twenty years. Even if he hated the people, he never hated the place itself.

Once they touched down, Paul carefully grabbed PJ and their bags and headed for the door. Paul was starting to realize just how lucky he'd been to not have a baby that liked to scream for hours on end. The little guy was just happy to be there.

They met Frank at the baggage claim and shared a quick hug. He took the baby and Pual grabbed the rest of the bags. Unfortunately, when they reached the truck, Paul remembered that he'd left the car seat in the car back in Oklahoma. Thankfully, one of his parents -his mother most likely- knew he'd cock that up, and already had one waiting in the truck for him.

They got the baby strapped in, grabbed a quick cup of coffee at the gas station, and hit the road for the nearly four hour drive home. By the time they were fully on the road, the sun had fully risen. He and Frank made some awkward small talk at first. Most of it was about Ruby or the things he got up to in the Army.

Once that was over, the rest of the ride was mostly silent. He'd spent two years in the desolate plains of Lawton, and was enjoying being among the pine trees and mountains again. As they drove, his mood went from dread to acceptance before finally moving on to curiosity. He had the words "Only Temporary" branded so deeply in his mind that he could almost feel like an outsider. He was just another tourist passing through, taking in the quaint little mountain town.

With that mindset firmly in place, he started wondering if anything had actually changed since he'd left. Maybe things had actually gotten better. Missoula was an actual city, at least by Montana standards, and it was always expanding. Maybe now the borders had grown close enough that people would start flocking to the town as an escape from city life.

The ski resort was already a big draw during the winter months. He remembered some TV show doing a special on the town when he was in High School. They called it "The New Aspen." He always thought it was a good joke, but maybe they'd end up being right in the end.

Of course, once the snow was gone, everyone went back to where they came from. The town returned to a little place in the middle of nowhere, and the economy went back into the gutter for the next six months. If things actually had picked up, he probably would have heard about it from one of his parents.

The more probable truth was the opposite, just as he'd predicted when he'd left. Everyone who could've gotten out did, and the rest were the ones who couldn't make anything better of themselves. He wondered if there'd be so few people left that whatever jobs that still remained would already be taken. It was another reason that they wouldn't be staying long.

As he was thinking, his father interrupted him.

"Did you think about my offer at all?"

He looked out of the passenger window at the passing trees.

"I did, and I'm not sure about what I'm going to do. I don't think we're going to be here for long. I talked to Ruby about going to law school, and I think she'll go for it."

Frank nodded slowly.

"So," he started, "Why did you come back here then?"

A good question with a not-so-good answer.

"Well," he thought about what he was going to say. "I'm not really sure. I mean, there was nothing for us in Oklahoma, and even less in Texas. You should have seen that place where she grew up. You couldn't imagine the filth those people live in. Anyway, all I knew was that we had to get away. We didn't have enough money to start from scratch anywhere, so this was pretty much the only place left."

His father nodded again.

"I see. Ruby still has nine months left though, so what are you going to do until then?"

"No idea. I have enough money in savings to last for at least a year or so. I was kind of thinking it would be more like a vacation, and it would give you and mom a chance to spend some time with PJ before we move on."

"Well I'm sure Mom will be happy to hear that. I think that you should probably have a more solid plan than that. You're more than welcome to stay with us, of course, especially if it's just part time. What happens if you don't end up going to law school, though? How long exactly will that money last then?"

Paul furrowed his brow. He was so sure that he'd be able to convince her to reenlist that he hadn't considered anything else. There was a chance she wouldn't go along with the plan, but he figured the more confidence he had, the more likely he was to succeed. He worked best under pressure, and not giving himself any other way out.

"I guess I haven't put too much thought into it," he said, honestly. "I'm sure there'll be something to do around town to support us until we have enough money for whatever comes next."

Frank looked over at him.

"So, if it's going to be somewhere around town anyway, and it's just temporary, why don't you…"

"I don't want to talk about this again, dad."

"Why not? I can get you a gig above ground if that's what you're worried about. It's not dangerous at all, or at least not any more dangerous than most other jobs. The pay is decent, and you can save a lot by the time you're wife gets here. It's the sensible thing to do, son."

When Frank put it like that, there really wasn't much of a solid argument that he could make anymore, at least not one that would make sense to Frank. He just didn't want to get trapped, that was all. Maybe it would work as a temporary job, but if worse came to worse and law school didn't happen, what would his options be then? The cycle would start over again, and he wouldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let them starve, either, and for all he knew, the mine might actually be the only stable work left in the valley.

"Maybe you're right, dad," he finally said. "Just give me some time to think on it, and get used to being back home. I'll let you know when I'm ready."

That must have been good enough, because all Frank did was give him a nod and let the silence fall over them again until they reached Mountain West. He spotted the sign he'd last seen on his way out of town.

Welcome to Mountain West. Population: 3,100

The sign gave him the answers he was looking for. The last time he saw the sign it was 5,400. It was quite a loss for only a few years. As they drove through town, he could see the little things that changed. It was a bit smaller, and a few more of the old stores he'd seen as a kid were boarded up. He wondered if it would end up like Hillyard some day.

He shuddered, trying to find a familiar place. He spotted The Broken Wheel, a bar and restaurant that his parents spent most of their time when he was a kid. The place had solid food, unless you counted the rocky mountain oysters; a nice name for battered and fried bull testicles. They were a local delicacy. Paul had them once when he was a kid. He actually liked them until he found out what they were. Eating them didn't sit right with him after that. They also made a mean chicken-fried steak. He was looking forward to eating there again.

The gas station downtown was gone, but he saw another one just up the road where he remembered some houses being. It was right across the street from a large building that was built next to the old school. As they got closer, he saw that it was a car dealership. Daly Motors was written in large purple font, surrounded by a white border that was stylized like a license plate, on a billboard just next to the freeway on the other side of the dealership.

It was the only place he'd seen in town that actually had something going on. The lot was large, and there were customers walking along the rows of cars. It stuck out in a sharp contrast to the desolate landscape that surrounded it.

"When did that place get here?"

Frank looked over at the dealership, then back to the road.

"About eight months ago. This town is lucky to have Tom Daly. He came out here from Missoula, I think. I'm planning on buying a new truck from them next year. They've got a good deal on Rams, and I think it's about time I spent a little money on myself. Not that I don't mind this old gal, I've had her since…"

Frank's voice faded away. Paul couldn't take his eyes off the dealership, and the gears in his head started spinning. Maybe this place could be the answer to all of his problems. It was doing well, and car salesmen could make good money. It would be a great way to develop some of the skills he'd need as a lawyer. Who negotiated more on a day-to-day basis than car salesmen? He was almost perfect for the job.

That was only if the place managed to last. It looked good then, sure, but all of the other businesses in town surely thought the same before they inevitably bit the dust. Only the established businesses were guaranteed to last; small town mom-and-pop's that passed everything on to their kids for generations. Everything else was usually just a flash in the pan. Most of these people couldn't afford to be liberal with their money, and many were just conservative in nature. Why wouldn't they be? Maintaining the status quo is how all of the little towns that dotted the Inland Northwest survived. Why fix what isn't broken?

But that was all before the mines shut down. Maybe it wasn't broken yet, but it was certainly breaking. Soon, they'd be just another Bannack or Tombstone; a history museum in the making. If they didn't adapt, they'd die, but that wasn't Paul's problem. He only needed to focus on getting what he could and getting the hell out of Dodge. It could be his own personal gold rush.

After they passed the dealership, they took the side road up to Cameron Avenue. When he caught sight of the little brown house on the corner, a dam broke in his mind, and the memories came flooding back.

The little brown house on 1108 Cameron Avenue held a strange place in his heart. On one had, he resented all the time he'd been stuck there with his parents, wishing for a better life. On the other hand, it was the only place he'd ever really felt safe. They'd moved there when he was five, and ever since that happened, he used his little bedroom to block out the horrors around him, either listening to music or reading one of his books until he felt like he could face the outside world.

They pulled up to the driveway, and he got a better look at the place he'd loved and hated so much for so long. It was starting to show its age, which wasn't surprising for how long they'd left it dormant before they came back they year before. He could tell his mother was already getting repairs going. She'd been dedicated to keeping her home beautiful, inside and out, for as long as he could remember.

Every year, she would spend the summer planting flowers and painting all of their lawn furniture. Every other year, she would paint the entire house too, inside and out. He and Janice were often drafted into working on it when they were young, and he was certain that he'd be out there working on it again before the summer was over.

Maybe it would give him some time to patch things up a bit with his mother. They used to actually have some good conversations then, especially when they were gardening. Doing things like that relaxed her, and the drama dial went down to a low three when things were going well.

When Frank put the truck in park, the shaking woke PJ. He was wide-eyed, and surprisingly calm after the ordeal of moving halfway across the country. He stepped out of the truck and stretched. He grabbed PJ and Frank grabbed the backs. Staring at the front door made it all fall into place. He was home.

He'd left there not much more than a boy; full of enthusiasm and ready to take on the world. Now he was jaded, anxious and just trying to survive for himself and his family It seemed almost fitting in a weird way. He learned what the world was really like the hard way. He was naïve and stupid then, but that Paul was gone.

He walked straight into an episode of The Twilight Zone. The place was a time capsule to his childhood, but everything was just slightly off. The furniture had moved, and their old TV replaced with a larger one, but everything else was the same, down to the smell of his mother cooking breakfast in the kitchen. She heard them come in, and came running up to greet them, wrapping Paul in an earnest hug.

"It's so good to see you two!" she said, tearing up. "I know the way we left things wasn't great, and I felt just awful on the flight home. I'm just happy you're here now."

She looked down at PJ and pulled him from Paul's hands.

"And I'm so glad to see you, little man!" she said, planting a kiss on PJ's forehead. She took the baby to the couch.

Frank put the bags down.

"I'm gonna make some huckleberry pancakes, just like in the old days. Up to eating some?"

Frank's huckleberry pancakes were the stuff of legend among the Schimon family. They used to pick them together in the spring, then they'd freeze them to use throughout the rest of the year. Frank's secret ingredient was beer in the batter, and they really were out of this world.

"Sounds like a great plan," he answered. "I'm starving. Do you want some help?"

"I think I can manage it just fine. Why don't you go and catch up with mom. I'm sure you two are long overdue for a good talk."

He shuddered internally. Frank was right, but Paul didn't wasn't sure if it would be good or even a talk at all. His mom could keep up appearances, and she probably was happy to see him, but he'd give it at least a fifty-fifty shot that a shouting match would break out.

He resigned himself to his fate and took a seat next to her on the couch. She was peek-a-boo with PJ, smiling from ear to ear. In fact, it might have been the happiest he'd ever seen her. There was something a little bittersweet about it. He wondered if she ever looked at him like that when he was a baby, and where those looks went as he got older.

"You've got a beautiful son," she said, without taking her eyes off PJ. "You should be proud."

He nodded.

"I am proud. He's a great little boy."

He paused for a few seconds.

"Listen, Mom," he started again.

She interrupted him with a few tsks. No one was getting either the first or last word from her.

"I know, Paulie. I don't want to get into all of that right now. It's only going to make me upset. I suppose you had a good enough reason for wanting to get out of here. Maybe we weren't the best parents in the world. But that's no excuse for five years of silence."

Not bad; probably the best he'd get. Maybe she just didn't want to upset the baby. She certainly loved the little guy; maybe he'd work as Paul's own personal extinguisher if things ever got too heated.

"You're right, mom. I don't know what else to say but sorry. I know I can't take back the time, but we're here now, if nothing else."

She didn't say anything for awhile, she just kept staring at PJ.

"I guess that is what matters most," she finally responded. "I'm not saying I forgive you; don't get me wrong. I'm saying that, at least for now, we don't have a problem. I expect that you know, though, that once everything is settled, we're going to have to go through all this."

A bullet dodged, at least for now.

"Sounds good. I'm sure we'll get there soon. For now, let's just relax and catch up over some pancakes. What do you say?"

She agreed, and a few minutes later they were sitting around the dining room table. The pancakes were even better than Paul remembered; his father must have honed his skills even sharper over the last five years. They ate in a mostly awkward-free silence, with Lynn occasionally uttering baby talk at PJ. Once it was all over, he took a quick shower and started making plans for his first day back. He needed to get cigarettes, and wanted to take a better look around town to scout out potential jobs. Thankfully, his parents were more than happy to watch PJ for awhile.

It was early enough on a weekday, so people probably wouldn't be out and about in full force yet. Despite that, his worries about being noticed faded soon after he left the house. He realized that there would be no way he could hide for nine months, unless he never left the house. Besides, maybe he'd run into someone that he actually wanted to see. Then, he realized that he may actually have an advantage by being back. Small town America nearly idolized soldiers, no matter what they actually did in the service. Not that what he did mattered, anyway. Most of the people there had never left the state, let alone been to Korea or Honduras. He could tell them whatever he wanted, and they'd eat it up.

He was actually starting to like the thought of being the interesting guy for once. At worst, he could just tell people that he was visiting while he was waiting for his wife to finish her contract. No one had to know the truth, and that was wonderful. It was something he'd have to keep in his back pocket for later.

He tried to find his way back to the new gas station, which wasn't too difficult. For all that had changed, the space itself was essentially the same. Mountain West only occupied three freeway exits, and a person would have to be stuck in a blizzard to actually get lost.

The clerk in the place was actually someone who he had recognized from school, but couldn't put a name to his face. He must not have been able to do the same for Paul either, because he didn't show any indication that he had recognized him. Paul bought his pack and a lighter and went back out into the ever warming summer air. He wasn't ready to go home quite yet. He loved PJ with everything in him, but after a full day of dealing with a baby, fussy or no, he was ready for a bit of a break.

He started walking down the street away from the gas station. Cars were starting to come around, as the rest of the morning chill went away. The climate that he'd grown with seemed different to him after so much time away. What he used to call hot was now warm at best, and the air was so dry that it was starting to make his skin itch. Despite being late August, he felt like he should almost be wearing a light coat or something.

He decided to walk in the direction of the ski resort to see if he could ride the gondola up to the top of Oak Mountain. They were still working on it when he left, but they wrapped it up in '89, and it was now the longest gondola in the world. As he walked down Main toward the resort, he spotted the dealership he'd seen before.

Even though it had maybe been an hour and a half since he'd seen it before, the people swarming around the place seemed to have doubled. There was something in him, coming from a place that he couldn't pin down, that drew him to the building. He tossed away his cigarette and started walking through the lots, idly gazing at the vehicles as he wove between them.

They sold a lot of different brands, which seemed odd for a dealership, especially one in such a small place. After his first walk around the lot, he counted seven makes: Dodge, Chyrsler, Plymouth, Buick, GM, Chevrolet and Jeep. He didn't know that much about cars, but he did know that he'd never seen a dealership that sold competing brands before. How could the place possibly have the customer base to support all of it? He had to know more.

He took a step into the main showroom and looked around. There were maybe a dozen salesmen inside, and each one was talking with a customer. One of them approached him. He was a little overweight; probably a beer belly, and, despite looking to be about the same age as Paul, he sported the early signs of a bald spot receding hairline. This made his odd, dirty-blonde hair look a little misshapen around the slightly brown roots that still clung to the balding spot.

"How can I help you today, friend?" the man asked in an almost booming voice.

Paul didn't respond at first. He was still taking everything in.

"I was just curious," he started. "How do you guys manage to do so well here?"

The man smiled.

"You from out of town?"

"Yes and no. I grew up here and just got back from the Army."

The man shook Paul's hand firmly.

"Thank you for your service. We all appreciate it."

Paul shook his hand and continued, making a mental note about how well the Army thing had already worked.

"I've never seen anything like this before. I thought this town was dead when the mines went, but here you all are, making it work."

The man laughed heartily.

"I like that. We are certainly making it work here and then some. Tell you what, walk with me for a bit and I'll tell you all about it. I've gotta take a car to get prepped for delivery later today."

Paul agreed, and as they started to walk, the man started to fill him in on everything. His name was Weston - Wes to his friends- and he was the son of the owner, Richard Daly. Richard started the dealership in Missoula in the 60s. Why he decided to move it to Mountain West, Wes didn't know, but he figured it had something to do with either money or skiing.

Richard's family, which included Wes, his oldest son Kyle, his daughter Mary, and his middle son, Matt, moved over with him to help with the business. The youngest sibling, Jason, was off in California, studying Business at USC. He was also planning to come back and work as a manager when he graduated.

As to how the family business had done so well, Wes had a few ideas. Richard grew up in Detroit, and had a lot of connections in both GM and Chrysler. He managed to work out a special deal with both companies to sell their vehicles at below the invoice price. Paul didn't really know what that meant, or how it Daly Motors was making money by losing it, but he let Wes continue without interrupting.

"It's not as complex as you'd think, and, to be honest, I'm not really supposed to be talking about it."

Paul gave him a quizzical look, and Wes chuckled.

"It's not illegal, at least not as far as I know, it's just a company secret, and it's what makes us who we are. A lot of people don't know it, but that price you see on the sticker can sometimes be thousands of dollars less than the invoice price. We offer them deals better than they can get anywhere else, and the usually still doesn't eat my bottom line. In fact, whatever I keep back from the deal I get a big percentage of."

"How much is that?"

Wes thought about it. "It depends. Small cars might only have a $500 difference between invoice and MSRP, which is the price you see on the sticker. Some of the more expensive stuff, especially the pick-up trucks, could have as much as five thousand on a fully-loaded model. Even if we end up losing money on the car, we sell so many for Chyrsler and GM that they give us big kickbacks every year."

Paul mulled it all over.

"You've got a pretty sweet deal going on here."

"You don't know the half of it, pal. The only reason we aren't one of the biggest in the world is zoning restrictions."

"Zoning restrictions?" Paul asked.

"Yeah, a couple of years ago, these dealers started fighting back against traveling dealerships taking money from locals. Now, when you register your dealership with the manufacturers, you're given an area that you can sell out of. We got Montana, Wyoming and Idaho a few years ago, and just got rights to Eastern Washington last month."

They kept up with Wes's prep for the next twenty minutes or so, talking along the way. Paul shared some stories about growing up in town; trying his best to gloss over a lot of the negatives. They also spent some time talking about cars. Paul started remembering little snippets that his father had tried to teach him when he was growing up. Most of it didn't stick even back then, but a surprising amount did. They got along really well. Wes was a friendly guy, and seemed genuine. That could all be a part of the act, of course. Paul wanted to find out.

"I gotta break it to you, Wes," he started with a chuckle. "I don't have any money to buy a car now, and I probably won't any time soon."

Wes's smile didn't fade a bit.

"Well, Paul, one of the things that I didn't mention before is that we have a world-class finance department. I've been working with these guys for the better part of eight years, and I don't think I've seen more than ten loans declined in all that time. The ones that did were deadbeats who knew they never had a shot. I don't know much about you yet, Paul, but I know you're not a deadbeat."

He had to admit, Wes was pretty good at this. The man made him feel like a genuine friend in under an hour, and was just now getting to a sale. Well, he was probably always getting to a sale, why else would he so freely divulge how they have better deals than anywhere else in the country? He didn't seem like the type to brag. It was time for the big question.

"Let me ask you something, Wes.".

"Go for it."

"Let's say I do buy from you today. Let's say I buy a decently priced car, nothing too basic or nothing too fancy. You give me the dealer discounts that you were talking about earlier, and I drive out of here today. What exactly do you make off of that, honestly?"

Wes took a second to respond. He wasn't expecting that.

"Well," he started, still thinking. "Depending on the model, the deals that the manufacturer already offers, and how many we have in stock, I'll probably get between three and five hundred bucks."

Paul was taken aback.

"For one car?"

Wes nodded.

"Seriously?"

Another nod.

"How many cars do you sell every month?"

Wes counted on his fingers. "

Well, we are still getting set up out here, so it is a little slower than it should be, but last month I sold 11. A few months before, I sold 16. Our deals are good enough that people come by from all of the Northwest when they hear about us. The cars basically sell themselves if you've got a little bit of style and product knowledge."

Eleven cars in one month? That would be thousands of dollars, even if he only sold cheap cars. It blew his mind. Maybe it wasn't the best paycheck in the world, but it was certainly a good start. In fact, it might be good enough to support the family to get out of the area faster than he thought.

A smile crossed his face as the idea spread.

"Sounds like you've got a pretty good spot here, Wes," Paul said, "I'll make you a deal. I get a chance to talk to my wife once a week, and I'll let her know about our options here. Either way, whether it's now or later, I'll make sure we buy a car from you. How does that sound?"

"That sounds wonderful, Paul. I'll hold you to it."

They shook on it, and went their separate ways. Paul lit a fresh cigarette as he walked off the lot, going back to his original plan of heading up the gondola. When he finally reached the top, he was truly amazed by what he saw. He always knew that Mountain West was small, but, from the peak, it looked like a pimple on the face of the endless horizons of mountains. He he could spot Missoula off in the distance. Mountain West was slowly making its way toward it, like a plant desperate for the sun, reaching out its tendrils for warmth. Maybe, some day, the two would meet. He doubted it would in his lifetime, but stranger things had happened.

After the ride back down, he went back home for lunch with his parents. He opted to get set up at the Big Chief Inn of of 3rd street, but his parents wouldn't have it. Their home was once again his home, even if it was only temporary. He slept in his own bedroom that night. They bed was still there, but everything else was gone. He thought all the way back to those lonely nights in his room as a teen, blasting The Doors and shutting out the world.

His mind wandered, with little things connecting, free-form, as they passed through. He thought about music, and another band he always used to listen to: Rush. He always loved Rush, and not just for the music. It was complex and sounded awesome, but he wasn't a musician, so what difference did that really make?

What spoke to him about Rush were the lyrics; carefully crafted by the band's drummer, Neal Peart. The man may have gone overboard from time to time with the epic, side-long tracks about the difference between the heart and the mind or the individual versus the masses, but he still had great insights. The insight that Paul couldn't get out of his mind, though being from one of his songs, probably hadn't come from Peart himself.

"Plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose. The more that things change, the more they stay the same."

The rest of the summer passed so quickly that he didn't even think about working. He stayed mostly out of sight; spending his days fixing the house up with his mother. They even finally had their talk when they'd finished re-sodding backyard. It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, and Lynn managed to make it through it without a single tear shed. He talked to Ruby when he could, and while she wasn't always happy, it seemed things weren't all that bad in Oklahoma. Everything was going scores better than he had even planned, despite still being unemployed.

By the time Halloween came, Mike had come back from the oil fields in North Dakota. It was tough work, but he ended up making quite a bit of money for himself out there, especially for a seasonal job.

Around the time Halloween was coming around, Mike was coming back from working in the oil fields in North Dakota. It was tough but he had managed to actually make quite a bit of money for only a seasonal job.

Mike's mom told Paul's parents that he was back, and a few days later, they met up at The Broken Wheel for a drink. Mike had definitely grown rugged with age. He had a long and scraggly beard. He was wearing a worn flannel coat, and jeans with both knees missing. They broke the awkward silence the only way they knew how.

"What happened to the fat kid?" Mike asked.

"Died in Fort Jackson. What happened to pretty boy?"

They shared a genuine laugh, and things went almost right back to normal.

"How's life in the fields?"

Mike shrugged. "It's hard work, but the pay is good, and sometimes just being out there alone in the silence is nice. I don't really know how to explain it. It's just peaceful, I guess. You can really be at one with nature out there. It's something I've always wanted."

Paul cocked his head to the side. "One with nature, eh? While you're sucking the oil right out of the ground?"

They both laughed.

"I guess it is a little hypocritical, but we can all be a little hypocritical sometimes, right?"

Paul agreed, and got up to get the first round.

Three pitchers of beer, two games of pool, and two hours later, Mike and Paul stumbled outside into the cutting autumn air.

"I've got a couple of joints in the car," Mike slurred. "Want to go for a walk before we go our separate ways?"

Paul perked up.

"Absolutely. I haven't smoked once since I've been back."

"How are the trees out there, anyway?"

Paul scoffed.

"Bushes at best, dirt at worst."

After he'd finished saying that, Paul noticed his breath in the air. It was the first time he'd seen it in so long, he forgot cold places did that. Now he was really home.

Mike sparked the joint and passed it to Paul as they walked away from the bar to the backroad by the edge of the woods.

"This is some good shit," Paul remarked after he let out a big puff. You get this in town?"

"Hell no. Those good old Dakota boys out in the planes know how to grow it well though, right?"

Mike took another hit.

"That's not all I brought back with me. I was going to save them for a special occasion, but I think now might be as good of a time as ever."

He reached into his front pocket, pulled out a small, tightly wrapped bag, and handed it to Paul. They were mushrooms, and not just the kind that went on pizza. They'd done them together in school a few times, and he almost always had a good trip. Well, there was that one time when things got...weird, but that was an exception to the rule.

Usually Paul would be up for anything, but he wasn't exactly a kid anymore.

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea," he said, studying the bag. "My mom's got PJ for the night, but I told her I'd be back at some point, and there's no way that's happening if we go down this road."

"Aw come on, man." Mike exclaimed, with a small punch to Paul's shoulder. "It's been five years since we've seen each other. Just go with the flow like we used to. It'll be good for you."

Paul thought on it. It had been too long since he really had a chance to let loose, and there was so much stress coming from the baby, Ruby and trying to find a job. Maybe Mike was right. Maybe it was time to live a little.

He smirked.

"All right, asshole. Just give me a chance to call my parents first before we do this."

Mike chuckled.

"I guess some things don't change, do they?"

Paul just shook his head and threw the roach on the ground. He went inside and used the payphone to call his parent's house. Frank answered, and, without asking questions, assured him that he'd be fine with the night off.

He hung up with a thanks, and they made their way to Mike's old '71 Ford, The Yellowjacket. It had certainly seen better days, but Mike assured him that it was just as reliable as ever. They went back to the little hunting cabin that Mike inherited from his dad when he died. It was working as a nice little home while he got a house of his own. The old man was a drunk, mean bastard, but at least he left him with something. Now that he thought of it, if it wasn't for the old man being such a bastard, he and Mike may have never become friends to begin with. They bonded over trying to get away from their families.

The place wasn't too far off the beaten path, and they made their way there in The Yellowjacket without issue. The cabin was mostly empty, except for a small couch and TV in the center of the living room with a stereo next to it. On the other side of the large room was a single bed, and that was it. Mike only spent a few months out of the year there, and didn't have time to get much ready.

"Home, sweet home," Mike said as he lit a cigarette. He went over to the little fridge and brought back two beers. "You ready to do this?"

He wasn't, but it didn't matter.

"No better time than the present," he answered, as he opened the beer.

They split the bag up and each ate half. Mike went over to the stereo and put some music on. It was something that Paul hadn't ever really heard before. It was sort of like Punk, but darker and heavier. The singer had this strange, almost nasally delivery, but it was magnetic. It was almost like the guy managed to distill brooding and angst into a musical cocktail. He loved it right away.

"Who is this?" he asked, taking a swig from the beer to kill the rest of the dirt taste in his mouth.

"What do you mean?" Mike asked.

"I mean who are we listening to? Was that not clear?"

Mike laughed.

"Seriously? It's Nirvana. They've been the biggest band in the country for like two years, dude. They're from Seattle, and part of a whole scene. Or maybe they made the scene? I don't really know, but it's huge. How have you not heard this song?"

Mike turned the music up and continued, yelling over it.

"My buddy introduced me to them last year. Fucking crazy energy these guys have. They were jumping all over the place and kicking around on the ground, shit like that, it was wild. I don't really remember much more other than that. I was pretty fucked up that night. They got a new album out, I think. It just came out a few weeks ago. I bet it'll be just as huge as this one."

They sat back on the couch together, waiting for the mushrooms to kick in, sharing another joint, and vibing to the music. A new song started, and Paul could feel things starting to shift around him.

It started with a neat little guitar riff. It was simple, but effective. Then, the guy whose name he'd since learned was Kurt, started to sing.

"I'm so happy, because today I've found my friends. They're in my head."

The walls of the cabin started to breathe, and Kurt's voice resonated in Paul's ears. A sense of calm passed over him like he hadn't felt in years.

"I'm so ugly, but that's okay, 'cause so are you. We broke our mirrors."

He could feel something underneath his feet starting to shift, and he didn't like it. Kurt kept singing, and every word cut deep into his soul. The guy must have been so desperate, and so sad all the time. Paul could relate.

Oh, no. He could relate! He didn't want to relate! Not now. He could relate to the sadness, and that little voice in his head that told him that nothing was ever good enough. The world started churning like the awful rising tide around him. He tried to push it back, but he was drawn back to the song.

The chorus came with a fury, and the tonal shift from soft, under-spoken sadness, to burning rage, hit him like an earthquake. As the distortion from the wailing guitars blasted around him, he felt, for the first time since he could remember, truly alone. He had others, maybe, out there somewhere, but he was alone. He was all alone with himself. How does someone get away from that?

Another line from the song cut through the dark. He hadn't even realized the song was still playing. In fact, he could have sworn he'd been sitting in that spot for hours.

"I'm so lonely, but that's okay. I shaved my head, and I'm not sad. And just maybe, I'm to blame…"

I'm to blame

I'm to blame

"I'm to blame," he whispered aloud.

He stood up so quickly that he got a rush to his head and almost fell over. The room was getting smaller, and he had to get out.

"I gotta step outside," he said, or at least he thought he said. Mike didn't look up at him, so he had no real way of knowing. They were both off in their old little worlds. He felt around his pockets, looking for his smokes, but came up empty. He tried again, and again, but still got nothing. Finally, he found what he'd been looking for in the breast pocket of his coat.

He stepped outside, and a brutal, chilling wing hit him like a hammer to the chest. He took a deep breath and watched it fog out into the night air, as it danced in time with the rhythm of the wind. He tried to light his cigarette, but ended up just lighting the butt. He tied again and did the same. The third time was the charm, and he was so over dealing with the cigarettes that he tossed the rest of the pack over his shoulder. He forgot about them as soon as he caught a glimpse of the night sky.

It was a clear night, and the moon was bright. It had been so long since he'd seen the stars and galaxies weaving together like a grand tapestry above him that it almost brought him to tears. It was just all so massive. Not just massive, but infinite and always expanding.

Infinite and always expanding.

They were two concepts that humans could never fully understand.

Why? How? With everything going on out there, what did that make him? Was he the most important brick in the least important wall? Were they all just bits of something, blasting through the void while stuck to a bit of something else?

"Is anyone there?" he asked the darkness.

"Please. I don't know why you aren't helping me, but please. I can't keep doing this alone. What do I do? What do I do?"

He didn't know who he was talking to, or why he was saying what he said, it was all coming out on its own. Then, he started saying something he knew he didn't want to hear.

"Why didn't you just let me die? Why didn't he just let me die? Where were you, you worthless fuck!?"

No, now was not the time to think about that. That was the one thing that could have possibly taken the night from bad to worse, and he had to get away. The voice was coming back again.

You're a worthless, fucking failure.

Hearing that was nothing new.

You're a failure and a fraud. I've been telling you your whole life, but you never listen. Law school? You barely graduated high school, you stupid fuck. No one is buying it. They all know that you're here to stay. They knew it when you left. You might as well just get it over now, before they learn the truth about you.

"Who?"

Her, them, anyone and everyone. They'll see you someday, and you'll wish you ended it now. You bullshitted your way through life, bud, but the facade is cracking, and someday soon, you're going to be exposed for what you really are. How could you ever compete? You're broken, and you always will be.

"I'm not broken!" he screamed into the night.

Suddenly, he heard something rustling in the bushes, or he thought he did. He turned around quickly to face it and saw a figure in the darkness. It looked so familiar, but he couldn't place it. It walked away from him, and he couldn't help but follow it.

He started walking through dense brush, trying to catch up to it, but it was always a few paces ahead of him. Then he saw something he never thought he'd see again. There was an old shack, barely staying together. It had a green door with faded and chipping paint, and a tiny window that was spider-webbed with cracks. But it couldn't be there, right? It was miles away from here, almost at the edge of the river. There was no way he'd walked that far from Mike's house, it would have taken hours.

Hell, it could have been hours for all he knew. In fact, in that moment, he couldn't remember a time when he wasn't wandering out in those woods, trying to get away from himself, or was it catch up to himself? But, even if he'd made it down by the river, the shack couldn't be there. It burnt down in '76, or at least he thought it did. How could he ever forget that? He thought about coming back and pissing on whatever was left of it before he got out of town, but couldn't bring himself to actually do it.

But, all logic and reality aside, there it was, looking just as it did on that day. He saw the figure again and finally recognized it. It was walking up to the door of the shack, carefully examining the place.

"Don't go in," he said, desperately.

"Please, don't go in. You don't want to go in there."

The figure paid him no mind.

"Hey!" he yelled, trying to get its attention, but nothing worked.

You know he's going in. He always did and he always will.

"But that's not how it happened! I never had a choice!"

Does it matter? The result was the same. You're broken, kid. You couldn't even die right. Just GIVE IT UP. You're spare parts, nothing more. A freak and a liar. You're fucking disgusting!

The figure opened the door, and Paul rushed forward to stop it. He tripped on something and went down hard, biting his tongue as his jaw smashed into the ground. He spat up blood and tried to stand up and return to his mission, but the figure and the shack were both gone. He had failed again, and it was one that he couldn't take. He started sobbing and pounding his hands into the dirt.

I told you, you had your chance and you botched it. There's no shame in giving up, it's time to rest. We both know it's for the best.

"Fuck you!" he screamed, spitting blood from his mouth.

I am you, pal. I'm only telling you what you already know. What's the point? You can keep running or pushing me away or whatever you think will make you happy, but we know that you'll never be what they think you are. There's no changing that.

The way I see it, you have two choices: You can either spend the rest of your life here, slowly turning into Frank and watching Ruby and your son resent you for the life you promised you'd give them but couldn't deliver, or you can do what I've been telling you to do for years and take a long stroll into the night. They'd probably never even find you. When will you finally see that it's better this way? It's not too late.

You'll never prove them wrong. If you could, you would have already. They can all do so much better. How can you possibly compete?

Then, all the sudden, it hit him like a brick in the face.

He didn't need to compete with anyone. His son and wife were all he needed to be there for. It didn't matter who or what he was, and it never did. Fuck everyone else and what they had to say. Every single day he tried to put that horrible voice away for good, and every day, at least once, it came back. Maybe, instead of trying to kill the voice, he could make peace with it.

He could face those fears head-on, instead of trying so hard to fight them. Maybe, just maybe, that was the thing he'd been missing all along. He had to control his fear, and strangle it to death with his bare hands. He could take all of his fears on. Well, maybe not all of his fears, but it would be a start.

The voice was right about one thing. The only alternative to trying was death, or stagnation, which was nothing but death in another word. The only way out was through. How could he have been so stupid?

He tried to stand up, but his head was spinning. He sat down in the dirt and looked up to the sky again. The voice was gone. Retreated, but surely not defeated. Nothing was ever that easy. Maybe it would never really go away, but he had to fight it. What else was there to do?

"Thank you, I think," he said to the darkness. He didn't know if it was God, the Universe, himself, or just the mushrooms he was talking to, but something was listening, and it was probably the first time in his life that he was actually listening back.

All these thoughts rolled through his head at a million miles an hour as he slowly got back up to his feet. He managed to find a way to light a cigarette. The smoke burned the cut on his tongue, but he didn't mind. He was trying to get a feel for his surroundings

Something, maybe whatever was out there with him, was drawing him into the wilderness. His days spent dreaming about being an explorer came rushing back. If he kept looking, he might find answers. Answers for what? He didn't know, but they might be out there somewhere.

The cigarette that he'd totally forgotten about fell from his lips and landed on his chest, burning a hole through his coat.

"Fuck!" he exclaimed so loudly that he startled himself.

He tried to pick the cigarette up, but the tracers were working against him, and he accidentally burnt his thumb on the ember. The quick jolt of pain cut through the trip, and for just a few seconds, his mind was totally clear. Of course, it was then that he realized that walking into the freezing darkness while insanely high on mushrooms was probably not the best idea, and he needed to get back to the cabin as soon as he could.

He had a moment of panic as his clarity started to fade when he realized that he had no idea how far he'd come or how long he'd been gone. Thankfully, he spotted the cabin's porch light only a few hundred yards away, and he made his way toward it as the mushrooms took back over.

As he walked inside, he saw Mike sitting on the floor, looking through all of the CDs that he'd spread out around him. He shut the door behind him, and Mike immediately dropped the CDs and turned to him, looking almost terrified.

"Where the fuck did you come from?" he asked, bewildered.

Paul didn't answer. He couldn't take his eyes off Mike. He barely recognized him. It was like someone had taken his friend's face and had swapped it, extremely poorly, with another body. How could he possibly take this lumberjack barely masquerading as his friend seriously?

What started as a chuckle, quickly grew into a full-blown fit of laughter.

Mike just kept staring, dead faced.

"What's so goddamn funny? Seriously, where did you come from?"

No answer, just more laughter. Laughter and laughter until it hurt. After a while, he finally managed to compose himself.

"I was outside. Didn't you see me leave?"

"What?" Mike asked.

"I said, I was…"

"Shut up," Mike said quickly. "You fucked my concentration. I wanted to show you something. Get over here and help me find this CD. They say you should always listen to Floyd when you're on mushrooms, and I know I've got Wish You Were Here around here somewhere."

Paul nodded and came over to him. I seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. As he got on the floor he got a good look at his hands. There was blood coming from the dirty cuts that covered them, and a few of his knuckles were already starting to swell-up. He couldn't feel the pain, and was fixated on the pulsating of the blood as it slowly flowed out before he finally turned his attention to the CDs.

After about five minutes that felt like hours later, they abandoned their search. Paul grabbed the first CD he saw, Regatta de Blanc by The Police, and tossed it in. He wasn't a huge fan of the band, but any music was better than no music. When "Message in a Bottle" started, he closed his eyes and let the dulcet tones of Sting take his mind on a journey.

The rest of the night continued in about the same fashion. There were no more deep, haunting or emotional moments, just him, Mike and music. When he finally came down, the sun was just coming up, he decided to head home.

Mike had offered him the couch, but he didn't want to sleep the day away at another person's house. He had also offered to drive him home, but by the time Paul came back from using the bathroom and washing his face, Mike was already passed out on the floor. He figured it would be best to just go. His parent's house was only about a fifteen-minute walk away and he could use the exercise anyway.

When he finally arrived home, he walked straight into his bedroom and passed out. When he woke up, it was just around noon. All he could think about was the night before. The more he thought about it, the more he believed that there was something out there in the darkness. Whatever it was, it helped him. He had this feeling that something changed in him. He couldn't exactly put his finger on it, but he had a certain...resolve that he didn't have before.

It was time to take things head-on. If he didn't do it then, he might never. He took PJ to the library later that day and started researching the top law schools in the country, and cross-referencing them with different Army bases across the country, trying to find the right spot that they could go. This was his one shot, and he wasn't going to waste it.