I laughed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Heading southwest, we didn’t stop again until we passed a battered road sign reading, Atlantic City.
As we sauntered down the boardwalk, we were awed by the mix of glitz and filth, and were easily lured into one of the gaudy casinos. Both of us decided to try our hand at roulette. She played twenty-one red and stayed with it. I chose thirty-three black. Within a half-hour, my frustrated wife was broke, while I was seven hundred dollars richer. My number had come up four times. As a rookie mistake – or more likely, beginner’s luck – I never cleared my chips from the table each time I’d won. The dealer chuckled at my naïve grin and Bella’s jealous pout. I tipped him well.
Excited to discover this new world, I lost the next few spins and cashed out. Fortunately for Bella, I was more than willing to share my winnings.
Dressed for the stinging winter wind, we walked hand-in-hand into the afternoon sun. Not fifty feet down the boardwalk, we happened across the strangest sight. A young woman with no arms or legs was lying face down on a hospital gurney, playing an electronic keyboard with her tongue – the notes to “Somewhere over the Rainbow” ringing out over and over again. While her people sat nearby and watched, hoards of compassionate strangers dropped crisp bills into the five-gallon bucket set before her. It’s like fishing in a stocked pond, I thought and to Bella’s surprise, I dropped a fifty-dollar bill into the bucket. Bella looked at me. I shrugged. “That had to be the worst exploitation of a handicapped person I’ve ever seen.”
She nodded. “But that’s only because we haven’t seen what the government’s done to her.”
“It’s amazing how lucky we are,” I said and turned up the collar on my jacket.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Nearly an hour after the sun had set, we crossed the Potomac River into the Lover’s State of Virginia. I stopped to get directions to any place that provided water and electric hookups; a place where we could dump out, fuel up and spend the night.
Just outside the campground, I filled the rig and handed the attendant a hundred dollar bill.
He shook his head. “Your money’s counterfeit,” he said.
Our winnings from the casino were actually funny money. Bella’s face grew nervous.
The man grinned. “But it’s green,” he said and took it.
It didn’t take a half hour to find our spot and hook up. All night, Bella babbled like a schoolgirl, while my eyes grew heavy. The medication was doing a job on my attention span. No matter how exhausted I felt though, it was good to get caught up on each other’s lives.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
After breakfast, we were off to the capital. It was dawn when we walked the length of the Vietnam Wall. I wasn’t sure how this would make me feel, but I was glad we made the trip. Some people took tracings. Others cried on bended knees, leaving behind letters that visitors could read. Besides these emotional letters, I took note of the dog tags, medals, cans of beer and cigarettes left behind at the base of the wall; gifts from living Vietnam veterans to their departed brothers. I’d healed more than I thought and was happy for it. It was humbling, but as we turned to leave Bella pointed out a dozen Asian tourists hanging all over the Vietnam Monument, taking pictures. She shot me a mischievous grin.
The Washington Monument was too much of a hike in my condition, the Lincoln Monument at the reflecting pools was something to see in person, but 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue wasn’t nearly as interesting as the reenactment of Lincoln’s assasination at Ford’s Theater. The National Archives building, home of the Declaration of Independence, was our next stop. The single piece of yellowed parchment was protected by armed guards and rested under several inches of bullet proof glass. It was reputed that if anyone attempted to break the glass in order to steal or desecrate the document, the vault in which it was housed would automatically drop several stories beneath the ground. I stopped and made a funny face at one of the guards. The man laughed at me. “This isn’t Buckingham Palace,” Bella reminded me before we were off to Arlington Cemetery.
It was pouring rain, a freezing rain, when we barely steered the giant RV through the gates. On our right, we watched as five uniformed men on horseback and a rider-less horse pulled a caisson behind them. The flag-draped casket was all I needed, to know that this was a military funeral procession. We followed a good distance behind.
“Get out of here with that RV!” someone yelled at me through the cracked window.
I rolled it down. “Excuse me?”
The disgusted groundskeeper shook his head. “Privately owned vehicles aren’t allowed on the grounds. Turn it around and park it at Fort Meade through the same gate you entered.”
“Oh, we’re sorry,” I said. “We didn’t know.”
The man shook his head again and stormed off.
No sooner did we park, the rain slowed to a cold drizzle.
Our first stop was at JFK’s gravesite. Even in the heavy mist, the eternal flame flickered in the gray sky. While Bella went hunting for John Kennedy’s brother, I read several of the famous president’s speeches and inspirational quotes carved into the surrounding granite walls. Within minutes, my scout wife returned and reported, “Bobby Kennedy’s up on the hill around back. It’s only marked by a plain white cross.”
I shrugged. “I wonder what Audie Murphy’s stone looks like.”
For a solid half hour, we searched the beautiful, sprawling grounds but couldn’t find the most decorated war hero in American history. Finally, with the reluctant help of our groundskeeper friend, we located it. Amongst a sea of enormous and expensive headstones, Murphey’s small slab of granite listed the awards and medals he’d earned. The list started at the top of the tiny stone and ran all the way into the ground. I whistled in admiration. Looking at the huge stones that surrounded him, it was clear that while some people tried to purchase eternal honor, others actually earned it.
After paying tribute to the members of the space shuttle who’d died in a tragic explosion, we visited the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Though there were several people milling about, I was hypnotized by the rigid soldiers who guarded the sacred tomb in the horrendous weather.
Cold was one thing, wet was another, but when put together things got miserable real fast. As we left, Bella and I shared the same pride. Even with its faults and imperfections, D.C. – the soul of America – could make the numbest American feel alive. The patriotism, the brass bands, and the stars and stripes all caused their share of goose bumps – sometimes even ordering human hairs to snap to attention.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Not five miles from the Iwo Jima Monument, Cal Anderson was waiting for us. He’d insisted we stay with him at least one night. Though Bella wasn’t keen on the idea, she finally agreed.
After an exchange of hugs, Cal eyed me up and down. “Don’t you look like the walking dead,” he barked. It was a phrase we used back in ’68 for guys who didn’t look like they were going to make it.
I laughed and patted his big round belly. “I appreciate that, Slim.”
We were just starting a good joust about our aging appearances when Cal’s wife, Karen – the very girl he’d worried himself over all those years ago – asked, “How ‘bout we take you two out to our favorite rib place?”
Bella’s eyes lit up. She never passed on ribs.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As we ate, Cal never shut up. “I remember ‘Nam like it was yesterday,” he said. “And what a thrill it was. Sometimes, I actually wish I could go back and relive it!”
Bella and I exchanged a quick glance. Cal was telling a different version from the one we’d recently re-lived. How strange to have once been close to someone, I thought, and now…I don’t even know who this person is.
As we left the restaurant, Cal approached the hostess. “Could I please check your lost and found box?” he asked. “The last time I was in here, I forgot my sunglasses.”
His wif
e shook her head and walked out. Cal had obviously run this same scam a time or two before.
After rustling through the box, he finally nodded and chose a pair.
“Aren’t those ladies glasses?” the hostess asked.
“I hope not,” Cal said, smirking, “’cause they cost me a small fortune.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
On the way back to their place, Cal and I sat in the front seat of the car, while Bella and Karen talked in the back. Cal spoke softly, so his wife wouldn’t hear. “You been following the problems overseas?” he asked.
I nodded, but it was the last topic in the world I wanted to discuss. He obviously didn’t feel the same.
“What bullshit,” Cal said. “We should go in there and kill ‘em all!”
Oh boy, I thought, I hope this doesn’t come up at the house. Bella will be beside herself.
But of course, it did. We weren’t past the threshold when Cal and Bella squared off. “So you think we should kill ‘em all, huh?” she asked.
With a grin, he nodded. “Sure do. And then let God sort it out.”
“Now that’s intelligent,” she said, glaring at him. “You’re a true humanitarian,” she added. With the most subtle nod, Karen agreed.
As I cringed, Cal’s face started to turn crimson. He turned to me. “Is she always like this?” he asked, trying to retain some pride through humor.
I saved him. “Only when we’re staying at a friend’s house,” I joked and then steered the rest of the conversation back into the past where it was much safer. Cal was a tough, hardheaded vet, but he had no idea how much conviction my wife held for human life.
The rest of the night, she and I exchanged a few grins. Once, Karen even joined us. To keep the peace, we turned in early. Bella was so fired up she tossed and turned, trying to get to sleep. I sat on the toilet, fighting two of my fiercest enemies – nausea and constipation. After the second round, I pushed something out. Wiping the cold sweat from my brow, I cleaned myself and stood to flush when I noticed that my pencil stools were now chalky white. Oh, that can’t be good, I thought, and quietly slid into bed.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Early the next morning, we left and headed south through Virginia. Bella was still tired, so she took a nap in the back of the RV. I spotted another silver bullet on the side of the road and pulled in. It was almost lunch. I’ll bring her back a grilled cheese sandwich and a cup of tea, I thought and locked up the rig. I couldn’t wait to sample their apple pie and talk to some more grass-root folks.
As I hurried out of the cold and bellied up to the bar, I sat alongside a middle-aged man. We exchanged nods. “Name’s George Cournoyer,” he said and extended his hand. He had gray hair with a moustache and beard to match. He actually looked like the country music star, Kenny Rogers – except on a scarecrow’s frame, and without a whole lot of sleep.
I shook his hand. “Good to meet you. I’m Don.”
He looked out of the diner window toward the RV and then back at me.
“Me and the wife are down from Massachusetts, doing a little sightseeing,” I explained.
He coughed once and nodded. “Nice country up there in New England.” He wore faded jeans and matching jacket, and old scuffed cowboy boots that were once brown. A John Deere ball cap pushed back on his head; the curled visor was stained with oil and grease. That, and the red plaid shirt, told me he was a trucker.
I agreed and ordered the cheeseburger special. “Sure is,” I told him. “But I figured I’d like to see a little more of the country before it’s too late.”
“Folks are always running to something…or from something,” he said. With a fresh pack of cigarettes in front of him, George coughed hard again. “I’ve been up and down these roads for years. Believe me, there ain’t nothing to see that you can’t catch at home.”
“You’re probably right,” I said. “I just felt I’d regret it if we didn’t get out and see it all. You know what they say – life is what happens while you’re planning for the future.”
He turned and gazed at me for a moment. His tanned face was weathered and cracked, but his eyes were a deep crystal blue, almost haunting. “It never ceases to amaze me how folks will go to the ends of the Earth to find what’s right in front of them the whole time,” he said and placed some money on the counter to cover his bill.
As the waitress delivered my lunch, I sat dumbfounded.
He stood and said, “Friend, the only road worth traveling is the one that leads you home, ‘cause that’s where your family and friends are. It’s the only place any of us really belongs.” He patted my back. “Good luck to ya,” he said and headed out into the sun.
As if a giant light had just illuminated my entire existence, I suddenly realized, I’ve always lived the way I wanted, surrounded by the people I love. I called the waitress over. “Can I get a grilled cheese and cup of tea to go?” I asked, filled with more urgency than I’d ever felt toward finishing my honey do list.
She wrote it in her pad.
“And can I also get the burger wrapped?”
With the food in hand, I hurried back to the RV with my head in a spin. My mind wanted to finish the list, but my mind wasn’t driving anymore. My heart and soul were in charge now, and I thought, Maybe that’s the way it should have been from the start? I woke Bella. “What do you say we go home?” I asked her. “I really want to see Riley, Michael and the kids.”
She wiped her eyes and sat up to kiss me. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
As I pointed the RV north, I told her, “We made it all the way to Virginia, so I’m still crossing it off the list!”
She just smiled.
Only two dreams to go, I thought and let my mind wander to a place where I could hear my grandchildren’s laughter.
Chapter 13
After spending my last magical holidays with Madison and Pudge, and every second of their school vacation with them, I decided they needed a break from me, and that I needed to return to the doctor’s office for a much-needed tune up.
While killing time in the waiting room, I pondered my dream of working as a newspaper reporter. Truth is, if it weren’t for the responsibilities to my family, I would have changed jobs every two years. I wondered whether it was time to check off another dream from the refrigerator list. But there’s so little time left, I pondered, and I’m not gonna spend it unless I can write something that’ll have a real impact… And then it hit me. I know exactly what I’ll write!
The nurse approached the waiting room with my thick chart. “Mr. DiMarco, the doctor is ready for you,” she said with a smile.
Slowly I stood and made my way toward her. “But am I ready for her?” I asked, teasing her. “That’s the question.”
Dr. Rice was in her usual cheerful mood, and after my honey do list update, she got right down to business. “Tell me about your pain levels.”
“It’s gotten real bad,” I admitted. “And although I don’t even want to imagine how bad it’s going to get, I’m even more petrified it’s gonna slow me down before Bella and I…” I stopped. She understood our goals. There was still a lot to do with little time to do it in.
“Alternative treatments may help you cope with the pain,” she said and took a seat to explain. “Some patients in advanced stages of the disease try to avoid the side effects of pain medications by using alternative treatments such as acupressure, acupuncture, deep breathing, and even music therapy. Soothing music has been proven to calm the body.” Smiling at my confused reaction, she clarified, “We need to keep you on the pain meds, and unfortunately the dosages and the side effects that go with them will also increase, but there’s nothing wrong with practicing some deep breathing exercises along with scheduling weekly massages. It’s all about maintaining the highest comfort level you can and every little bit of this extra effort will help.”
Before I finished my nod, she left the room to retrieve some pamphlets on the benefits of deep breathing and massa
ge. Upon her return, she concluded, “When the pain is bad, you need to ride the wave. It’s not the best surfing in the world, but it will eventually subside. Remember that.” She patted my shoulder. “Slow, deep breathing and soothing music will definitely help.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll try it.”
“Great, and we’ll need to take some blood before you leave. We need to stay on top of your counts.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
With the help of Riley’s contacts, I got my one and only shot as a freelancer, or stringer, for the local paper.
I spent ten times the effort on that one piece than other reporters would have ever bothered. But it was a one-shot deal for me. I needed to get it right – for several reasons. Even Bella pretended to complain about all the time I spent on the computer.
I turned it in and the editor called two days later. “Not a terrible piece for your first,” she said. “I had to make the usual changes though.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said, pretty sure that I’d just received a backhanded compliment.
There was a pause. “Listen, if you’re looking to learn the business, I have plenty of work I need to assign,” she offered.
“Thanks,” I told her, “I’ll have to check my schedule to see what I can fit in.” It was the best way I knew of avoiding the cancer talk.
“Fair enough. Just let me know,” she said and hung up.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was a random Tuesday morning when I picked up the Daily Telegram and flipped through it. My spirit soared. My piece was buried on page seven. Its placement didn’t matter to me. I bought ten copies and raced home to Bella. She cried when she read it.
The following night, Madison and Pudge came over, and I pulled out the newspaper. I was so happy for the opportunity to share the article I’d written about their mom.
Twelve Months Page 17