Chapter 7: North Dakota

Bismarck is a pleasant little city and the state capital of North Dakota. I found myself surprised at how hilly the environment was, particularly near the Missouri River that cut through the city. I’d been on some pretty flat land getting there.

The Northern Pacific Railroad dominated the town’s history, even renaming it to Bismarck after a German Chancellor in an attempt to attract German investment in the area. Today, the city is dominated by state government and several major health care centers, not to mention a plethora of Christian churches all trying to out do each other and woo each others’ parishioners away. The connections with Lewis and Clark and Sacagawea are over done, and the architecture is functional and boring. On the other hand, the people were friendly and helpful.

I’d camped out along side the Missouri River since the weather was pleasant and the evening temperatures had risen to the sixties. At dusk the evening before, I committed a small envelope of my dead wife’s ashes to the river. I stood on the rich loam beside the river and watched the film the ashes created on the river start to move on their journey to the Mississippi, the Gulf of Mexico, and the oceans of the world. I had to remind myself that the ashes were only that – ashes; they were not Karen, only part of a symbolic rite I’d created for myself.

I’d been in thirty-two states so far in my journey. In most, I’d met at least one woman who had made love with me, and taught me something about myself, about women, and about relationships. One axiom I’d learned is that there is no such word as ‘normal’ when it comes to sex. Along my travels I’d been in all sorts of sexual situations – often multiple women, group, sisters, mother-daughter, and, of course, regular one-on-one sex. I’d lost my modesty or self-imposed stigma of having sex in front of other people. I’d found some edges to my sexual boundaries, and learned there were more to discover, boundaries I never ever imagined. More important to me, I’d blown up some other boundaries that restricted my thinking about sex.

These thoughts ran through my head as I ran around the city in the morning. I pushed myself until the pain of the run made me feel as though my chest would explode. No pain, no gain. When I stopped running, I did two hundred sit-ups and push-ups; and stopped counting chin-ups on a branch when my hands could hold me no longer.

I hadn’t done Tai chi in quite a while. I’d learned the practice as a martial art when I’d been in Army Special Operations training – a Green Beret. I went through the fifty-six forms I had been taught – the short version, silently beside the river, stressing various muscle groups with each carefully rehearsed and timed move. In each pose, I adjusted my mental attitude to amplify some trait I wished to possess.

My last ritual that morning was a meditation. The run and Tai chi had made my transition to mindfulness easier; I was practiced in the art now that it had become part of my daily ritual. My contemplation cleared my mind and enabled me to receive messages from the universe from within and without. A Buddhist monk I had studied explained that some messages are my inner voice and intuition speaking. Other voices I hear bring messages from the beings my soul has created along side the one I am experiencing – parallel lives. Some messages come from my reincarnated soul.

That morning, as I transitioned from my meditation back into this world, I felt a premonition. I knew I would be presented with two situations where I would have to help two people in different ways. The curiosity of that premonition got me started on the rest of my day.

I didn’t have specific plans for travel, probably start my journey south from this northern state. I took a leisurely swim in the river I’d camped beside and then checked my iPhone for the weather. I learned that a weather front was moving through late in the day, so a motel for that night was a no brainer, but I had a lot of time to spare. Maybe I’d even get a warm shower later.

About mid-morning, after some guitar practice, I started to pack up my campsite. I probably shouldn’t have camped overnight where I did, but increasingly I had become one who didn’t always abide by all the rules. I’d found a nice park, pretty close to what passed as the downtown area of Bismarck, and had hidden my bike in a brushy area down by the water right next to where I pitched my tent. I doubted anyone would find me unless they were looking.

As I pulled the stays out of my tent, I heard the sounds of an argument growing closer – a man and woman. They were both yelling at each other, and in my opinion, there was little listening going on. When they got nearer and I could better understand the words, I heard the man using various Biblical verses to try to change some behavior of the woman: “You are becoming like Lot’s wife in Genesis; you will become a pillar of salt because you intend to sin.” His tone ranged from pleading to threatening to disown her – that was when I realized they were a father-daughter pair. The daughter yelled back, “I see many people doing things you call a sin in the world, and I have yet to see anyone become a pillar of salt. Most of them have a lot of fun; they enjoy life, but you think that anything fun is a sin. That’s no longer how I plan to live my life.”

I stood and peered through some of the brush that protected my campsite from view. The couple was about fifty feet away: a man in his mid-fifties and a woman – a girl really – in her late teens. The argument apparently involved the girl’s moving out of the parental home and going her own way now that she was legal age. At one point she yelled at him, “I don’t believe the things you say are true – about Jesus and the Bible. I think they’re all made up stories. The churches use the stories as though they’re true to control people – the way you’re trying to control me. Well, fuck off father; your little girl has grown up and is making her own decisions now that she’s able. Thank you for getting me here, but now leave me the fuck alone.”

She stormed off to my left with her father in pursuit. He yelled at her, “The wrath of God will come down upon you. It says in Revelations that children must respect and obey their elders. To not do so, you risk the fires of hell at the end of your life.”

She yelled back, “You’ve made my life a living hell since I was born. You don’t want a daughter; you want an obedient disciple. Well, that’s not me. Go find some sucker from your church that you can intimidate. I’m moving on. I waited years until I could make it on my own; and today’s that day. Good bye! I’ll drop you a line now and then.”

She took off across the park at a run, far faster than the man could move. I could hear his sigh of frustration from where I stood. He turned and walked the opposite way to a parking lot. As I strapped my tent to my motorcycle, I saw him get in a nondescript car and drive away.

The teen’s voice from behind me caught me by surprise; “You hear all that? I thought we were alone – I didn’t see you in here. This is a nice hiding place.” She dropped down and sat on the blanket and ground cover that I hadn’t folded yet. Both were laid out like an invitation, and she accepted.

I allowed, “Quite an argument. You’re moving out, I take it; and Dad doesn’t like it. How old are you?”

“Almost nineteen. I graduated high school last June, and yeah, my father doesn’t approve of me going out on my own. He’s said a lot worse than you probably heard today. He thinks I’ll become a prostitute or get into some slutty profession; he doesn’t think I can get a regular job and make a living. I am so mad at him I want to do that just to spite him. He’s always preached at me, the same way he preaches to his congregation. I’m surprised anyone listens to him.”

I asked, “He’s a minister?”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “He runs the Bismarck Evangelical Christian Fellowship Church. He’s been doing that for twenty years, even before I was born. He forced me to go my whole life.”

“So, you’ve stopped going now?” I speculated, as I squatted down to be at the same eye level she was.

“I actually stopped going a few months before graduation. He went ballistic, and tried to hide it from his congregation. He said I was just rebelling and would get over it. But I think differently from the way he does; I don’t believe the same things. I think I’m better read about some things than he is – spiritual things. All he wants people to read is the Bible, and that’s pretty limiting.”

As she talked, I had a moment to assess the pretty girl. She had long brunette hair, a pleasing face, and a body that probably made boys near her age have impure thoughts at night.

I asked, “What’s your mother believe?”

Quick as a flash she said, “She died when I was six. Father thinks she did something behind his back to justify her dying so young; whenever her name comes up, he says something like, ‘God struck her down in his vengeance on those who sin and disobey his rules.’” She waved her arms around and then pointed to a bush in a violent way with one finger as though she was God striking down some infidel.

Suddenly, she looked at me in a peculiar way. She blurted out, “Hey, I know you. You’re the person that was in People magazine a month ago – on the cover – Jim somebody. You’re Crystal Lee’s boyfriend, and you sing. I’ve even got the two of you on my iPod singing ’Texas Dawn.’” She pulled an iPod and pair of earplugs from her pocket.

I smiled and bowed my head to her.

The girl looked over at the motorcycle; she said, “I remember now, you’re riding across the country on that thing – something about going to every state.”

“Yep,” I replied in my terse imitation of a North Dakotan.

“This is so cool meeting you. My girlfriends will never believe me. Can I have your autograph or something?”

“Sure. If you have a cellphone that takes pictures, you can also photograph us together.” As I said those words, my mind’s eye flashed to the erotic photograph session I’d had only a day or so earlier with Brite.

The girl produced a cellphone from another pocket. She stood and came over beside me as I put some provisions in one of my saddlebags. We posed beside the motorcycle, and she held the camera at arm’s length and took a snapshot. It came out pretty well.

I asked her, “What’s your name?”

“Mary Jennings. I’m named after Jesus’ mother, of course. I hate the name; maybe I’ll change it.”

As she hunted for something to put my autograph on in her large purse, I asked, “So what’ll you do now that you’ve left home?”

She said, “Several things; first, I guess I need to leave Bismarck. If I hang around, my father will hunt me down and keep trying to get me to come home; that would be intolerable.” She thought and added, “Next, I’ll need a job – something more than the temp job I’ve had this summer. I want to be near a college somewhere, because I want to get a degree; my father doesn’t think women need any education beyond high school, but I do.”

I nodded, and she went on, “Oh, yea, I need to lose my virginity. I was so embarrassed being the only virgin in my graduating class. Do you know how bad that is? Ughhh!”

“I can imagine,” I said, wondering how everyone’s sexual status got reported in Bismarck High.

Mary thought a moment and blurted out, “Hey, would you fuck me – you know, be my first. You’re OK, I like you, and it’d be a lifetime memory to give it up to someone famous. You also give off good vibes. I’m pretty, have great tits, and probably would fuck like a mink if given the chance. I mean, after the first time, that is. I’ll even be your girl for a while, and you can do me a dozen times a day if you want.”

The suddenness of her offer stopped my thinking. The devil on my shoulder thought of how nice it’d be to fuck the living daylights out of the pretty girl. The voice of the angelic me came through in my head, ‘Hey, this is one of those people you’re supposed to help, and fucking her won’t help her. Moreover, she’ll talk to the paparazzi or some freelance photographer will get a picture of the two of you screwing around.’

We had a long and pregnant pause between us. She’d offered herself to me without any conditions other than my acceptance. We studied each other. I could tell she was serious. I didn’t want to treat her in a cavalier manner.

“Mary, I’m twice as old as you are. I’ve picked up some wisdom in those years, and I’d like to share it with you. Will you listen?”

She smiled at me and said with a smirk, “As long as you don’t quote from the Bible or mention heaven and hell.” Her posture and tone of voice indicated to me that I had her attention; whatever I said would be credible to her, not like the things her father was trying to say to her.

I said thoughtfully, “Each of us needs a moral compass. Your father uses the Bible as his. You reject that, so if you’re going to create some stability in your life, you should get your own compass. You might choose a role model to pattern yourself after while you develop your own set of life principles and set your behavior boundaries; or you could look at your life and the areas where you have made good decisions, and reflect on what underlying principles you used to guide those decisions. Then decide whether those principles are ones you want to use for the rest of your life.”

Mary said, “Give me an example.”

“OK. You go to a party with friends. There’s plenty of booze and drugs there, and peer pressure to do both. What do you do? There are several major decisions wrapped up in just that situation.”

Instead of answering, Mary asked, “What would you do?”

I chuckled and said, “I’d limit myself to two beers or two glasses of wine; otherwise, I get bad headaches; I wouldn’t do any drugs. I’d stay sober because I know some of the others at the party won’t, and I’ll need to be sure no one does damage to themselves, for instance, by driving while drunk.” I added, “However, when I was eighteen, I didn’t have those principles yet, so I drank until I got sick and embarrassed myself by barfing all over someone’s living room couch – I ruined the thing. One time I took some bad drugs; two friends stayed up with me all night to be sure I kept breathing. That scared me, and I never tried drugs again even when I was in awful places in the Army. Other guys used drugs to help them get through the horror we were in.”

Mary said, “I like your first set of principles; that’s what I’ll do.”

“All right, just be sure you’re comfortable with how it plays out. Sometimes, the peer pressure can get pretty intense,” I said. I then went to the next issue at hand. “As for becoming the person who takes your virginity, I am truly honored that you have offered yourself to me, but I don’t think that’d be in your best interest. You need a principle here that I think is missing. May I explain?”

Mary nodded and leaned forward. I felt that I had her ear.

“Two sets of principles that people use are ‘you have to love someone before you have sex’ or ‘you’re supposed to save yourself for marriage.’ A lot of sex happens without either of those being invoked. My own philosophy is that both parties have to feel ‘very good vibes’ about each other and about the encounter. If they do, there’ll be no regrets a few hours later, only pleasant memories.”

“How many women have you slept with – you know, fucked?”

“Before I got married, about six, and not very often; while I was married, only my wife; and since she died in February ... err, a few.”

Mary studied me and said, “Hey, give it up. How many exactly since February?”

“Leave it at a few. It’s immaterial to what I’m trying to tell you.”

“Holy shit, you’re a man slut.” She grinned lecherously at me.

I ignored her and noted in a pensive tone, “With each woman I’ve been with I felt something vibrant and exciting about our coming together, and they did too. We both felt the same thing and wanted the same shared experience.”

“So, if I’m horny and I find a horny guy, you think it’s all right to go at it?”

“If you’re my age, yes. At your age, I don’t think you have enough sensitivity to the vibrations between people. All you’d feel is lust, and you have nothing to weigh it against – no counterbalance about how you might feel afterwards, and believe me you can feel really rotten later when you just fuck for sheer hell of it. You learn that counterbalance with age – I had it by the time I met my wife eight years ago. That’s where having some life principles comes in.”

“What’d your wife die from?”

“An autoimmune disease. She went quickly – in a month.”

“Do you have a girlfriend now?”

“Yes, Crystal Lee – the singer. I have another friend in Vermont and one in Florida. I have others I think highly of and hope to have long-term relationships with, too.”

Mary thought a minute and came back to her original question, “So, you won’t fuck me?”

I started, “Mary, you’re a very nice girl. I can tell from the way you talk, your questions, and your demeanor. All that said, I don’t have any vibes that make me want to jump your bones. If I did have sex with you, I know I’d feel regret right after and I don’t want that feeling. I would feel as though I’d taken advantage of you even though you made the request. You’re very pretty, and over time, if we were to build a relationship, I’m sure it could lead to us making love, but not now.”

“Hmmmm,” she said. After a pause she said, “I wish you were my father. You’re cool. You tell it like it is. I know he thinks sex is a sin, and you don’t.”

I took my reply a step further, “Mary, after your first fuck, what do you want to remember about the experience?”

That stopped her cold. Mary thought, “Well, ... I guess I’d want it to be romantic ... with someone I really like ... and not rushed or secretive, or in the back of a car ... and not because of peer pressure to lose my virginity. Like you said, I’d want to have a good memory of it ... of the guy ... the rest of my life, even if we never got really serious about each other in a long-term relationship. I’d want to feel good about it afterwards, like you said.”

I continued, “That’s a pretty good target to aim for. With the right person sex is a lot of fun. For me, I get warm and fuzzy inside and have feelings of admiration, respect, caring, and lots of other nice emotions about my lovers. I feel really romantic too. As I say that, maybe that’s what I’ve learned to look for in the other person before I jump their bones, someone that will trigger those emotions in me and respond to me in kind.”

Mary stood and walked to the edge of the riverbank for a few minutes. I went back to packing my camping gear on the motorcycle. When I’d finished, I leaned against the bike to see what she’d do next.

Mary turned back to me. In that instant, I could see she’d aged significantly. Some bubble of wisdom had popped inside her head. She even looked older than five minutes earlier.

She came over to me and put one hand to my cheek. “Thank you. Thank you, a lot. You taught me more than you know.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek in a nice way.

“One last thought?” I offered.

Mary looked expectantly at me.

I smiled and said, “Sex is never an emergency.”

I hugged the teen, and then she said goodbye and walked across the park and disappeared. I wondered if I’d have such clear advice for my own teenager. Rather than force answers on her I hope I’d created a space for her to create her own, something she seemed ready to do.

I had lunch at one of the simpler eateries in town - a hole in the wall innovatively called Bismarck Cafe. Coming out to my bike, I glanced around. A hundred feet away a woman about my age sat on the ground leaning back against her car and crying. As I heard the whimpering, compassion flooded into me. I walked over to her to see whether I could help in some way. The front left tire on the car was flat, and the reason was clear - a cheap knife sticking out of the sidewall.

I spoke in a pleasant but matter of fact voice, hoping to pull her out of her despair over the tire, “Hard to fix something like that? Do you have spare?”

The dirty blond looked up at me. Mascara streaked the pretty features of her face along with the glistening tracks of many tears. She talked and sobbed simultaneously: “No ... spare ... no ... money. I’m done for.”

I thought for a moment and looked around. About a block away I could see the sign for an auto and truck center. Almost in answer to the situation I could see the word ‘Tires’ below the larger letters in the sign.

“Do you have a jack? You know, so we can get the tire off your car?”

Again, she spoke through her choked-up voice, “In the trunk ... I think.” She held up a set of worn car keys in my direction.

Her cries slowed as she watched me get the car jack and lug wrench from the trunk. She stood, sniffled, and kept asking me what I intended to do because she had no money for a replacement tire. I popped the small hubcap off the wheel, loosened the lug nuts, and then jacked the car so the tire rose off the ground. Two minutes later the tire fell off the car into my hands. I’d left the knife in it so the hole would be easy to find.

As I’d worked, I’d extracted a few pieces of information from the pretty woman: her name was Shaye, she’d had a boyfriend up until that morning – they’d argued, he punched her, stuck a knife in the tire, and left for points west. He’d also taken all her money. She was from Texas, miles away, and knew no one in the town.

I suggested she stay with the car while I got the tire fixed. I carried the tire the block to the repair shop. A no-nonsense man met me at the door; he’d seen me approach with the tire in hand.

I started to speak, but he held up his hand for me to remain silent. He read the tire size, touched the knife, and then led me into one of the large empty garage bays. He pulled a tire off a metal rack and verified the size, then turned to me: “It’ll cost you $80 - mounted and balanced. The tire you’ve got is no good; couldn’t even put a tube in it with the gash the knife left.”

I smiled and told him to go ahead. He stood still until I peeled four twenty-dollar bills from the small roll in my pocket and passed them to him. He smiled at me and went to work replacing the tire.

When I got back to the woman’s car rolling the new tire in front of me, she had disappeared. I shrugged, resigned to complete my second good deed for the day. I got halfway through mounting the tire when Shaye appeared next to me.

She said in a dejected tone, “I had to wash my face. I know I looked a mess - runny makeup and all. I’m not normally like that; it’s just that today’s a low point in my life. The guy I’ve been living with for two years took off this morning, and I know I’ll never see him again. He took my half of some money we’d saved - over two grand. I have about thirty bucks. We were supposed to play a gig down the street, so he’s screwed them over too. I can’t work alone, and I’ll never get a chance to work here again now that their Saturday night’s entertainment is a no-show. I also can’t pay you for that tire. I’m sorry.”

“Whoa!” I said, “Slow down; one thing at a time; how do you know your boyfriend’s gone and are you sure he took the money?” I asked as I started to get the lug nuts in place to hold the tire on the car.

She said in a sad voice, “He told me; said he’d wasted his sorry ass taking care of me, and that I owed him the money. I think he got it all backwards; I took care of him and deserved at least my share of the money. I was the one getting us guest appearances. I have the better voice. I just let him takeover – I’m such a loser.”

She squatted down so she was more at my level as I knelt to put the tire on the car. I noted how nice her blue jeans hugged her perfectly shaped ass. The muscle tone of her shapely legs also showed as they stretched the denim. When she leaned forward, the fullness of her breasts also showed through the open neck of her western shirt. I wanted to open more of the western snaps to see more. I struggled to keep my eyes on her pretty face – she was easy to look at.

She kept talking about her situation, “He and I sang country music. We traveled around in the central states - even did appearances a few places in Canada. My guess is he went after some little tramp he went ga-ga eyes over in Calgary a week ago. He said he was headed up that way.”

I asked, “And why can’t you appear solo tonight or get a job after this?”

Shaye thought a long time before answering; I struggled with a reluctant lug nut. “I’ve haven’t sung alone in years. I can play guitar and sing, but I’ve always been part of a duet or larger group – I take comfort in numbers on stage, otherwise I’d be too nervous. Hank and I were together for two years. God, I’m dumb!” I could see the self-directed anger starting to emerge.

I volunteered, “Show me that you can sing, and maybe I’ll sing some with you to get you started. Some folks think I can sing, although I should warn you, my guitar playing is pretty basic.”

Shaye stared at me a long time, getting outside her self-pity and really taking in what I looked like for the first time since we’d met. “Oh, shit,” she muttered loud enough for me to hear; “You’re him ... that guy ... Crystal Lee and you...”

“Hi, again. Jim Mellon at your service.”

Shaye sputtered about. I had to stop and tell her to calm down. “Look, I’m just a guy who happened to have a string of good luck - meeting Crystal, recording songs, and all. Don’t go all flaky on me. You’re as special as I am and as Crystal is. Heck, Crystal tended bar and waited tables and sang in between, then someone happened to like one song she did – ’Flirty, Flirty Cowgirl.’ It can happen to you too.”

She spoke with awe in her voice, “You’re riding your motorcycle through all the states, right? Where’s your motorcycle?”

I gestured down the block to where my over packed motorcycle sat in a parking space.

Shaye fell back from her crouch next to me onto her butt. She was overtaken. “I’ve never met anyone so famous.”

“Get over it,” I implored. “I’m just a guy - a nice one, I hope, that’s helping a stranded lady fix a tire. Now, I’m also offering to do a little impromptu singing with her; if, and I mean a big ‘if’, she can prove to me that she can sing, and we can get our act together before you go on tonight.”

Shaye sputtered some more and finally said, “Oh, God, I’d be so honored to sing with you. What do you want me to do, sing for you right here, right now?” Her tone of voice told me that if I’d asked her to jump off a building, she’d immediately leap right off without a second thought.

I responded, “No, let’s go somewhere a little more private. Is there a park near here?”

She replied, “I saw one two blocks that way.” She gestured to the north.

I tightened the last of the lug nuts, popped the hubcap on, and let the car down off the jack. As I stowed the jack back in the trunk of the car, I said, “You lead, I’ll get my bike and follow you. I see the guitar back in the back of your car; bring that too. Let’s find a nice place to practice.”

“Oh, thank you. Thank you so much. I can’t pay you now for the tire, but when I can, what will I owe you for the tire?”

I shook my head as I walked to the bike. I said back at her, “Pay me back by singing up a storm tonight. Now, come show me what you can do.”

I followed Shaye a couple of blocks to a little park with a bandstand in the center. The park was empty aside from a mother walking two small children near one corner.

I took my small travel guitar from my motorcycle and walked to where Shaye had parked. She sprang from the car and quickly retrieved her rather beat up guitar from the back of her car. We went over to a park bench.

After getting our guitars in tune, I said, “OK, now, let’s see what we can sing and play together.” I could see the color rise in her face. I went on, “Name some of the songs you like to play, particularly in front of the audience we’ll have tonight.” The more I thought about singing that evening, the more I got into it. It’d be fun to accompany her and see whether anyone noticed my celebrity status.

Shaye pulled a tattered piece of paper from her pocket. On it were the names of about fifty country music songs. She explained, “We’d keep this list in front of us when we played. I’d call out a number, and we’d play that one. I learned a lot of these when I played in a group down in Texas five years ago. The leader taught me this system.”

I looked at the list and spoke, “So if I say ‘forty-two’?”

“We start playing ’Amarillo By Morning,’ you know the one by George Strait. Hank could sort of sound like him too.”

I said, “I love that song, but don’t know the chord progressions.”

Shaye said, “Oh, it’s easy. C-G-Am-G-D7-C. Watch me, I’ll chord, then you join in.” She launched into a slow version of the chords as I watched trying to follow her rapid changes on the frets. After three passes, she said, “That’s it, you’re getting it now. Do you know the words?”