Chapter 2

If you have never ridden a Greyhound bus across country, then count yourself lucky.

Imagine yourself in a long tube filled with other people. There is always at least one crying baby, usually with a dirty diaper and one unruly child who is tormenting another passenger, not always a relative of, or even someone known to, the child.

There is always at least one obnoxious drunk, a couple of obese and cranky travelers and that one creepy guy who stares at people until they get so uncomfortable that they avoid his eyes for the rest of the trip.

Even though they supposedly clean the bus between trips, it always smells of body odor, touches of waste, old and stale food, dried alcohol like a beer was spilled and not cleaned up and, of course, the faintest hint of vomit.

Most times you are seated next to someone you would never have associated with voluntarily and, if you are really unlucky, you are sitting next to one of those people I listed before. For me, on this trip, it was the obese woman who was overflowing her seat and who seemed to believe that more perfume was better than bathing. The smell was so cloying, so pervasive that it felt like it burned my sinuses and the back of my throat.

We had a bonus passenger this time too. We had a crazy preacher.

The man was surprisingly clean, though his clothes had probably not been new in 1920, and he was slowly moving down the aisle between the seats, preaching his gospel to anyone who didn’t avert their eyes quickly enough.

As he got closer and closer to me, I got angrier and angrier. I watched as he tormented the other passengers, sometimes whispering and sometimes shouting and showering them with spittle.

When he got to me, I had already reached my limit.

“Tell me, boy, have you been saved? Has your eternal soul been given to Jesus?” He growled, pushing his face close enough that I thought I was going to retch when the smell of rot and corruption engulfed me. The man’s breath smelled like he had been eating week-old roadkill!

Instead of answering, I moved. My hand flashed out, grabbing his collar and yanking, bringing him to his knees in the aisle.

“I don’t like being preached to by scum. My father, the Reverend, learned his lesson too late to save him,” I snarled, my nose almost touching his. With just the tip of my index finger, I touched his throat, just over his larynx. In my mind, I saw his vocal cords, saw the blood flowing through his neck and pushed, just a little.

I don’t know what he saw in my eyes, but whatever it was, it frightened him. He opened his mouth to protest but only a very faint gasping sound emerged. He looked shocked and the terror in his eyes amused me. Deep inside, I knew that this was wrong, but I just didn’t care.

When I released him, I stood and loomed over him until he got to his feet. “Get back to your seat and stay there!” I ordered

He backed away, his eyes wide with fright and his mouth moving, but no sound coming out. With one last look, he turned and shuffled back up the aisle as fast as his bandy legs could take him, occasionally bouncing off a seat or tripping over a foot. I looked around, meeting the eyes of those who had watched the altercation, daring them to say something. None of them did.

It took almost three hours for us to reach Knoxville, stopping at every little town, hamlet and, or so it seemed, intersection, between my town and the city. I wondered if I could have gotten there faster by walking.

For those who have not had the pleasure of riding a Greyhound, then you probably haven’t been into one of their bus depots. It’s about the same as the buses, just bigger and smellier.

When I finally got off the bus, I told myself that I would never do that again, swearing to hitchhike if I had to when my money ran out.

I grabbed the first cab I could and told the driver to take me to a motel, someplace clean. When I had retrieved my families’ personal belonging from the police, I had been surprised at how much cash my father had on him. I had searched the house from top to bottom and found small stashes of cash everywhere! There had even been a ten-thousand-dollar bundle of new bills, still in the wrapper, hidden in a hollowed-out bible in his den.

I had money to live on, not even counting the bank check in my pocket, so while I would have to find work eventually, it wasn’t an immediate priority. First, I needed time to think, to plan. I needed time away from that town and those people. I needed time to grieve for Becky.

I needed time.

My family had gone to Knoxville a couple of times a year since I was a baby and, while I was not familiar with the city like a native would be, at least I wasn’t intimidated. When the cabbie pulled up in front of a Best Western motel, I paid his fee and headed inside.

I got a single, not needing much, and learned that the restaurant attached to the motel was open until eleven at night. Once in my room, I took a shower and laid down on the bed, just thinking I would close my eyes for a bit.

When I woke, it was eight in the morning according to the bedside clock! I had slept for fifteen hours and felt like I could do the same again just by closing my eyes. If not for the pressure on my bladder, I might have done just that too!

After using the bathroom and brushing my teeth, my stomach protested at not being fed in a while, so I grabbed my wallet and key and headed out to the restaurant.

The restaurant was nothing special, standard American diner fair, but looked clean enough. There were a dozen booths along the wall, a half-dozen free standing tables at the far end of the dining room and a place where singletons could sit on barstools at eat at the counter.

When the hostess noticed me standing by the door, she started to head my way, but I waved her off and headed to the counter. There was only one other person at the counter, an older, white-haired man at the far end, so I took a spot on the nearer end, snagging a newspaper someone had left behind and pulling it to me.

The waitress, a harassed looking, forty-something woman with tired eyes, took my order of coffee, scrambled eggs, sausage, toast and orange juice, all without saying a word. A raised eyebrow let me know that she was ready and another asked if that was all. I just nodded and watched her walk off to put my order in, amused at how eloquent she had been.

She was back with the coffee almost immediately and the breakfast didn’t take much longer. Again, without a word, she slid the plates onto the counter in front of me, tore my bill from the pad in her hand and slid it next to my juice glass. A quick glance from her to ensure I was satisfied and she was off to the next customer.

As I read the paper, it really hit me that I had no idea what I was doing. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was going to do when I got there. I had no plans, no goals, no ... no nothing. I had been in such a hurry to leave town that I had hopped the first bus to anywhere.

Well, I had arrived at anywhere, so now what?

I let these thoughts percolate in my mind as I ate and read through the paper. The headlines were nothing that concerned or interested me and, until I reached the want ads in the back, it all seemed like so much garbage.

The want ads were sparse and, since I didn’t really have any marketable skills or training and had no clue what I wanted to do with the rest of my life., Nothing in the ads sparked any real interest. Dog walker? Hairdresser? Stockbroker? Stock boy?

After breakfast, I wandered back outside and sat on a bench in front of the motel entrance, just watching the traffic flow by and letting my mind wander. I needed something. I needed a goal. I needed a plan.

I don’t know how long I sat there, but the longer I sat, the more closely I watched the traffic. I didn’t know where I was going but I sure as hell was not going to get there by bus. That thought bounced around for a bit and I nodded to myself. I needed wheels.

The clerk at the check-in desk was helpful, telling me when I asked that there was a strip in town that had dozens of new and used car dealers, and if I was looking for a vehicle, that was the place to go.

Outside once again, I grabbed a taxi that was disgorging passengers out front and pointed him towards the street the clerk had given me.

I had eighteen thousand, six hundred and eighty-three dollars in my pockets, and whatever I bought had to leave me enough cash to get to wherever it was I was going to go.

When we reached Chapman Highway, the street the clerk had given me, I laughed and waved the driver past the first place, called “God’s Place Auto Sales” knowing I would get screwed in anyplace that blatant, and had the cabby pull into the next lot called CarMart.

It was a medium sized place with a couple dozen vehicles lined up out front, so I paid the cabby and started walking the lot. Most of the cars were import compacts with a few minivans thrown in for the soccer mom on the go. There were a few more expensive cars, a new VW Bug and a jacked-up Jeep, but nothing that really caught my eye until I reached the back of the lot.

Parked in back, behind the car seller’s garage area, was a late-90s Dodge Dakota pickup truck. It was painted three or four colors of primer and some surface rust was still visible on the hood and in the bed itself, but the body was surprisingly straight, and it sat on new wheels and tires.

I was walking around the truck and checking under the rear end when a voice surprised me.

“Help you with sumthin?”

I looked up and saw a man standing there, looking at me suspiciously. He was a big fellow, easily six foot, four inches tall and not too slim either. He had arms almost as big around as my thigh and though they looked fat, I was willing to bet he was a hell of a lot stronger than me.

He was dressed in stained and faded overalls with a CarMart logo on the breast and was wiping his hands with a greasy rag.

“Looking for a vehicle. None of those interested me.” I told him, waving my hand in the general direction of the front lot. “This one did.”

“That’un don’t belong to the dealer, its ma nephew’s. He works on it some on the weekends, when he had money for parts and what not. Cain’t drive it ‘cause he lost his license for drunk drivin’.”

“So ... it’s not for sale?”

The man shrugged, then spat a wad of tobacco juice onto the cracked and stained asphalt.

“May could be. He’s been workin’ on it fer two years. Iff’n yer serious, I could call him up.”

“I guess it depends on the price and what the motor looks like, but yeah, I am serious,” I told him. There had been a couple of guys in town with the Dakotas and I had always liked the style. They had all been Dakota 4x4s and this one was an R/T, but I liked this even better.

He nodded his head and reached into his pocket, pulling out his cell phone.

“Bo, got a guy here what might want to buy that hunk of junk o’ yers. Uh huh. Uh huh. Yep. No, not later, now, boy. If you wanna sell it, you best get down here.”

He disconnected and slid the phone back in his pocket before nodding to me.

“My sister will bring him over shortly. Let me pop the hood.”

The engine bay was clean and the motor looked good, no leaks or other damage I could see. The undercarriage was neat and clean, and I could see the transmission and the rear end were clean and neither appeared to be leaking either. All in all, she wasn’t pretty, but she looked to be in good shape. I’d have to take it to a mechanic to be sure, but I was liking this a whole lot.

The nephew arrived about twenty minutes later. I was sipping a cup of bad coffee provided by the mechanic when a rattle-trap Impala pulled up and a guy got out. He looked about thirty and could have fit in anywhere in the rural US. From the torn off sleeves on his Lynyrd Skynyrd T-shirt to the greasy jeans and frayed ballcap, the man was what we called pure white trash back home.

“You the feller what wants to buy ma truck?” he asked, looking at me suspiciously.

“I might. Tell me about it.”

“She’s a 99 Dakota R/T that come with the 360. Only had seventy thousand on the odometer when the motor seized cause of a cracked oil pan. I got a 5.7 Hemi from a 2004 Ram at the junkyard, a wreck with less than twenty thousand on it, and my uncle helped me put it in. It’s a quick swap. Gives it about a hunnert more horses and that much torque too. I did the tranny and rear end too, fresh as factory. The body is a little rough and the seats are a bit beat up, under that cover I put on there, but she’s run and drive just fine.”

“How much would you take for her?”

He looked around a bit and when I turned back to me, there was a shifty gleam in his eye.

“I figger she’s worth nine, nine five. More if I was to get her painted first, but I just don’t have the money right now.”

I stared at him for a minute and he seemed to get a little twitchy.

“I like that truck, but not that much. Heck, I could get one newer than that, with the numbers matching motor, for ten. Now like I said, I like it, so I am willing to be fair with you, to pay you back for the work you put into it. I’ll give you three.”

“Three thousand? You are outta yer mind! I got more than that into it already. I’d be losing money if I took less than eight!”

“Eight? Look, let’s be real here. The book on this truck is around five plus you aren’t driving it and, from what your Uncle says, you can’t because of that drunk driving mess. It isn’t doing you any good sitting here in the back of a used car lot, right?” I said patiently.

He glared at his uncle, but the man just seemed amused by it all.

“Tell you what, against my better judgment, since you got the newer motor and cleaned up the drive train, forty-five cash for the title and keys, assuming it starts and runs okay.”

The guy looked pissed off, walking in circles and muttering to himself. Every once in a while, he would look up at me and glare, then go back to walking in circles. I was patient, the guy was talking himself into it, so no need for me to get involved.

Finally, I could tell he reached a decision but wasn’t sure which way he had ended up until he walked over, hopped in the truck and started it up.

The dual exhaust sounded good, throaty but not obnoxious. It took a minute to warm up after sitting for a while, but soon settled down into a healthy sounding purr.

Bo hopped out and went to the other side of the truck. “You can drive her around a bit, but I’m coming with you,” he said before climbing into the passenger seat.

The truck drove and handled well, was responsive to the throttle and even stopped well. The inside was a bit musty, but that would be okay after a few miles with the window open and some of that spray stuff my mother used to use all the time.

We pulled back into the lot and told him to give me a second to make a call and I would pay him for the truck. He went over to argue with his uncle and I turned my back, pulling half my stack of bills from my front pocket. I quickly counted out the money I needed and slid the rest back in place, then put the counted cash in my back pocket. Then I pulled out my phone and pretended to talk to someone.

I hadn’t wanted him to see how much I was carrying and get any ideas. He didn’t seem like the sharpest pencil in the box, so no telling what would happen if he got greedy.

A half hour later, with fifty dollars to the dealer for the title and tag transfer, and I was pulling out of the parking lot at the wheel of my very own truck.

I drove a bit further down the street, just looking around, and found a garage that looked clean and well-maintained. I pulled in and headed into the bay to find someone who worked there.

It cost me a hundred bucks, but they gave it a check over and inspection, pronouncing it good to go. It was cheap insurance in my book since the last thing I needed was to get on the highway and break down somewhere.

One more stop to pick up a couple of pads of paper and something to write with and I was back at the motel. I needed to make a plan, or at least, the beginning of one. I couldn’t live in a motel forever, but I needed to get my head straight first.

Taking the pad, I went back to the diner and had lunch while jotting notes about what I wanted.

1) I needed a destination.

Where did I want to live?

Where didn’t I want to live?

2) I needed a job or a goal at least.

What about the military? It was an escape plan I ended up not needing. Should I still enlist?

Was college an option?

If so, what should I study?

3) I needed to figure out what to do with the check. I had read a sign at my father’s bank that said FDIC Insured $100,000.

Does that mean that they will only insure that amount? If so, how do rich people handle it? They can’t break it up into different banks, there aren’t that many banks in the world.

Do savings accounts still pay out interest? Should I look into investing the money? If so, how?

4) I needed to learn more about the gift. I didn’t think that was something college would help me with.

Who could? Was it really magic? I refuse to believe it is based on religion, so maybe some other form of ... spooky stuff.

“You think any harder over there and I’ll have to call the fire department. I swear there is smoke coming out of your ears.”

I looked up and there was a different waitress at the counter, a couple of spaces down. She was refilling the salt and pepper shakers and grinning at me. She was cute, about five foot, four and thin, she had a real nice smile.

As nonchalantly as I could, I closed the cover on my notebook and set the pen down before answering.

“I guess I was at that. Is it okay if I sit here a bit? I can order dessert and some coffee if that helps.”

“Sugar, we ain’t all that busy right now, you sit there and think all you want. If you really want some desert though, we got some real good apple pie.”

“Thanks, that sounds good. And I’ll take that coffee too.”

“Sure thing, sugar. Now, you going to share what you were thinking so hard about or is it personal like? Girl problems maybe? Waitresses are a lot like bartenders, you know?” she said with a wink, sliding a plate and a clean fork in front of me.

I thought for a second, then shrugged. She seemed nice enough and it wasn’t like I would be here long enough for it to be a problem.

“I find myself not sure what to do. See, I just graduated and my family was killed the same day in a car accident. I buried them and sold the family farm, no way I was staying in our little town, but now I don’t know what to do next,” I told her. I could feel my eyes fill at the thought of Becky.

“Oh my God, baby, that is horrible! I would be a total wreck. How can you even stand it? Are you all alone now? Ain’t you got no family?”

“The only one that mattered was my little sister, she was an angel before and she is one for real now. My parents, well, the less said there, the better. But no, no family that I ever heard of.”

“I just ... wow. I don’t even know what to say to that. My family is everything to me. What about college? Seems like everyone wants to go to college,” she said thoughtfully.

“No, or at least, not yet. I have no idea what I would want to study, and I went to a tiny school, so no scholarships. I had been planning on the military, just to escape that town and my parents, but I don’t need that now.”

“I wish I had something to say, sugar. You got a tough road ahead of you. If you got a little money, maybe travel for a bit. See if there is something out there that interests you. I did that after I graduated from college.”

“You graduated from college? What did you study?” I asked, curious why someone with a degree was working as a waitress.

“I got my MBA, sugar. With a little help from my parents and a loan from the bank, I bought this place,” she said, waving her hand around and grinning at me. “What, you thought I was just another waitress, right?”

I could feel myself blush. That was exactly what I had thought.

“It’s okay, I can see it on your face. I bought this place five years ago and it has done pretty well, being so close to the airport. I paid off my loan and I banked enough that I bought another place last year. Now I split my time between the two, filling in where I am needed if someone has a problem. I figure another year and I might expand again.”

“Wow! You really have it together! You are a regular business tycoon, or well on your way. Is this what you always wanted to do? To own restaurants?”

“No, I wanted my MBA, but I didn’t have a specific industry in mind. I love food and I love to cook, so I had originally thought about starting with the food trucks, you know? They go around to construction sites and so on, but this place went up for sale and the price was good, so I upgraded.”

“You said you traveled after college. Where did you go? To Europe?” I asked, fascinated.

“No way. Me and a girlfriend of mine bought a Volkswagon bus and headed west until we hit the ocean. Then we went up to Seattle and across the country again, eventually making a big loop and coming home to Knoxville again. Spent three months just seeing the country. It was the most fun I have ever had. We’re talking about doing it again in a couple of years but taking the southern route and hitting places like New Orleans.”

“Go west young ... woman,” I said with a grin, recalling the famous saying from my American History class.

“Exactly. Course, it weren’t no covered wagon and we weren’t hunting for gold, but it was what I needed to decompress, to relax after six years of college.”

Well. It wasn’t a ten-point plan for success, but it sounded like a great idea. Go west. Just drive and see what I find. I have the money, as long as I am frugal.

“You know what, I really like that idea. I can mope around here, burning up my money in a motel, or I can drive, and spread it around a bunch of motels,” I said with a laugh. “Thanks for the chat, you have been very helpful.”

My lunch, even including the desert, was less than ten bucks and I tossed a twenty on the counter and grabbed my notebook.

“You have a wonderful day, and thanks again for the talk!”

“You take care, sugar. Good luck! I hope you find what you are looking for!” she called as I left.

First thing’s first though, I needed more advice. I looked in the phone book in my room and chose the nearest branch of a nation-wide bank, a sporting goods store and an auto place.

At the bank, I asked to speak to someone about opening a couple of accounts and was directed to a glass-walled office where a man in a suit greeted me at the door.

I explained that I needed an account I could access from anywhere and chose his firm because it was nation-wide. Next, I needed to invest some money in something safe that would pay more interest than a savings account.

I spent almost two hours there, going over the basics of investing with the guy. He was very helpful and showed me several ways of making sure my money was safe and still growing. I chose a money market account that had a good history of growth, and I opened a checking account as well. I declined the credit card but got a debit card that would work just the same.

The banker was ecstatic when I handed him the check from my pocket and, if anything, his grin grew even wider when he confirmed the bank check was valid. I had him put twenty-five thousand in my checking account, the other two million, one hundred and seven thousand went into the money market account.

At the sporting goods store, I bought everything I thought I would need to camp out along with a fishing rod and some tackle and a twelve-gauge shotgun along with some double-ought buck for it.

At the auto-parts place, I picked up a pair of five-gallon gas cans and a pair of five-gallon water cans, along with a couple of quarts of oil, a gallon of coolant, some aerosol flat repair spray and a big tarp to cover it all.

I’d stop in the morning to pick up some stuff for the road, but I was excited about starting.

My last task for the day was to speak to the manager of the motel where I was staying. I ended up with the assistant manager, as he was the one who handled all their mail.

I explained that I had just sold my house and didn’t have a fixed address. I would be traveling and had bought a truck. The problem I faced was the paperwork had to be mailed somewhere, so I used the address of the motel. Now I was leaving sooner than I had planned.

I offered him fifty bucks, half now, half when the paperwork came in and he forwarded it on to me. I’d call in a week or so to give him a new address. He seemed genuinely happy to help and told me all I had to do was give him a stamped envelope he could stuff it in to, but I insisted.

“Take your wife to dinner, or your girlfriend ... or take both some flowers,” I said with a grin, getting a laugh as he waved me off. I wrote down all my info and handed him the twenty-five bucks I had promised, then wished him a good evening.

I left early the next morning, checking out before sunrise and was out of the city before most people were out of bed. I caught Interstate 40 and was grinning like a loon as I eased into the early morning flow of trucks and travelers.

I had traveled about ten miles out of town when I pulled off the interstate again and into a lot that advertised trailers, campers and the like. Something had caught my eye that would make my trip easier.

An hour later, and a thousand dollars poorer, I pulled back on to the interstate with a new, sleek looking cap on my truck bed, lockable and everything! All my gear was much safer and would stay dry now too! Heck, if I had to, I could blow up that air mattress and sleep in there!

I had gotten my license, like every other sixteen-year-old, but I hadn’t driven a whole lot. A couple of trips up to Knoxville and a couple to Chattanooga, and more local trips to neighboring towns, but had never even left the state.

There was a feeling of freedom, of wide-open possibility to driving on the interstate by myself. The radio was playing some country song, though I had no clue who the singer was, but it seemed as if it was designed for the open road with the sound of little asphalt ribbons under my tires keeping the beat.

It doesn’t take long to get to the Tennessee border when you are going north to south or the other way around but going east to west is a whole other ballgame. It took me about six and half hours to get to Memphis, what with stops for breakfast and piss breaks, and by the time I got there, I had rubbed some of the shine off the whole fascination I had with the highway.

I arrived in Memphis about noon and considered staying for the rest of the day, just looking around, but something was urging me on. Instead, I got lunch at a bar-b-que place and got back on the road.

I made it all the way to the outskirts of Oklahoma City before I decided I had enough. I skirted the city and found a Motel 6 on the far side to spend the night in. I took the time to clean out the garbage from my trip, the soda bottles and food wrappers, then got a quick shower before heading out to find some food.

I had dinner at a chain restaurant, wanting to sit at a real table in the air conditioning instead of a picnic table outside like I had for lunch. Inside, I watched the people.

Now, this might sound strange to those of you who have traveled, but to a kid born and raised in a tiny town in eastern Tennessee, I had an odd notion about how folks in other states lived. I had figured Oklahomans would be wearing boots and cowboy hats like the folks in Texas were supposed to, except maybe with fewer guns.

Nope, they were pretty much the same as folks back home, though the women, especially the younger ones, were showing more skin than I was used to seeing. Sure, they did that in Knoxville and Chattanooga, but in my town, with the church being the center of everything, women tended to dress more completely lest they tempt some man into sinful thoughts.

Hell, I grew up knowing there was a television in Father’s room but was never allowed to watch it. We could go to the movies if it was something Father approved of though, so it wasn’t like we were unaware of what was going on. The kids in school, most of them, were more up on the world and they would share with us, or lord it over us depending on your viewpoint.

Heck, some of them even had iPhones and iPads and the like, though most of us got by with simple phones. The one I had in my pocket had been for emergency use only and I had been forbidden to use it to call friends.

I ate my dinner thinking about all the things I had been forbidden to do, all the things I had wished for, and realizing that I had been unconsciously following my father’s dictates even now. I had been in a motel for three days and had never even turned on the television and had yet to make a phone call on my phone. In fact, I wasn’t even sure my phone worked anymore, it had been on my father’s family plan!