Fargo

That morning, I woke up in Jenny’s arms, and it felt, for one blissful moment, like everything was right in the world. Here I was, wrapped in the arms of a beautiful woman I loved. She loved me, too. She loved me so much that for the past 21 years she has raised my children and sat around loyally waiting for the rare occasions when I returned to see her.

Sometimes when it comes to Jenny I question her sanity. I am nobodies prize. I don’t offer much in the way of anything. $600,000 is pretty cheap for buying a lifetimes worth of loyalty. I am not deeply worthy of love.

While I was off going places, meeting people, running around, being a vagrant, and, let’s be honest, in some way cheating on her. She knows there have been other women. I’ve told her in so many words. I could see the pain it caused in her, but she seems to endure it anyway.

Never has she done the same to me. Never ever. I lived life by my rules, and she lived her life by her rules. That’s fair. I just had a hard time understanding her being loyal by her rules, while I lived by very different rules. But I have never asked this of her; she gives it freely.

Don’t get me wrong. After Jenny, I’d felt love, in some capacity, for almost every woman I’d slept with. I wasn’t sleeping around to get my rocks off, as they say. It happened once in a while, but it was very rare.

In all the years I have slept with women who loved me, and there were a lot of them, I had never seen a smile radiating the contentment as the one now on Jenny’s face. I pulled her even closer to me and kissed her passionately on the lips. Somewhere in there she started to respond, and when we finally broke the kiss and I backed away, her eyes fluttered open. Both of us were breathing irregularly.

Naturally, I responded with the truth, “I love you, too.”

It doesn’t cost anything to say that, especially when its true. Maybe my definition of love is different than yours, but I did love her. I would do anything within my power to help her; accepting that providing my lifetime commitment was not really in my power. Something bad happening to her physically hurt me.

I think she knew that it came from there, too. I think that her knowing that I loved her - truly, honestly, and fully loved her - to the fullest extent of my capacity to do so- was what made her stay with me for the past few decades.

I loved Cheryl. She was a wonderful young battlewagon, with a warm heart and a swimming-pool worth of caring. She was selective with distributing it, but it sure as hell was there. She liked me sexually, and we did well together in bed. I think she found me being a father of a given child a positive attribute for the child. I wasn’t in love with her, and I never was. She was family; she was very special to me. But she is not, was not, would never be the woman I would want to settle down with.

We got out of bed and Jenny made all four of us breakfast. Jenny had always been a decent cook, and I sure enjoyed the meal. I’ve never seen Jake seem to enjoy a meal this much, either, not that I’ve known him long or anything.

When we finished, Jake mentioned that he should continue on his way. He was specific in implying the singular, but not in a way that indicated he didn’t want me along. Jenny looked at him, and looked at me. She indicated to Jake that he should wait a minute and dragged me back into the bedroom.

“I’ll stay if you want me too, Jenny. I love you enough to-”

“Don’t,” she said.

“Don’t what?” I asked.

“Johnny, I love you. There is nothing I want more than for you to live with me, for us to get married, and all that,” she explained, “But damnit, Johnny, I know that’s not what you want. I mean I know you want it. I know you love me. But I can tell from your tone that you don’t want to stop going.

“Moving on is what you do. You’re still running from yourself and you aren’t going to stop. Maybe you can stay here by standing on the brake, but your motor will keep revving. I don’t want to trap you into staying when your heart doesn’t completely want to stay. I love you too much for that.”

“Jenny, for you I’d stay. I’ll give it up for you. I love you, and you need me. Truth be told, I need you, too.”

“No, Johnny. First of all, you do have me and you always have. And you know it.”

“I do,” and I did. Somehow, after we met up again the second time, I had always known it.

“How many women do you love?” she asked.

I was stunned by the question. It was not something I could bring myself to answer, so I just stood there stammering.

“It doesn’t upset me,” she told me, “Can we agree there are a lot of them?”

“Yes,” I croaked hoarsely.

“How many women are you IN love with?” she demanded.

“Uh, well-” I insisted.

“No, Johnny,” she said, not giving me time to interrupt, “You are in love with two women. One of them is me, and I know that. The oth-”

“I’m not in love with Cheryl!” I exclaimed.

“I know that!” she shot back, “You’re in love with Suzie. Or you’re in love with the little girl you fell asleep with one night, who may or may not be the same person.”

I looked down at the floor, not sure how to explain myself. There were much fewer woman that I was in love with as the ones I held love for. Suzie was one; Jenny another. But there were others, who at some point or other did something to secure my feelings. One was dead, but I was still in love with her. Another had saved my life unequivocally.

“You have a big heart, Johnny,” she told me, “Which means you can love many women and I know you do. It’s ok with me, because I know we have a lot more than that. I’ve accepted who you are. I’m in love with you, and I have to accept that. I believe you that you will stay with me. But you don’t fully want to. You need to end this fight you’re having with yourself.”

“I-”

“Johnny, you need to go find Suzie and confront her,” she told me, “And you have to tell her everything. If she loves you the way you love her, she’ll accept that. If she works out for you, then you’ll be happy, and that means I’ll be happy. If not, it will hurt you like hell, I know. But the fight will be over, Johnny. That means you and I can get together. And I love you, too.”

“But, what if she doesn’t, or she’s dead, or-”

“What if, indeed?” she asked, “Then you can stop running from yourself and every single person who wants to love you. I’ve been praying and praying for years and years that one day you’d grow up on your own and confront your past, but DAMNIT Johnny, it’s been 25 years!”

“I don’t need to,” I told her, “I’ll be with you-”

I was unsure of myself, but was trying to hide it.

“No,” she stated firmly, “I have a question. Do you WANT to stay here the rest of your life?”

I was silent for a long time, and tears fell from my eyes when I finally said, “No. I’m really really sorry, but no. I can do it but it’s not what my heart wants. God how I wish it was, but no.”

“I know, Johnny,” she said, “I love you just the way you are. You’re not ready yet. It’s alright. I don’t want you to be kept locked in a cage. That’s not who you are.”

She reached over and kissed me long and tenderly.

I don’t think she fully understood the pain in my eyes. I couldn’t let go of the other women I loved. I could not sever the ties to them; relegate them to a lower status. True, a lot of it was just plain fear of commitment. But it was also fear of loss.

“Now go. I only ask few things,” she said.

“I’ll do anything you wish of me, darling Jenny,” I told her and meant it. I would have stayed if she had asked me. It would have been hard, but I would have done it.

“First, think about all that I’ve told you. It’s time to confront your fears,” she told me.

I said yes, although I had no idea how I could ever summon up what I needed to do it.

“Secondly, Johnny,” she said, making eye contact with me and holding it, “Whether you like it or not, you have a family with me. If you must, you must, but please try and come to see me more frequently. I will never tie you down if you don’t want me to. I will never ask you to. Even this is a request, not a demand.”

“This I will promise to do, Jenny. I’ve been a fool not coming to see you more frequently.”

“Could you do a few more things?” she asked.

“Sure.”

“Please try and find all your children and let’s get them all together. I suspect there are a lot of children that can call you dad,” she pointed out.

“I will try. I’m not sure even where to begin.”

We went back out to the room and kissed good bye. Jake and I got into the truck and Jenny waved as we pulled off. Tears filled my eyes. She was ever so right, but damnit, it’s almost as hard running away as staying.

“I heard her trying to keep you there,” Jake mused, “She must really need you.”

“You misheard. She convinced me I should go. All she asked was that I was more frequent in visiting her and that I try to confront my problem,” I told him.

“She’s a special woman,” Jake observed.

“She is that, yes.”

We rode in silence for what seemed like an hour or two, when I noticed we weren’t taking the most efficient route.

“Where are we going?” I asked him.

“I prefer to take the Pacific Coast Highway, it’s much more scenic,” he told me.

“Doesn’t that take longer and cost more?” I asked him.

“We’re two of a kind, Johnny. I do this because I, too, want to wander. I have more than enough to retire.”

More silence.

“I was wondering, Johnny, what’s the story with that woman Cheryl? How did you meet her?” he asked.

“Oh, that,” I said, “Well it was interesting, actually. I had found myself in Fargo in a freight yard. Apparently the car I was sleeping in was destined for Fargo and had been switched off the train. So I decided to spend some time in Fargo before moving on...”

I was sitting there on one fuck of a cold morning, in the doorway of something or other- I don’t really remember. By cold, the thermometer on a building across the street was reading -15°F. I was thinking of finding a train with a box car and getting the heck outta hear, actually. I had only been gone from home for a few years at this point,

-15 is distinctly cold. It’s freeze your balls off cold. And it was a windy morning, in the way the Midwest can often be. It was too cold to think. Too cold to feel. I was hungry and depressed. I had recently come back from an adventure with a really cool person, but it was not so long after I found out Suzie betrayed me. The sting of that still lingered. I didn’t quite know where to proceed from here.

All I really knew was that if I didn’t find comfortable lodging soon, proceeding from here would primarily consist of proceeding from here. Preferably at great velocity. To like Arizona or something.

A foot lightly kicked me twice. I looked up at who was trying to catch my attention, expecting it to be a police officer, but it wasn’t.

It was a woman. Not a particularly pretty woman by any definition, but she was looking at me with a great deal of concern. While she was older than me - perhaps 30 or so - she looked even wiser than that. She had certain sexuality to her, a certain feeling of family and warmth. It made it weird she was paying attention to me. I assumed she was married, without really knowing why I assumed that.

She had straw colored hair, a pug nose, and close-together eyes. She was not anyone’s picture of beauty, including mine. She had a round face, and looked very very British. Her breasts were large, but in a maternal way, not an alluring way. Her hips were large. She was wide, but not fat. She looked sort of rednecky, and looked like she did a lot of hard labor around her house.

“Top ‘o the mornin’ to ya,” she said, “Oi’m Cheryl an’ yew look loike yer starvin’, cowl’, an’ strong.”

“All three,” I told her, confused. “My name is Johnny, by the way.”

“Pleasure ter meet yer, Johnny,” she said, “Oi ‘ave a few things back on me farm ‘at could use attendin’ ta. Ya seem ter need some grub an’ a warm place ter stay. ‘Ow about we trade?”

“That sounds like the best offer I’ve had in a long time, lady,” I told her.

“Roight t’en,” she said, smiling, “Falla’ me.”

I got up and followed her. We walked a couple of blocks to a parking lot. There was a Volvo station wagon parked near an outdoor wall outlet - you don’t see many of those, do ya? - and I noticed it was plugged into it. To my surprise, Cheryl walked over to the Volvo, unplugged it, letting the cord retract, and told me to get in.

I had remembered hearing somewhere that Volvos were expensive cars, but this one didn’t really look it. They weren’t particularly common in Hornell, so I wasn’t familiar with them. This car had crank windows and vinyl seats, a blanking plate where the radio would go, and no apparent switch for activating air conditioning- I assumed it didn’t have it. The heat was warm, so that was really all that mattered at the moment. Then I wondered if they were sort of like Mercedes, because my parents cars had the same kind of spartan feel to them.

When she started going through the diesel starting procedure, I was surprised. I realized what the plug was, now- it was a block heater. Diesels frequently have them to overcome their tendency to disagree with the idea of starting in cold weather. The car started with a clattering shudder, and it sort of reminded me of my cousin Joe’s VW Rabbit.

Not surprising. I have since found out that the engine in the Volvo 240 Diesel is a 2.4 litre straight-six made by Volkswagen- basically a six-cylinder version of the engine in my cousin’s Rabbit.

Anyway, she backed the car out of the spot and drove off. She was a really early-shifter. She was probably concerned about fuel economy. My dad was more of someone who tended to drive the guts out of his car. But then his reason for buying the diesel was low cost and durability. Generally, the small diesel has always been the cheapest car in Mercedes-Benz’s U.S. model line up, at least through the early 90’s.

Anyway, we drove through the city, which was really a big city for a place like North Dakota. It was like Russia, but without the Vodka. Which really sucks because the only thing that makes Russian winters tolerable is the Vodka. But this was God’s Dry Country USA, so no vodka.

Eventually, we merged onto US-81. I realized that she must live out in the boonies. I wasn’t expecting it. It would mean she would have to drive me back to town, or I’d have to steal a car to get there. It’s not that I wasn’t willing, but it sure wasn’t my preference. Had I known, I might not have accepted her offer.

We drove for a long time over the highway, which given the very flat terrain, had a surprising amount of curves. We passed lots of small towns. Harwood was the first, followed by Argusville and Gardner.

“Yer look an’ soun’ a bit smarter den de average ‘obo,” she said.

“I do?”

“Aye,” she deadpanned, “Also, Oi was wonderin’ why yer wearin’ a Rolex watch, an’ don’t tell me it’s a fake cos Oi knoo it isn’t.”

“It was my dad’s,” I told her.

“Why ain’t ya hocked it by’ naw?” she asked.

“It was my dad’s, I said.”

“Ah.”

“Wherefore the ‘Ah’?” I asked.

“Yeh loved yer ol’ dad. Yer must be runnin’ from yer ma.”

“How do you know I am running?” I asked, not answering her question.

“Yer cape’bel of doin’ much bloody better for yerself. Ya don’t look mentally defective, yer seem bloody strong, an’ th’ conversation we’re ‘avin’ indicates ter me yer preddy broight,” she concluded.

“I guess,” I said, “But I’m not running from my parents. I’m running from my girlfriend’s dad.”

I set about telling her the story of my leaving home. It was already a polished routine.

In the meantime we passed more towns- Granbin, Kelso, and Hillsboro. Finally, we got to Cummings, at which point she took the exit. We turned right from the exit, heading down a road apparently called ND-200. We made a left onto CR-81, which must be related to US-81 somehow, and then made a left onto CH-7. We passed through what looked to be a teeny-tiny town with no apparent name, eventually coming to a road labeled CH-10, onto which we made a right.

By this point I was done with the basic outline of my story and remarked, “You must be pretty far out in the boonies.”

“Aye, dat Oi ahm,” she said, “An’ Oi would not ‘ave it any other way.”

I did not feel it prudent to ask her how I would get back to Fargo. The nearest railroad tracks must be 30 miles from here. Not impossible in the warmth of Nevada, but a bit difficult in Fargo’s biting cold. I could always steal the keys to the Volvo; if I thought she was keeping me trapped I would have no qualms about that.

Outside, since we left Cummings, the windows had been showing endless farming plots, occasionally broken up by clusters of farm buildings. It looked like a very peaceful place, at least. We then made a left turn onto a road that did not seem to have a name. As they had been for quite some time already, this was a dirt road and the car bounced and jumped and kicked up dust.

I could see why Cheryl felt the need to buy a beast as solid as this Volvo.

“Live on a farm?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, “Used ter be, bu’ dat was years ago. Lot o’ lan’, though, gives me an’ de kids lashings of space.”

“You have kids?” I asked her.

“Fer of ‘em,” she said proudly, “Only tree of dem are mine, mind yer.”

“Must be nice having all that company,” I said, “What does your husband do?”

That was not a question I normally ask, but I was so sure this woman had one, it felt natural to ask that question.

“N’er ‘ad ‘un,” she grumbled, “Canny imagine whaaat use Oi’d ‘ave for one anyway.”

You could have knocked me over with a feather.

Since we had started talking we had made another turn onto an unnamed road, that time a right, and now were making a left onto yet another. This was driving me nuts.

Normally I am, naturally, a pretty good navigator of unknown spaces. It is a skill you pick up as a hobo. You learn to draw mental maps of locations in your head. I travelled a lot and visited many cities and had to easily turn maps from the pages of my roadmap into my 3D world. But with all these turns and similar looking landscape, I admit I was totally lost.

“How do you know where you are?” I asked her.

“Oi ‘ave lived ‘ere for nearly ‘en years now. Yeh git used ter it.”

We made another left turn.

“Nearly dare,” she told me.

After another mile, we again turned left. And then a short distance later, perhaps a quarter mile, but probably less, we made a final left turn. This looked like a driveway, and I could see buildings in the distance.

By this time it was getting on in time and the sky was blazing with colors, mostly turning pink. Sunsets were one of the great gifts of nature. Beautiful, majestic, and wonderful. I liked seeing the colors of the world. I lived for each sunset, each sunrise, each blossom of stars twinkling like the finest of diamonds in the inky black of the night sky. From what I remember, the days don’t last that long here in early December.

In its barren wonder, the Midwest provides a vista. Wide open spaces as far as the eye can see. I remember a friend of mine who I met on Amtrak told me that the European tourists riding the western trains don’t really come for the rugged beauty of the trips through the Rockies. They have mountains in Europe, ones even more magnificent than our own. They come to traverse Kansas and North Dakota, to marvel in the stunning emptiness of our Great Plains, the endless space Europe lacks.

I could appreciate that beauty here in North Dakota. It was its own magnificence. Every place has its own magnificence. New York the grandness of its expanse of people of all shapes. Denver the grandiosity of the looming Rockies to the west. Arizona the wide open desert. North Dakota, in the biting clarity of the sub-zero weather, the grandeur of nothing, going on as far as the eye can see. This changing pageant of lovely magnificence, in all of natures wonder- and mankind’s wonder- is one of the perks of endless travel.

We pulled into a dirt clearing in front of the complex and pulled up to what looked to be a lashed together farm house built at half a dozen points. Not as lashed up as it would look 22 years later, but still lashed up. She didn’t seem to have anything approaching architectural sense. But the main house was still a huge building. Several stories of varying height, a lot of windows, and a beautiful porch with chairs to accommodate staring out into the expanse of land the house sat on.

Next to the house was a relatively modern looking metal-walled pole-barn, with a large roll up style door. An annex that looked like a garage was attached to it. A little further from the house was a wooden barn that was a bit dilapidated and seemed to be about the age of the oldest section of the house. So they both seemed about a hundred years old. A further shed was placed in between the house and the pole-barn. It had a chimney and was giving off the distinct sound of a diesel generator.

Also present was a silo off in the distance a bit. Enclosures with chickens, a few cattle, and sheep gave the place the sense of a farm. There was also an expansive fenced in paddock for some horses. All of them were in their coops or sheds, as would be expected in this weather. Presumably these building were heated.

As we pulled up, kids started to bound out of the house. She left the engine running, got out and greeted them. I watched trying to figure out which if one of the three wasn’t her blood. I couldn’t catch it this time. I made a mental note to watch for it at a later time. It was probably the kid who remained inside.

I got out of the car and helped her and the kids take in a lot of food and provisions, and ... textbooks? I’d have to ask her about those later. Or maybe not; this far from civilization the logical explanation was that she home schooled her kids, or would do so.