Stop in Nevada
(A very brief excerpt from my novel in progress...)
As I made my way down the Garden State Parkway, the cities of northern New Jersey began to disappear, replaced by suburbs, then small towns, and soon I could see the coast. I realized I was already getting hungry, and I pulled off the Parkway to find myself a beach. It didn't take very long. I parked the car, took a sandwich out of the cooler in the trunk, and trudged over the sand about two-thirds of the way down to the water before I sat down. It was a weekday, and already mid-September, so there was almost nobody else on the beach, and the few who were there were keeping pretty much to themselves. Nobody was venturing into the water.
I ate the tuna-fish on rye, a sandwich I'd made myself a thousand times before, and the familiar taste brought me back to the teachers' lunchroom at my school, to the kitchen at home, to the hundreds of lunches I'd shared with Debra, with Alan, with my parents before them, and the tears started again. It seemed stupid even before I had the thought, but I swore at that moment never again to make myself a tuna-fish sandwich on rye. When I was finished eating, the next step seemed so obvious, so natural, that I could hardly believe it hadn't been part of my plan for that day all along.
I stood up, stripped off my clothing, and walked naked the rest of the way to the water, feeling the sun on my skin. The cold water shocked my system as I forced myself to wade in, until finally I was in up to my neck, and then I started back more slowly. I splashed around, half crying and half squealing with joy, until I was exhausted and cold. When I walked out of the Atlantic Ocean to retrieve my clothes and walk back to the car, then... then, I was free.
As I made my way down the Garden State Parkway, the cities of northern New Jersey began to disappear, replaced by suburbs, then small towns, and soon I could see the coast. I realized I was already getting hungry, and I pulled off the Parkway to find myself a beach. It didn't take very long. I parked the car, took a sandwich out of the cooler in the trunk, and trudged over the sand about two-thirds of the way down to the water before I sat down. It was a weekday, and already mid-September, so there was almost nobody else on the beach, and the few who were there were keeping pretty much to themselves. Nobody was venturing into the water.
I ate the tuna-fish on rye, a sandwich I'd made myself a thousand times before, and the familiar taste brought me back to the teachers' lunchroom at my school, to the kitchen at home, to the hundreds of lunches I'd shared with Debra, with Alan, with my parents before them, and the tears started again. It seemed stupid even before I had the thought, but I swore at that moment never again to make myself a tuna-fish sandwich on rye. When I was finished eating, the next step seemed so obvious, so natural, that I could hardly believe it hadn't been part of my plan for that day all along.
I stood up, stripped off my clothing, and walked naked the rest of the way to the water, feeling the sun on my skin. The cold water shocked my system as I forced myself to wade in, until finally I was in up to my neck, and then I started back more slowly. I splashed around, half crying and half squealing with joy, until I was exhausted and cold. When I walked out of the Atlantic Ocean to retrieve my clothes and walk back to the car, then... then, I was free.