The only thing Jones had been more impressed with than his week-old 350Z convertible two-seater sports car was himself. He had pushed the limits of time and energy, along with the art of negotiation, for three years strictly for his promotion and, more importantly, the car. The car was now upside down at the bottom of a small grassy hill off the right shoulder of Route 295 South. Jones stood from what seemed a very comfortable seated position in tall grass fifty yards from the car, his car, and stared in amazement to make certain it really was hiscar with the wheels pointing skyward like a dead turtle on its shell. The crowd of emergency personnel made it more difficult for him to see the platinum-silver car, but he knew there could be no other reason why he was where he was.
As he approached the car, the hairs on his right forearm prickled up as the breeze from the highway blew across where his right shirt sleeve used to be. The rest of the starched white shirt remained, along with a bright red tie, which he loosened as he noticed another crowd of uniforms gathered around something else — a body covered with a mostly white sheet except where deep red stains were soaking through where the body’s head would be. On the ground next to the body was the white sleeve he no longer wore.
“Bastard probably never felt a thing,” said a man as he removed his firefighter’s helmet.
“Better that way,” another replied, “when you don’t know it’s coming, no time to think. You’re just — gone.”
Gone. The word echoed in Jones’ head and faded like the rush of endless tires on the highway nearby. He stumbled backwards through the tall grass as voices and flashing lights remained behind. He dug his wallet from his left front pocket and reviewed his driver’s license just to be sure he was who he was. The faces of his wife and kids all matched his memory as did his name and picture, and he put it all back in his pocket while taking further steps towards the woods behind him. He turned and picked up speed until he reached a full sprint, which lasted for only a few seconds before he slowed without breath. He dropped to one knee before curling in a fetal position and sobbing beneath the frozen arms of a family of oak trees whose spring buds were days away from exploding. When he pulled his hands from his face a few minutes later, he noticed blood and thought of the sheet over the body back at the accident scene.
He leapt to his feet, hands held away from his body as if his own blood might contaminate him. His eyes darted until they found the shimmer of a stream, then he walked almost primate-like across a grassy opening in the trees until reaching a bend of a tributary that strayed from the Delaware River about ten miles west. Jones squatted, thrashing his bloody hands in the ripples before allowing the water to calm so he could see the matted hair that partially covered a gash torn open during the accident.
He felt a wave of panic that began with the men at the crash site, the sheet covering the body with the bloody head, his missing sleeve next to the sheet, and the comfort in the suggestion that maybe he never felt a thing. After his shoulders relaxed, he stepped knee-deep into the stream and bent forward to rinse his hair of the blood and thoughts about death.
“I guess I get to keep my body. Good thing I never filled out that donor card.” He chuckled, forcing a smile. “But why would I need my body? Wouldn’t I just be more like a spirit? Is there a reason I’m still physical? What about-”
His thoughts stopped abruptly when he glanced up to the short bridge that spanned the stream. Standing beside a blue and white ’67 Mustang on the bridge was a frail man about half his age. His greasy, unkempt hair shone in the sun as his ultra-pale arm reached out of a t-shirt and attempted a timid wave at Jones.
“Hey!” he yelled, as if a plane was circling his island. The young man seemed startled and moved toward the driver’s side door. “Hey, wait up!” The skinny man bent as if to enter the car, then paused, looked each way down and up the road, bent again, stood again, and waited as Jones traversed the stream and climbed up a small embankment to the bridge. He approached the man cautiously while catching his breath.
“Hi. You can see me?”
“Y-yeah. I just didn’t expect that you’d see me.” The young man had imperfect teeth that were never totally covered by his mouth. His arm reached across his abdomen as he sort of hugged himself.
“I just had sort of a problem with my car, and I don’t think it turned out too well,” Jones explained.
“Looks to me like you made it okay,” the man smiled. “I’m Glen,” and he slowly extended his hand, as did Jones.
“Jones. Well, my name is David, but I got tired of the ‘Davy Jones locker’ jokes, so I just go by Jones.” Somewhere there was irony in having a car accident after years of avoiding jokes about someone dying at sea. “I had this new car, ya know, and it seemed like nobody could see me back there.”
“I know whatcha mean,” Glen laughed. “It took me a long time to get used to that, but I guess I’m still not used to it. C’mon. Get in.” They did, and Glen drove off.
“So how long, I mean, well, I’m not sure what to ask. I mean, I got like a million questions, I don’t know where to start.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I mean. Can people see us? Do they see you?”
Glen half laughed and shrugged. “They see the car, kind of stare at it actually, but they don’t see me. Haven’t for years. I thought the car would help, but it doesn’t.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Jones took in the man’s hair, clothes, and demeanor, figuring him for a suicide victim and curbing the next question. “Are there others like — like us?”
“A handful. That’s where I’m going now.”
“Can I come?”
Glen looked carefully at Jones while trying to watch the road and fighting off a smile. “Sure. They’ll be glad to meet you.”
“Who’s ‘they’?”
“Just some friends. More people who the rest of the world doesn’t notice.” As they drove, Jones noticed what seemed like a jagged scar still healing on Glen’s left wrist and filled in the blank for the question he never asked.
Glen pulled into a gravel driveway of a massive, gray Victorian house with several small lightning rods reaching up from the top of onion dome turrets on each front corner of the three-story house.
As Jones stepped from the car, he craned his head upward and said, “I’ve driven down this road a hundred times, but don’t ever remember seeing this house before.”
“That’s what I would have said,” answered Glen.
“Who lives here?” Jones looked around the area, trying to place other landmarks with the house, but nothing at all looked familiar even though he used the road at least once a week.
“Nobody really liveshere,” answered Glen. “We just come here when we need to or when we aren’t sure where we belong. Or sometimes just for support.”
“Oh!” Jones jumped in. “About what to do, like, are there rules or anything? Are there certain things we’re supposed to do, or things we’re not supposed to do?”
Glen paused, taking his hand from the doorknob. “Rules are kind of arbitrary. It’s just like everywhere else really. Golden Rule kind of stuff. Don’t do what you wouldn’t want anyone to do to you. It’s really universal, even here.” They went in.
Jones didn’t realize what a brilliantly sunny day it was until he swam into the darkness inside. He closed his eyes to help his pupils adjust, and he soon saw a group sitting around the living room. He baby-stepped into a quiet room with a circle of seven chairs of various styles, each chair filled with someone barely visible in the darkness, all sitting very straight. One chair was empty, which Jones assumed belonged to Glen, and one chair was much larger than the others. That chair was against a large window on the far side of the room. He could see the front half of a woman in shadow from the incoming sun, like looking at the dark side of the moon as the sun smacked her from behind. Glen approached her and whispered while the synchronized movements of the other shadowed heads followed him.
“Welcome, Mr. Jones,” said a solemn and aged woman. “Glen tells me that you have many questions. I’m assuming you’ve had what some people call a — change of life.”
Jones nodded. “I guess you could call it that.”
“Perhaps we can be of some help. Please have a seat and let’s talk.” He could not recall a voice that had ever filled him with such comfort, as if he could ask the most obvious or insane question, make a completely ludicrous statement, and he’d hear only praise.
“Take myseat,” said Glen, pointing to the empty chair directly opposite the woman. Jones moved for it, sorting his thoughts and nodding to the others while sitting like a new guy at the board meeting. Glen stood beside the woman in shadow. “Mr. Jones saw me today,” Glen offered to the group, and they immediately turned heads towards each other, to Glen, the woman for her response, and then Jones.
“Forgive me, Mr. Jones. My name is Mary.” Jones guessed Mary to be approaching 90 but couldn’t be sure because of the velvety voice and awkward lighting. All he could be sure about was that she had hair, glasses, and smiled when she spoke.
“I have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course you do, Mr. Jones. We all do. That’s why we’re here.”
“That’s the first one. Where is here? And is here a — a goodplace?”
“Yes, Mr. Jones, this is the best place, but it’s just that. A place, one of many. Sometimes we’re finished in one place. We move on to another. Sometimes we know exactly where the next place is. Sometimes we’re not sure. Some of us find places like this to stay awhile, talk with others who are moving on, and decide where to go next.”
“So we have choices? It’s not like we’re told where to go or we get taken away somewhere?”
“Some of us get taken away, but that would have happened by now so I’m sure you’re fine. We always have choices, but poor choices are hard to reverse and always leave an emotional mark. It helps to talk to others and move on together when possible.”
Jones paused, still barely able to see anyone’s face. “Was it unusual that I saw Glen today? I mean, can people see me?”
Mary placed her hand upon Glen’s as it rested on the arm of her chair. “Most people do not really seeus, not the way we’d like to be seen. Most people look right through us, but occasionally there are some who have a special intelligence, an awareness that allows them to see and talk to us just like they’d talk to their brother or sister, wife or husband, or child or best friend. We can all see each other, and it’s not difficult for us to find others just like us. We’re everywhere, moving about the world just like everyone else.”
“I feel hungry. Is that normal?”
“Very normal.” She leaned forward and smiled even more. “I would be worried if you were nothungry.”
“Do I stay here a certain amount of time? Do I know when to go or do you tell me when? Is there anything I have to do or something I have to know?”
“Mr. Jones, you’re probably not going to like this answer, and I completely understand, but there are no signs. There’s nothing to tell us when or where to go. When you feel like the time is right, you go. When you feel that you know where to go, you go. So many have come here expecting answers or expecting to be told to go here, go there, do this or that, but it really is up to you. I can help you sort through the choices, but nobody can tell you when you are ready or whereyou should go.”
Jones looked to the floor, then up again. “I’d like to go see my family.”
Mary sat back in her chair. “It might be too soon for that. It would probably be very upsetting to you and to them as well.”
“So they’ll see me?”
“Yes, youthey will see. They might not see Glen or the rest of us, but they’ll see you. Unless you don’t want to be seen. There are things we can do to avoid that, and I’m sure Glen can teach you. Sometimes we naturally gravitate towards others, and the fact that you were able to see Glen tells me that you should probably stick together for a while.” She looked up at him and patted his hand. “Glen is more intelligent than even he is aware. He’s had his life trampled on, but he’s recovering just fine.”
“Are there any rules I need to know?”
“Some rules are moral or religious based, like marriage. Some are common sense, like stealing. Do everything just as you always did.”
“So we can have possessions?”
“We can allhave possessions,” she smiled, “but there’s no real need for them. As for rules, the only rule here is the Golden Rule.”
Thoughts were sinking into Jones, crawling through his veins. Acceptance was first, flooding through him like slipping into a hot bath, but he wasn’t sure if he was ready for the bath, ready to accept a new life.
“I sense some hesitation, Mr. Jones,” Mary said.
“This is just so sudden. I mean, I didn’t have a chance to –. Last night I go to bed, kiss my wife good night, and everything is normal. Then — everything gets ripped out from under you.”
“There’s nothing wrong with feeling that way. We all get here in different ways, for different reasons. None are good, just different. The important part is not what got us here but what we do from this point on. I understand that you want to see her, and so would I if I were you. Give it time. Give hertime.”
“It’s the suddenness. I just wasn’t ready.”
“And some people would say you’re lucky for that. There are some of us who go through months and years of doctors and medications and failure. Therapists and tears, waking up with nightmares, knowing that the inevitable is going to catch up with you. Trying to figure out what to say to your wife or husband, not knowing how to say goodbye but you know that you eventually have to say one last goodbye. And sometimes, with no mercy, it happens and it’s over just as quickly as it started. Some of us would have gladly had your experience instead of theirs.”
When Jones stood, Glen pulled his hand away from Mary and walked behind his chair to put a hand on his new friend’s shoulder.
“You two should go outside and talk,” suggested Mary, and they did.
The sunlight was painful to his eyes as they left the darkness of the house, and Jones wondered, briefly, why Glen didn’t seem to be affected. “I guess you’re used to everything.”
“Not yet, but I’m getting there.”
Jones braced his palms on the railing of the wrap-around porch about fifty feet from the county road where intermittent traffic regularly exceeded the speed limit, slowing only when approaching a bend in the road. “Are there other places like this?” he asked. “Other places I could have gone?”
“Probably,” Glen said, “but this is the only one I know of.”
“You been here long?” Jones turned and sat on the railing, looking toward Glen who now sat in one of several rocking chairs.
“A few weeks. I spent about a year just wandering around, kept thinking I could just handle it myself and didn’t need anyone else, but it kind of got boring. Lonely. Then I found out about Mary, and I’m just about ready to get outta here.”
“Where you going?”
“Don’t know yet, maybe cross the country, see places I never saw before. Maybe meet some others.”
“Can I go with you?” Jones asked while standing off the railing.
“Sure,” said Glen, hiding a smile.
“Let’s go. Now. Today.” Jones’ enthusiasm grew.
“N-now? L-let me check with Mary first, because –”
“What for? She said we’ll know when we’re ready. You said you’re ready, and I don’t want to sit around here waiting.”
“Yeah, but you might need some time still. I mean, this all happened to you just today.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been through all this, and I’m sure you can help me with the tough parts. Let’s just get in the car and go.”
“Mycar?”
“We sure can’t use mine,” laughed Jones as they walked toward the Mustang in the gravel driveway. “Don’t worry. If you get tired, I’ll drive for a while. How do you pay for the gas?” Jones asked. “I mean, do you just hand them a credit card?”
“My wife maxxed out my cards,” Glen said.
“Her problem now, right?” Glen’s frown caught Jones’ attention. “Hey, I’m sorry. That was kind of insensitive of me. I wasn’t thinking, but don’t worry about paying for anything. I’ll hit a few ATM’s and we’ll be fine.” He patted his left hand on Glen’s right shoulder, not bringing him back to a smile but at least neutralizing the frown. “Can we go past my house?”
“You heard Mary. It’s probably too soon.”
“I know, but who knows when we’ll be back this way? It’ll just for a few minutes. How about this? We get there, you watch the clock. One minute and we’re outta there, no matter what, no arguments, nothing. Even if I argue, you just drive us away.”
“You sure? No arguments?”
“Swear to God. I guess that means a little more now than it did yesterday.”
“One thing Mary wants us to realize is that we can help ourselves a lot more than God can.” Glen got in his side of the car, reached across, and unlocked the other door for Jones to get in. “It’s not like God doesn’t listen. He does, and he can help us feel more at peace with ourselves. But it’s not like he can reach down and actually touch or change anything.”
“Mary said that?” asked Jones.
“Yep.”
“I guess she’s the authority, right? Is she connected to him in some way, or is she just one of us?”
“She’s kind of in charge. I know she said that we can all go when we’re ready, but she really decides that. One guy just wouldn’t listen, so she sent him away, told him he’s not allowed to be here anymore.”
“Sent him away? Where?”
“Not sure.”
“I didn’t know she had that kind of power.”
Glen started the car. “It’s her house.”
A light rain fell. Beads of water dotted the windows and body of the Mustang like tiny bubbles. Jones’ house was on the corner of a quiet suburban development on what had been farmland up until two years ago. They parked four houses away, which would have been more like the distance of eight houses in a residential neighborhood in most suburban towns. The driveway was full of cars as was the street in front of the house, including one police car.
“The blue Corvette is my cousin David’s. The white minivan is my sister-in-law’s. That silver one I’m not sure, might be one of my wife’s friends. The pick-up truck is my brother’s. Not sure about the Cadillac. I hate Cadillacs.”
“Thirty seconds,” said Glen.
“Get closer.”
“Not good, especially with a cop there.”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“If she sees you with a cop there, that could be trouble. You really arenew at this.”
Jones cracked an internal smile as he pictured his wife being led away in a straight jacket by men in white coats. Although he would never wish any pain upon his family, he certainly expected his wife to be rather distraught given the circumstances.
“Okay, let’s get out of here. If I see my kids, I might fall apart.”
“Good thinking. You’ll have plenty of time to see them later.”
“Really?”
“Of course,” Glen said with a comforting voice. “Those things get worked out later. Right now, the important part is understanding that you’re here, she’s there, and that’s the way it’s going to be. Accept it and move on.”
“I’m working on that, and I’m hungry too,” Jones added. “Make a right out of the development. There’s a farm stand down the road. I need a banana and an apple.”
The Mustang stopped at a wagon that was normally pulled by a tractor. A steel box with a slot in the top sat inside a milk crate and was there so courteous folks could drop money in and take apples, tomatoes, bananas, cucumbers, and whatever else the farmer offered. The farmer made the bulk of his money selling to the local supermarkets, but he also gained a few extra bucks with the roadside stand. Jones dropped three dollars in and took two apples and two bananas, one each for Glen and himself, then they headed west on I – 76 with no specific location just yet.
“So what’s the biggest change, the biggest difference that you’ve noticed?” asked Jones. “I mean, so far, nothing is really any different for me as far as I can tell.”
“It’ll catch up to you. It just hasn’t really sunk in yet. Biggest thing for me at first was how much I appreciated little things even more. I’d drive by a school bus, see a line of kids on their way to school, and I’d break down. Or I’d see a couple out for a walk, holding hands, and that would do me in. The mall at Christmas time, before– I hated it just because of the crowds. Now I miss it. I miss not buying things for someone special. I can’t even remember what Christmas Spirit feels like.”
“Spirit,” said Jones. “That’s funny.”
“If I could, I’d probably sleep from Christmas Eve, right through past New Year’s Day.”
“Hey, I didn’t think about that. Do we even sleep? I mean, do we really have to sleep?”
“You’ll have many sleepless nights, for sure,” Glen said. “But don’t focus on that. Focus on the free time. Going where you want, when you want, like right now. If you want to turn the stereo up at midnight, then do it. Or if you want to hang in a bar until closing time, no problem. Who’s going to yell at you when you get home?”
“Do we even have homes? Do we needthem?”
“Depends on what you mean by a home. We do, but it’ll be more like a house, not a homeanymore. You’ll feel in transition for a while. You’ll take whatever you can find at first, then you’ll want to move up.”
“Up? Oh, right. I was wondering when that happens.”
“The important thing right now is to have fun with it and do whatever you can to put a smile on your face, without hurting anyone else of course. Take advantage of whatever you can take advantage of. You’ve got very few limits, so stretch ‘em. Push ‘em. After a while, you’ll get tired of that and you’ll want to settle yourself down again, figure out where you are, what got you here, and what it all means. Why it happened. Once you understand the whypart, then you’ll relax about it. You can’t change it, so just make the best of it. Look forward, not backward.”
Jones removed his tie as Glen’s words gained emotional momentum. He reached out with the tie, letting it flap in the air current around the car. As they passed three teenagers walking along the road, he let go of the tie and watched the kids. They turned their heads as the tie settled on the side of the road. Then they looked at each other, giving Jones a quiet laugh.
“Stop at the library, up at the next traffic light,” Jones ordered.
“Library?”
“Yeah. Just follow me and stay quiet.” The Mustang roared into the parking lot, and Jones entered the brick building with Glen in tow. “Don’t say anything. Just stand back, watch people, and then follow me.”
Jones walked in as the automatic doors opened before him. He stepped softly, staying as quiet as possible. As he passed the elderly librarian behind the main desk on his right, he moved to the reference section beyond it and began to remove encyclopedias from a shelf. One by one, he stacked them in the middle of the floor. The few patrons in that area silently watched as book after book reached higher and higher. Glen did as he was told, stepping back further with each book as others stepped closer.
When Jones was satisfied with the height of the books, he held one by the front and back covers, pages hanging below, and flapped the covers as if a heavy paper bird was flying across the room, back towards the front door. Jones grinned increasingly as more and more speechless people kept their eyes on the flapping book.
“Mr. Rubin,” called the librarian, “could you come see this, sir?” Jones played along, allowing the book to hover a few seconds near her desk before moving toward the exit.
“Pretty crazy,” Mr. Rubin said.
“Should I call somebody?” she asked.
“Yes, but don’t touch any books. It might be evidence of something.”
Jones brought the book down on her desk, placing it so it stood tent-like before her. As she picked up the phone, Mr. Rubin grabbed a pencil and paper, making notes quickly as Jones motioned to Glen that it was time to leave.
“Did you see their faces? That was the craziest thing I ever did!”
Glen’s eyebrows shifted, “I’m sure ‘crazy’ is pretty much what they were thinking too, but let’s not make a habit of that, okay?”
“You’re the one who said to take advantage and have fun with it.”
“Not exactly what I meant.”
“Hey, pull in this parking lot. The supermarket.” Glen did so with slight reluctance, pulling into a space near a shopping cart corral as Jones stumbled out of the car before it came to a complete stop. “Follow me.”
Immediately inside the automatic doors was the produce section. Jones walked up to the apples and grabbed a handful. Each time a shopper pushed a cart within reach, he dropped an apple into the cart and enjoyed the confused eyes on the shoppers as they sped away and tossed the apples into boxes of oranges, onions, and whatever else was around.
Jones took three apples and stood in the middle of the produce area, his smile growing as shoppers slowed down with the feeling that something unusual was about to happen. Jones looked at Glen before tossing one, then two, then three apples in the air, keeping them aloft with a typical juggler’s pattern. Jones’ eyes danced from the fruit to his audience and back as Glen moved close enough to whisper. “I think someone’s getting the manager. C’mon, let’s get out of here.”
“I’m just having fun, like you said.”
“I said have as much fun as you can but not at the expense of others. Let’s get out of here before we get in trouble.”
“Trouble. From who?” Jones laughed.
“Whoever is in charge.”
“I don’t think he’s really gonna care about a few apples.”
“Probably not, but he’ll care about scaring customers away.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” On the way out, Jones place two apples where they belonged and began eating the third. Speechless people watched as they walked towards the front door. Jones held the apple up, moved it left, right, and in a circle, watching as everyone else’s attention followed the moving apple.
Glen had run to the car and pulled in front of the store. As Jones hopped into the car, a balding man in a starched shirt and tie scribbled notes on an index card, glancing between the card and the car until it was beyond his sight.
An hour later they had crossed the Walt Whitman Bridge and through to the other side of Philadelphia where the buildings were slightly thinner and trees thicker.
“You hungry?” asked Jones. “I’m hungry. I didn’t think I’d be hungry.”
“I barely ate at first,” said Glen. “Lost a lot of weight, but I started eating normal after a week.”
“I need a burger. You want one?”
“No, I’m good.”
A short time later Glen pulled into a rest area along I-76 and said, “I’ll wait out here.”
“Sure you don’t want anything?”
“Nope. Take your time.” Glen reclined the seat and hoped to take a short nap.
Jones approached the doors of the rest area. In front of him was a woman in her mid-20′s pushing a stroller containing a comfortable and quiet child, who Jones didn’t notice because his attention was glued to one of the shortest skirts he could remember seeing other than on a website. Cro-Magnon Jones followed her right to the counter where she ordered two cheeseburgers and fries. He stood in awe with a little lust, and it didn’t take long for him to realize that he didn’t have to ask Glen if physical reactions to sexual urges were going to be any different. He stood very close behind her as she waited for her food, trying to smell her perfume without making any noise or touching her. He had been thinking about Glen’s words regarding scaring people, and he did not want to frighten a mother pushing an infant in a stroller.
He stepped back and leaned a little to the right, trying to answer what burned his curiosity, but he couldn’t lean over far enough. He got down on his knees, peering beneath her skirt, and then he had his answer. He fought the urge to step into the ladies room and fulfill a high school fantasy when a distraction arrived in the form of a hefty teenager with four double-cheeseburgers on a tray on his way to a seat. The boy put the tray down as he remembered to get a soda. He took his empty cup a few yards around a corner to fill it with Mountain Dew. Upon his return, only three cheeseburgers remained. One, half-eaten, was on its way out the door.
“Wake up, Buddy,” Jones said, climbing into the car and disturbing the sleep that Glen had not yet reached. “Ever been to Chicago?”
“No.”
“You like pizza?”
“Of course,” he answered as he sparked the engine back to life.
“Then you’ll like Chicago.”
They left the parking lot and only needed a few seconds for the Mustang to reach 70, at which Glen clicked on the cruise control. About ten minutes down the highway they didn’t notice the Pennsylvania State Trooper rushing the opposite way towards the rest area they had just left.
“You mind if I take a nap? It’s been a strange day,” Jones said as he reclined the seat and folded his arms over his eyes. “Once I get a little sleep, I’ll be able to better understand what you’ve been trying to tell me about everything. I’m sure I’ve been pretty annoying today.”
“I got the radio if I need company,” Glen said as Jones drifted away quickly, rocked to sleep by the moving vehicle despite the wind was whipping around him.
An hour later Jones jumped up in his seat, startled, looking at Glen with initial surprise as he tried to remember why he was in someone else’s sports car speeding along a highway that cut through green hills dotted with cows. The whole day quickly ran back to him like a wave rolling up a beach before sizzling and sinking into the sand.
“You okay?” Glen asked.
“Yeah, sure,” stammered Jones as he struggled to open his eyes against the sunset that sliced through the windshield of the westbound car. “I just kind of forgot everything for a while, and then it all came rushing back to me.”
Glen smiled. “Yeah, that’ll happen. Feels great for a few seconds, then it feels like hell all over again.” Glen allowed him a minute before continuing. “So you think you’re gonna stick around for a while?”
“Where else am I gonna go?”
“There are lots of divorce groups,” said Glen “but I think you should stick with Mary. She really knows how to help. Always knows exactly the right thing to say in those tough times, and believe me — you’ve got some tough times ahead of you.”
A song was fading out as a news announcer cut in. “Police in New Jersey have yet to find the driver of a vehicle involved in an accident earlier today. At about noon a car registered to David Jones of Montford, New Jersey, went off the road at mile 47 of Route 295 South. A body was found at the scene, a male in his 40′s, but the identification on that body matched that of the owner of a disabled vehicle found roughly a half mile away. Police believe the man had been walking along the highway when he was struck and killed by the sports car. David Jones has not been found, but witnesses said an unidentified male was seen walking away from the wreckage. Police are withholding the identity of the man struck and killed pending notification of his family.”
Jones sat up. Police sirens caught his attention as a Pennsylvania State Trooper approached from behind. The radio announcer continued. “And I’m now being told that someone matching the description of the owner of that wrecked sports car was seen vandalizing a library, shoplifting from a supermarket, and looking up a teenage girl’s skirt in a fast food restaurant.” The announcer chuckled. “I tell you, it doesn’t get much weirder than that. Warm and sunny today with a high of 84 degrees, and that’s what’s happening.”
Vomiting in a moving convertible was yet another new experience for Jones.
Article © Richard Voza. All rights reserved.
Published on 2009-04-20
