A Long Way To Go

Prologue: A Long Way To Go

It was a Saturday night in the early spring of 1969.

With his hands tucked away in the patch pockets of his woolen coat, Ronald walked briskly along the ­often deserted, ill-reputed street that led to Joy Inn. The torrential rain had waned hours ago but much chill lingered in the air. The upturned collar of his garment did a little to provide that extra modicum of warmth as the cold wind stung his face, causing his mastoids to feel numb.

“I wonder what’s happening to her right now. Where would she be tonight?” Then he quickly dismissed the thought, like a smoker who feels a sudden pang in his chest would dismiss the thought of cancer.

It started to drizzle and the thunder grumbled. Ronald sighed wearily and doubled his pace, knowing that’s the harbinger of another downpour. Now he could see the lights of the inn far down the road. It took him another couple minutes to reach the gates. The dim lights at the entrance irradiated the front yard with dark intent. He paused for a moment outside the gates, away from view, then with quick swift strides, dashed into the bawdy house.

A warm, pungent smell that blended cheap alcohol and bad breath wafted toward him and greeted his nostrils as he walked into the dark, dingy hall. He took a few steps forward. Stopped. Before the blue lights filtering down from the dirty chandeliers could reveal his face. His eyes didn’t rove much before he spotted Sam.

Sam was sitting in the far corner. He was a thin, tall, dark bird in his late 50s. He saw Ronald almost immediately and beckoned at him, with a thin, long hand that clasped his silver-plated hip flask. Ronald walked across the room and took a seat opposite him.

“Do you have it?” Ronald asked. He took the hip flask from Sam and took a swig. The liquor felt warm and racy, tore its way down and exploded in his stomach. It was a good liquor but it made him feel as though he would puke.

 “Take a couple more shots,” Sam said. “It gets better. And how you holdin’ up though?”

“Death chases me, I can’t be with May and my fuckin’ balls feel like hoarfrost. How you think I’m holding up, Sam?” He took a deep draft and returned the bottle to.

Sam stared at him with sympathy. Ronald’s got hard luck right from his mother’s womb. Sam knew Max, Ronald’s father. They served together in the army. Lilly was pregnant with Ronald and Max was away at war in Vietnam. Max was kind and soft but had a lot of courage. With a couple holes in his gut, Max went all out to save a dying medic during a crossfire with the guerillas. He took more bullets on his way back to the camp. No one knew how he managed the onslaught but he died a few days later from hypovolemic shock. Lilly’s neighbor wrote a letter to Sam, how Lilly had screamed when the recruiting officer showed up on Max’s doorstep to deliver the news on a Sunday morning. They said it was that kind of scream that would make a century-old mummy turn in its tomb and Sam could imagine. Max was everything Lilly had. And she was in the streets months later, barely able to feed, heavy with Ronald.

Ronald took out a sealed brown envelope from his hip pocket and slid it across the table. “Please give this to May. It’s all I made from my recent exploits. You know what that is.”

Sam hesitated, then heaved a sigh. “Yea, I know what it is.” His fingers fumbled with something in his breast pocket for a moment, then he brought it out. A simple gold necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. “There you go. She said to wear it always. It will bring you luck and protection.” He let out a faint smile.

Ronald took it and gently tucked it away in his left patch pocket. “Thank you Sam, you’re too kind risking everything to meet me here. I owe you one.”

Sam chuckled. “Don’t be silly son. And don’t worry about your mother. Lilly has always been strong, I make sure she’s safe. Now you need to leave town like you need your next breath. St. Louis is a long way to go.”