You road I enter upon and look around, I believe you are not all that is here,
I believe that much unseen is also here.
He got into his car and went through the glove compartment, making sure he had the map of the US safely tucked away. He looked at the map. There were so many places he wanted to visit; places he hoped to visit. But there were a few areas he planned on hitting: Atlantic City (for the trip he promised Mikey), Miami, New Orleans, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, and Chicago. Elsewhere he didn't know where he might be.
His ma had been concerned but he was anything but concerned as to what would happen in the end. He had to do this now; when he felt the urge to go and do it.
He looked around. The city was opening up for business, but when did the city ever completely close? Never. It was the city that never went to sleep; the city that kept on going despite whatever it was handed. It was a city that he knew everything about, or seemed to know about.
As he made sure that he had everything he needed for his unplanned trip, he noticed a book. Curious as to what it was, he picked up. Looking at the cover, he could tell it was a copy of Walt Whitman's poems (the title of the book gave away the photograph). Opening up the book, he wondered who would do such a thing; he never read anything more than an issue of Sports Illustrated or the occasional book related to criminal investigation or a Tom Clancy novel. There was nothing deep or meaningful about the stuff he usually read.
He set the book down on the passenger's seat; maybe he would look at it later, when things calmed down a bit. He glanced around the street. A few of the paramedics and firefighters he used to work with on a daily basis were starting to filter in. He wanted to get out of the area before he was recognized; the last thing he wanted to was to chat and delay his trip further.
Starting his car and pulling away from the curb, he knew he was entering upon an unseen adventure: the road being his canvas, his piece of art. He could choose to meld it into anything he wanted it to be.
As he drove down the familiar streets and bridges, a small sigh of relief came through his body, almost as if he knew something had to happen before he came back to the city. He needed to get away. He had said his goodbyes during the last few days, trying to reassure everybody that he would be okay.
The busy streets gave way to quiet streets, filled with nice homes, toys on the front lawns, cars parked in the driveways, eventually giving way New Jersey Turnpike, zooming by the countryside, or what one would consider the countryside on the Turnpike. As he got nearer to Atlantic City, he considered going down to Cape May, instead of going to gamble. But he had promised Mikey he would. And a promise was a promise.
As he entered the vicinity, his stomach started to feel funny, almost as if he wasn't supposed to be there. He parked his car in front of the boardwalk.
He had only been on the road for a few hours and already he was itching to go and drive some more. But he was only going to spend an hour or two here and then he was going to head out.
As he opened the car door, he could feel the bitter cold against his exposed skin. He knew it was going to be a cold day when he woke up, but it hadn't been this cold back home. Here he could feel the bitter cold of the Atlantic grip his cheek, the smell the salt coming off the ocean. He wondered if he was doing the right thing.
As he leaned against the open car door, he caught himself thinking how much more enjoyable this would be if Mikey were here. But he thought what the heck and went in.
Glancing around the room, he could see that there weren't that many people there; it was after all the middle of the week and early in the afternoon. He aimlessly wandered around the room, wondering what would catch his eye. Finally, he decided to go to the back and to the bar. It was the only place that he would feel the most comfortable.
After ordering a beer and taking a sip, the bartender decided to ask him what he was doing in Atlantic City during this time of the year. Clearly it wasn't the weather.
"I'm on a trip." It was the truth; he was on a trip, but he didn't know where he was going or how long it was going to take him, but he knew that he wanted to be at home in time for the second anniversary of his brother's death, that much was expected of him. He had all the time in the world, but money would dictate how long he could stay out on the road.
"Where to?" He knew from experience that bartenders were naturally curious about the people he met.
"I don't know."
"You don't know? Surely you know where you are going."
"I really don't know." He twirled his fingers around the glass. "I'm just going where the winds take me."
They were quiet for a moment.
"You know that sounds like a book my oldest daughter read in college; she said it was about this guy who goes on a journey across the United States several times and in the end decides to stay home. She said it was called 'The Open Road.' You should read it sometime."
He could only smile at the suggestion. After paying his bar tab, he made his way over to the blackjack table. He would play a few hands and then leave, not intending on staying too long. But for whatever reason a few hands became five and he was able get a couple hundred bucks out of it. It was like that Kenny Rogers' song, he knew when to walk away from the table and not play anymore than he wanted to. It would certainly help out with expenses, especially with the price of gas nowadays.
Here the profound less of reception, not preference nor denial,
The black with his wolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the illiterate person, are not denied;
The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics,
The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the eloping couple,
The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, the return back from the town,
They pass, I also pass, any thing passes, none can be interdicted,
None but are accepted, none but shall be dear to me.
He made his way out of the casino and down the boardwalk, in hopes of finding a diner and some lunch. There wasn't much, but eventually he found something. Sitting down in a booth along the windows, he looked at the menu the waitress had placed in front of him.
The words seemed blur in together, nothing seemed to make sense. It was a lot like his life; blurred and messed and not making sense. His life had never made sense. According to his dad, he had been a failure, a miserable failure.
He looked out the window. A guy passed by the diner, looking like he had had a few too many. Memories came back to him; it was an all to familiar sight that he had seen on too many times play out as his own father had come home after one too many.
The bell on the door rung; his head turned from the window to see a young couple come through. They looked happy, smiling and laughing at each other. They were dressed up, almost as if they had just come in from getting married. The woman stood up on her toes and kissed the guy, not really caring who was looking at them or thought of them.
Bosco quickly turned to look out the window. Not finding anything particularly amusing in what was going on outside, he turned to the menu that was in front of him. All he knew of what was going on outside was that people were passing the diner, going from one gambling house to another.
After quickly downing his cheeseburger and fries and placing some cash for the meal, he quickly made his way through the cold air and to the warmth of his car. Turning on his car, he pulled out of the parking lot and drove along the Atlantic City Expressway. He noticed that his gas gauge was getting lower and started to wonder if he would get out of Jersey before night fell. Quickly scanning the road for a sign, he found one and pulled off.
After putting in the gas needed, he quickly took out his map, well one of his many maps. He knew that he could go Philadelphia, but that he could go into Wilmington. Having been a fan of the Rocky movies, he knew the next move was to go to Philadelphia. Wilmington could wait for a few hours.