Off To the Road 1: Leaving Home
A boy leaves home to see the world.
The last bell of school rang.
He was done with high school, now life could begin.
He stayed up late that night, poring over maps, looking for large agricultural areas between cities, knowing how to do farm work, but not too sure about jobs he could get in the cities, still wanting to see the cities. He knew he had to mostly work that summer since he wanted to start college that fall, yet the wanderlust in him pushed him to plan out a trip. In the morning, after chores were done, he got cleaned up a bit, cutting off an elf lock in his hair since it wouldn't comb out. He packed his clothes in an old cardboard meat case: a few pairs of under shorts, a couple tee shirts, two pairs of blue jeans, a couple work shirts, some socks, plus a pair of corduroy paints and a 'good' short sleeved blue shirt. He tied his 'good' shoes onto the twine holding the case together.
In the morning he ate some cereal, not liking eggs since the age of eight or nine when he realized just what eggs were - he soon would get over that though. His dad then asked if he were ready to go. "Sure am," was his reply.
His dad took him to Wadena, got him a train ticket there to Fargo and gave him a twenty dollar bill; now he had twenty five dollars, the five received for his birthday the previous November. This was the first time he had been on a train. These were the days before Amtrak, the train having six box cars, a tank car, a baggage-mail car a passenger car, and a caboose. The conductor was the baggage handler and the mail sorter. He had blue-gray eyes and graying brown hair, a slight limp, not talking much to the passengers: the boy, a couple of teenaged girls giggling a lot, and a middle aged couple. The girls came to sit down on the seat just across from the boy.
"What's your name?" asked the one with the brown eyes and hair; having a knee length skirt and white blouse on.
"They call me Scotty," he said; this wasn't his real name, but he thought it sounded cooler, as if these girls really cared at all about that.
"Do you want to come with us to the rumble, Scotty?" the blond green-eyed one asked.
"What's a rumble?" he asked, not quite sure if he should profess ignorance or not, but it was out of his mouth before he even thought of it.
"Oh, it's a blast, the boys all fight and the girls watch. Afterwards there is a big party," said green eyes, "By the way, my name is Judy, and this is Karen."
They chatted until they got to Fargo. The girls were going to be in high school the coming fall. They didn't really seem to have much going on except for partying, and running to-well, running to more parties, as if that was all there was in the world to do.
When they got off the train, Judy said, "There's your dad," and off the girls went.
Scotty looked around, not knowing the town at all, sitting down on a bench by the station, eating the lunch his mother had made him before he left home, a bologna and lettuce sandwich, the crust starting to get a bit crunchy. There was a want ad section of a newspaper near him on the bench. He looked at the 'rooms for rent' section. There were a lot of rooms for five dollars a week, but he found one that was for four dollars a week. Now he had to try to figure out where this place was. Stopping at a nearby cafe, sitting down on a stool, trying to think if he wanted to order anything when the waitress asked: "What would you like, honey?"
He asked her if she knew where the address was; she did; it was nearby and she gave him directions how to get there.
He said, "Thank You," putting down a dime - his mother had always tipped a dime; his mother had been a waitress while his dad was gone to war.
The rooming house was about fifteen blocks from where he was. He walked over there in a short time, carrying his cardboard box-suitcase in one hand, then the other, taking in the scenery, listening to the locust's long squeals, watching the birds flying through of the trees. Soon he saw the white three story house just down the block. He wasn't sure yet because he could not see the house number yet, but just had a feeling it was.
"Looking for a room are you?" she asked, this woman in her forties, hair graying, a little overweight, looking a bit tired.
"Just for a week or so."
"Well, com'on; I'll show you what I have, but it's on the third floor."
They went up the stairs, she grunting with each step as if she were in pain, he trying to balance his cardboard box/suitcase so it didn't come apart.
On the second floor, she stopped and showed him the bathroom. "And clean up after yourself - If I have to do any clean up that will be an extra day's rent," she said, and then continued up to the third floor.
She showed him the room, leaving immediately, probably because she wanted to get back to her TV show. He half unpacked his clothes; then he lay down, sleeping until morning.
He was done with high school, now life could begin.
He stayed up late that night, poring over maps, looking for large agricultural areas between cities, knowing how to do farm work, but not too sure about jobs he could get in the cities, still wanting to see the cities. He knew he had to mostly work that summer since he wanted to start college that fall, yet the wanderlust in him pushed him to plan out a trip. In the morning, after chores were done, he got cleaned up a bit, cutting off an elf lock in his hair since it wouldn't comb out. He packed his clothes in an old cardboard meat case: a few pairs of under shorts, a couple tee shirts, two pairs of blue jeans, a couple work shirts, some socks, plus a pair of corduroy paints and a 'good' short sleeved blue shirt. He tied his 'good' shoes onto the twine holding the case together.
In the morning he ate some cereal, not liking eggs since the age of eight or nine when he realized just what eggs were - he soon would get over that though. His dad then asked if he were ready to go. "Sure am," was his reply.
His dad took him to Wadena, got him a train ticket there to Fargo and gave him a twenty dollar bill; now he had twenty five dollars, the five received for his birthday the previous November. This was the first time he had been on a train. These were the days before Amtrak, the train having six box cars, a tank car, a baggage-mail car a passenger car, and a caboose. The conductor was the baggage handler and the mail sorter. He had blue-gray eyes and graying brown hair, a slight limp, not talking much to the passengers: the boy, a couple of teenaged girls giggling a lot, and a middle aged couple. The girls came to sit down on the seat just across from the boy.
"What's your name?" asked the one with the brown eyes and hair; having a knee length skirt and white blouse on.
"They call me Scotty," he said; this wasn't his real name, but he thought it sounded cooler, as if these girls really cared at all about that.
"Do you want to come with us to the rumble, Scotty?" the blond green-eyed one asked.
"What's a rumble?" he asked, not quite sure if he should profess ignorance or not, but it was out of his mouth before he even thought of it.
"Oh, it's a blast, the boys all fight and the girls watch. Afterwards there is a big party," said green eyes, "By the way, my name is Judy, and this is Karen."
They chatted until they got to Fargo. The girls were going to be in high school the coming fall. They didn't really seem to have much going on except for partying, and running to-well, running to more parties, as if that was all there was in the world to do.
When they got off the train, Judy said, "There's your dad," and off the girls went.
Scotty looked around, not knowing the town at all, sitting down on a bench by the station, eating the lunch his mother had made him before he left home, a bologna and lettuce sandwich, the crust starting to get a bit crunchy. There was a want ad section of a newspaper near him on the bench. He looked at the 'rooms for rent' section. There were a lot of rooms for five dollars a week, but he found one that was for four dollars a week. Now he had to try to figure out where this place was. Stopping at a nearby cafe, sitting down on a stool, trying to think if he wanted to order anything when the waitress asked: "What would you like, honey?"
He asked her if she knew where the address was; she did; it was nearby and she gave him directions how to get there.
He said, "Thank You," putting down a dime - his mother had always tipped a dime; his mother had been a waitress while his dad was gone to war.
The rooming house was about fifteen blocks from where he was. He walked over there in a short time, carrying his cardboard box-suitcase in one hand, then the other, taking in the scenery, listening to the locust's long squeals, watching the birds flying through of the trees. Soon he saw the white three story house just down the block. He wasn't sure yet because he could not see the house number yet, but just had a feeling it was.
"Looking for a room are you?" she asked, this woman in her forties, hair graying, a little overweight, looking a bit tired.
"Just for a week or so."
"Well, com'on; I'll show you what I have, but it's on the third floor."
They went up the stairs, she grunting with each step as if she were in pain, he trying to balance his cardboard box/suitcase so it didn't come apart.
On the second floor, she stopped and showed him the bathroom. "And clean up after yourself - If I have to do any clean up that will be an extra day's rent," she said, and then continued up to the third floor.
She showed him the room, leaving immediately, probably because she wanted to get back to her TV show. He half unpacked his clothes; then he lay down, sleeping until morning.
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