THE AMERICAN DREAM (An Original Short Story - Part 1 of 4)

The air instantly felt ten degrees cooler as Michael Callahan entered the thick woods. He was alone but his passion to end this had long ago eclipsed any fears he might have for his own safety. After a few hundred yards of walking the narrow, twisted trail the landscape opened up to reveal a small lake. His gut told him that he was being watched as he searched the trees and underbrush for any signs that he might not be alone.

Five weeks of being on the road were starting to wear on him, especially in the oppressive humidity of the Florida summer. Michael’s once chiseled physique had grown soft and he had given up shaving weeks ago. The reflection that now peered back at him from the mirror could’ve stepped right out of old Woodstock footage from the sixties.

He ached for the old comfortable routines of his life but, more than anything, Michael was itching to start what would be a few months of video editing. The only thing stopping him from heading home just yet was a nagging voice in his head that kept telling him something great was about to happen.

His eyes swept slowly from side to side for any hint of movement. He didn't see anything but he felt a ghostly presence among the trees. Just ahead he quickly spotted what he had been looking for. Not far down the path there was a sunburned man, wearing a tattered Yankees baseball cap and reflectively poking at a small fire with a stick.

Michael cupped his hands on either side of his mouth and yelled, “Hi there. I mean you no harm. Are you hungry? Want a free lunch?”

The man looked up but seemed dazed from staring into the fire. He sprung to his feet and said, “I always heard there was no such thing!"

Michael smiled, “You’re right. I just have a couple of questions to ask you. In return for your time I’ll give you as many subs as you can eat.”

The man, intrigued, stood up quickly and looked Michael suspiciously.

“Are you a cop or some pervert?” he asked.

“What? Oh no, I’m neither! My name’s Michael Callahan. I’m just a storyteller or I guess you could call me a story-gatherer. There is no pressure at all. Just follow me if you’re interested in answering a few questions in exchange for some sandwiches.” Michael said as he turned around and walked back in the direction from which he had come.

Michael knew that hunger could be a powerful tool and he had used it to his advantage many times in the past five weeks. He had only walked about twenty yards ahead and he heard the man’s footsteps crunching the twigs on forest floor behind him, “My name’s Jeremy. Jeremy Schiller.”

Michael’s dingy yellow RV slowly began to come into view as they both cleared the edge of the thick brush.

Michael glanced over his shoulder and said, “Nice to meet you Mr. Schiller. Welcome to my humble abode.” as he motioned towards the old RV, parked in a gravel lot.

The truck’s once shiny chrome wheels were now covered with dust. Michael unlocked the flimsy screen door and its hinges groaned as he swung it open. The cabin smelled sour from the long trip cross country. He held the door for his guest and followed closely behind Jeremy up the stairs. Just before he stepped inside he thought he caught a glimpse of something outside from the corner of his eye. If he wasn’t mistaken it was person peering from behind the trees at the edge of the woods.

“Mr. Schiller, come right in and have a seat on the couch and make yourself comfortable.” Michael said as he reached back and turned the lock of the RV door behind him.

“I’ll get those sandwiches that I promised you but, if it’s okay, let’s just talk for a minute. I’m traveling around this country of ours, gathering the stories of people like yourself with the hope of someday turning the footage into a documentary. Are you camera shy, Mr. Schiller?”

Michael caught himself being overly attentive, speaking slowly and carefully, in a tone that he usually reserved for small children.

A smirk appeared on Jeremy’s lips as he took off his faded Yankees cap and twice ran his fingers through his thinning blond hair. “Umm, no. One thing I'm definitely not is shy,” he laughed.

Michael walked over to a small video camera perched on a tripod in the corner. He turned it on and squinted as he adjusted its aim.

“Good,” he said, “Just try to forget this thing is on. Now, could you please tell me a little about who you are and what brought you out here?” Michael reached over and handed him a cold bottle of Gatorade from a large red plastic cooler. Jeremy stared at the bottle for a moment and then touched it to his forehead cooling himself with the tiny beads of condensation that blanketed its label. He cracked open the bottle cap, took a long drink, and cleared his throat.

He began to speak, softly and humbly, “Well, where do I start? Umm, my name is Jeremy. These woods out here have been my home for close to...well, I guess it’s been eight years now. It’s not a bad place once you get accustomed to it. To me it almost feels like a resting place between two worlds.”

Michael seemed intrigued, “I’m not sure what you mean. Can you explain?”

“Memories are a real funny thing. You see, sometimes in the morning, in the hazy moments right after I wake I get a little confused. Sometimes there are just a few seconds where I’m not sure if I was dreaming these past eight years or not. I lay there with my eyes closed and half-expect to roll over and see my beautiful wife laying beside me in our old bed. Then after I come to, the memories of the life I once lived seem like they happened a hundred years ago. The memories sometimes fill me with joy but most times they make me angry but nonetheless they are mine and they are all I have left now.”

“What memories do you miss most?” Michael asked.

“Oh, there are a lot of things I miss.” Jeremy answered as his finger slowly traced the white NY embroidered on the cap that sat atop his knee.

“Sometimes I close my eyes and swear that I can see Ashley and Genee playing on the jungle gym in the schoolyard in the thin light of March. It might sound strange but sometimes I’ll just sit among all these trees and smile, thinking of something as simple as a trip to the old neighborhood co-op to buy groceries or walking our beagle alone in the crisp air of fall.”

“As each year comes and goes I’ve replay these memories more and more. You see, if you’re an optimist, time has a funny way of polishing the bad and leaving you with only the good. There are a couple of things I’ve learned in my forty-three years on this Earth. The first is there are lessons to be learned in every second of life, the hard part is you must be awake for them. Second, none of us are entitled to a single goddamned thing. If life is good, enjoy it and give thanks to whomever or whatever it is you believe in. If life is bad don’t blame anyone, just get busy fixing it. Time is the most precious thing and too many people waste too much of it playing the blame game.”

Michael paused for a moment to reflect, “You couldn’t be more right. It goes way too fast. So what your childhood was like?”

“Well, I didn’t have a privileged childhood. I had two brothers, my parents were what you would consider lower middle class and worked hard every day of their lives. My mother always told me I was born with a desire to chase after my dreams and she raised me to believe they were all within my grasp. Things never came easy for me but what I lacked in intelligence I made up for in persistence.”

Jeremy chuckled softly and continued, “Well, I had a few years of college and was majoring in journalism but learned how to write programming code the summer of my sophomore year. It took me a year to get really good and then I dropped out to take the plunge into the world of web-design. My friend Matt and I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. It was smack-dab in the middle of the dot com boom and it was like printing money. The internet was still new and companies were paying hundreds of thousands of dollars for us to design their websites. We started our own business in an old warehouse and it wasn’t long before we had a staff of ten. That’s how I met Ashley. I’ll never forget the first day she came through the front doors to interview for one of our first marketing positions. Lord, she took my breath away, she still does every time I think of her.”

Jeremy took a deep breath and his eyes began to well-up with tears as he again started to speak...

This story will be continued...(installments 2 - 4 of The American Dream are coming soon.)

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