Lost in America: A Dead-End Journey Read Online Free Page B

Korea several years ago, her first visit since leaving shortly after I was born, she left a bottle of whisky and a deck of cards on her father’s grave.
    The writer must learn how to handle the problem of loneliness. For writing is a lonely profession. It is one road a man must walk by himself.
    ISABELLE ZIEGLER,
    Creative Writing
    Much had changed since I first attempted to set off on my mission. The Obama administration was well under way, my mother had passed, I was now remarried and preparing for the birth of my son. Determined to pick up where I had left off, I reread Travels with Charley in addition to On the Road . When I first read Travels with Charley years back, I thought it was about an old guy wanting to reacquaint himself with the country that he had written about so much throughout his career. This second time reading it I’m thinking the book was just an excuse for Steinbeck to get away from his wife for a bit. All he had pretty much written prior were novels and works of fiction; then, all of a sudden, he decides one day to go off and write nonfiction, a first-person narrative about traveling across America? Yeah, right. Sounds suspicious. What I could see happening is Steinbeck in his quiet room, door shut, surrounded by dusty woodwork, smoking another cigarette in front of his typewriter, trying to bang away on his East of Eden manuscript or something, constantly interrupted by his wife. “John, we need to run to the market. You think we could do that?” Or, “John, could you pick up some dog food for the poodle later on today, we’re getting low. [ Sniff, sniff . ] Are you smoking again? You promised me you were going to quit after Our Winter of Discontent !” I could see John just losing it one day. I love her, but I need a fucking break! By golly, I know, my next book will be about me traveling. I’m going to tell her, “Sorry, babe, but I gotta hit the road for this one, the publisher wants me to discover America. Sorry. It’s a publishing trend right now. On the Road did well, and they want me to do the same thing.” Only a writer could get away with doing such a thing. John figured it out. “Now that she’s bought that crap, I’m going to buy a camper, where I can totally drink and smoke all day and night without any interruptions at all, and I’ll take the fucking poodle with me so that whenever I call her for the I-love-you phone call, I won’t have to hear some long boring story that starts with, ‘Guess what Charley did today?’ This will be amazing.”
    It was heartbreaking to say good-bye to my wife whom I love dearly and my week-old son, tears were shed, but I’m not going to lie—there was this deep dark secret which I was keeping to myself, the one where I couldn’t wait for this adventure to begin. The story gets worse. I’m leaving my wife and son to travel across the country for an uncertain duration of time, and what’s more fucked up than that is that I’m secretly feeling in no rush to get back home again. And, by the way, I’m not making any of this up. As much as I wish it was, this book is not a novel.
    Go ahead and write me off as an unlikable character. Trust me, I’ve been called far worse, and since I’m on a roll right now, truth be told, for me, experiencing life with a pregnant woman was no honeymoon (I don’t care what anybody tells you, no trimester is any easier than another) in a tiny overpriced downtown San Francisco studio apartment in some crack-infested neighborhood, all while my mother was dying, has been one of the most challenging experiences of my life. Ever. Worse than war. I’m amazed I didn’t blow my head off at some point. Really, I swear to God I am. Fuck what you see on television on channels like TLC , pregnancy is absolutely nothing like that. Those shows they air make pregnancy look fun. Pure joy. Sadly, it’s not. Perhaps it was just my situation, but it was bloody hell. The fights, the feeling that I could do nothing right,