The Excess Road by Joshua Jones

  Chapter Thirty-two: Back into the black.

  New Years’ Eve came to me as a bounding leopard that scratched me out of my coma. I let gravity carry me down the stairs and heard the echoes of dishes clanging together. Intentionally trying to be seen, I stood at the door to the kitchen and asked, “What is going on here?”

  “I’m preparing for the party,” my mother said as she dropped a dish in the sudsy water of the steel sink.

  “What party?” I asked.

  “The one tonight. The one you should make an appearance at,” she said with a smile that quickly sank.

  “You did not tell me so do not get your hopes up,” I said and grabbed a soda.

  “I won’t. You’re a stranger with that facial hair and the long haircut. You obviously don’t care anymore,” she said.

  “I care about different things now. You should not be so judgmental,” I said and looked at the living room.

  All the matching striped furniture had been rearranged and the mantel of the fireplace was cleaned off. I snagged a bottle of Jack Daniels and a two liter bottle of Coke and went back to my room to finish writing a chord progression for a new song.

  The party started promptly at nine and all of the scavengers circled in their BMW’s, Mercedes and Jaguars. I never saw a soul but I heard them as I sipped the bottle and smoked out the window.

  Right before I was to leave my mother became over-affectionate. Hugs made me nauseous but she gave me some more cash, which was welcomed. I was offered a plane ticket before but declined and got a train ticket instead. My mother drove me to the station and an early arrival cut the conversation short. Without incident, I found a clean seat and waved from the window to my mother. The train rolled off and got up to speed and before I could finish a magazine article we were at Penn station. There were no delays and we were heading down south.

  Half of the journey was complete and just a few hours to go as the terrain transformed. Suburban sprawl gave way to rural expanse. Hills rose up to surround the tracks and we rumbled along the passes cut out of mountainsides. Pines poked up from the river valleys.

  The call for Wessex came over the speaker. The brakes squealed and screeched and a loud exhaust was vented.

  We stopped.

  I wondered if I could keep my partying under control. My bags bounced down the aisle and came to rest on the ground level platform. The pay phone was a few feet away and I found the number for the taxi service in my wallet.

  The train tracks ran away between the piedmonts of eastern Appalachia. The cab rambled into view snaking down the hillside into the valley bound parking lot. A driver with a Billy-goat beard rolled down the window of his green station wagon and asked, “Hey, you call for a taxi up to the campus?”

  I nodded.

  The backseat was thick with the scent of marijuana and ripe bananas. I spun my guitar string ring.

  “So, you coming back from Christmas vacation?” he asked.

  “Yeah just wanted to get back before the rush.”

  “On the train, most students take a plane if they want to get back fast,” he said with an ending whistle.

  “Yes but I do not like planes,” I said.

  “Oh, me neither. Sure enough I don’t trust those,” he said as he turned to look at me over his shoulder and then turned on the radio.

  My nose twitched with the scent of bananas. There were no guards at the gate as he pulled up to the barrier. He tipped his hat to me in acknowledgment of the tip and waved. He was off in a puff of engine exhaust as I lugged my bag up the hillside to the dorm. I was a day early but figured some of the seniors would be back so I could find a party later.

  Evening came like a wandering dream and I trekked across campus to the cozy convenience store called Buzzy’s on the corner of Fraternity Row. They supplied the beer and always knew where parties were.

  “Shoot the Boot is the only thing until later,” said the counter guy, a post-grad student with a copy of Sarte’s Nausea in his hand.

  I remember walking out the door and down to the party house but nothing else.

  The darkness stomped me down.

  The new semester jumped into being. The first day consisted of finding classrooms, meeting professors and discussing whatever syllabus we got. I had signed up for all night classes: two on Tuesday and Wednesday and one on Thursday. I would have all of my days free along with Monday and Friday totally free and vowed to get back on track.