The Leisure Seeker: A Novel by Michael Zadoorian Page A
Authors: Michael Zadoorian
Tags: Fiction
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sure to let you know of the complications. The dastardly buggers pull out tongue twisters like “comorbidities.” It’s a word that takes you a while to figure out, but once you do, it makes perfect sense. It’s the horse race between the things that are eventually going to do you in: Coming up to the stretch, in the lead is Metastasized Breast Cancer! Second is Advanced Hypertension, behind him, Carotid Blockage is a distant third with Kidney Failure bringing up the rear. Oh! But coming on strong is Ischemic Stroke! Now Stroke is neck and neck with Breast Cancer! Stroke, Cancer! Cancer, Stroke! Ladies and Gentlemen, what a race!
Besides Eisler Brothers’ Grocery Store, the only pleasant sight my guidebooks and maps mention is an old bridge referred to as a “Marsh Rainbow Arch.” There used to be three of these long, elegant rainbow-shaped 1920s bridges in Kansas, but the other two were torn down, so now there’s only the one left. I direct John toward it. In no time at all, we see a lovely little concrete bridge, a long arching span, recently painted white, over a short drink of a creek. Someone has stenciled the 66 insignia at the end of the rainbow. There’s no one around for miles, so in the middle of it, I tell John to stop the van.
“What?” says John, not sure if he’s hearing me right.
“Stop the truck, John.”
Once he does, I open my door and get out. I go stand out on this tiny bridge that links the two sides of Brush Creek.
“For Pete’s sake, what are you doing?” says John, peeved.
I don’t know, but all I want to do right now is stand here for a moment. According to the photos I’ve seen, the other two bridges were much bigger and even lovelier. They were destroyed simply because someone thought they needed something new and bland. Why does the world have to destroy anything that doesn’t fit in? We still can’t figure out that this is the most important reason to love something.
I feel at home here braced between shores. It’s how I feel these days, stuck between here and there, dark and light, heaviness and weightlessness. I lean over the edge of the bridge and try to peer deep into the water, but it’s dark and murky.
“Ella!”
“Just a second .” I look down the creek and spot something along the side. It’s a creature of some sort—cat or muskrat or beaver, with a kind of slick black fur. Whatever it is, it’s been dead for a long time. I don’t know if this is what made me want to stop and look, but if it is, I’m sorry I did. A vision of death is not what I needed. In fact, seeing it makes me fumble myself back in the van, holding on to every extra handle John has jerry-rigged over the years, faster than I can usually move these days.
“Let’s get the hell out of here, John.”
We pass through Baxter Springs. Shortly afterward, there is a sign that says WELCOME TO OKLAHOMA.
“That was fast,” John says.
This is how quickly we go through Kansas. Even John notices.
“I’ll say. We’re really making great time today,” I say, smiling at him. He smiles back. He seems good this morning, so it’s a surprise when he says what he says to me.
“Ella, have you seen my gun around?”
Six
OKLAHOMA
I’m not really sure what to say. His gun is here in the Leisure Seeker, but I know he doesn’t know where it is. I made sure of that. Anyway, it’s really our gun and we’ve always traveled with one, especially the last twenty years. It’s quite illegal taking a firearm across state lines, but we need something to protect ourselves.
I suppose that I should explain right here that sometimes John, in his more lucid moments, wants to kill himself. He has not said this to me in so many words, mind you, but I know that is what he is thinking.
Decades back, John’s mother had the same disease he has now, only then they called it “hardening of the arteries.” He was not terribly close to his mother, but her illness made a huge impression on him. Truth be
Besides Eisler Brothers’ Grocery Store, the only pleasant sight my guidebooks and maps mention is an old bridge referred to as a “Marsh Rainbow Arch.” There used to be three of these long, elegant rainbow-shaped 1920s bridges in Kansas, but the other two were torn down, so now there’s only the one left. I direct John toward it. In no time at all, we see a lovely little concrete bridge, a long arching span, recently painted white, over a short drink of a creek. Someone has stenciled the 66 insignia at the end of the rainbow. There’s no one around for miles, so in the middle of it, I tell John to stop the van.
“What?” says John, not sure if he’s hearing me right.
“Stop the truck, John.”
Once he does, I open my door and get out. I go stand out on this tiny bridge that links the two sides of Brush Creek.
“For Pete’s sake, what are you doing?” says John, peeved.
I don’t know, but all I want to do right now is stand here for a moment. According to the photos I’ve seen, the other two bridges were much bigger and even lovelier. They were destroyed simply because someone thought they needed something new and bland. Why does the world have to destroy anything that doesn’t fit in? We still can’t figure out that this is the most important reason to love something.
I feel at home here braced between shores. It’s how I feel these days, stuck between here and there, dark and light, heaviness and weightlessness. I lean over the edge of the bridge and try to peer deep into the water, but it’s dark and murky.
“Ella!”
“Just a second .” I look down the creek and spot something along the side. It’s a creature of some sort—cat or muskrat or beaver, with a kind of slick black fur. Whatever it is, it’s been dead for a long time. I don’t know if this is what made me want to stop and look, but if it is, I’m sorry I did. A vision of death is not what I needed. In fact, seeing it makes me fumble myself back in the van, holding on to every extra handle John has jerry-rigged over the years, faster than I can usually move these days.
“Let’s get the hell out of here, John.”
We pass through Baxter Springs. Shortly afterward, there is a sign that says WELCOME TO OKLAHOMA.
“That was fast,” John says.
This is how quickly we go through Kansas. Even John notices.
“I’ll say. We’re really making great time today,” I say, smiling at him. He smiles back. He seems good this morning, so it’s a surprise when he says what he says to me.
“Ella, have you seen my gun around?”
Six
OKLAHOMA
I’m not really sure what to say. His gun is here in the Leisure Seeker, but I know he doesn’t know where it is. I made sure of that. Anyway, it’s really our gun and we’ve always traveled with one, especially the last twenty years. It’s quite illegal taking a firearm across state lines, but we need something to protect ourselves.
I suppose that I should explain right here that sometimes John, in his more lucid moments, wants to kill himself. He has not said this to me in so many words, mind you, but I know that is what he is thinking.
Decades back, John’s mother had the same disease he has now, only then they called it “hardening of the arteries.” He was not terribly close to his mother, but her illness made a huge impression on him. Truth be
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