Leave No Child Behind

Leave No Child Behind

There are still places on the backroads of America, where knowledge is
gained or
lost in time immeasurable by normal experiences. When a young man
decides to accept
the challenge of the open road, he does so for several reasons. He is
never sure of what
may or may not befall him on his journey. An unexpected ride into an
unknown town may
reveal undiscovered treasures opening up worlds throughout the
neather-lands of
America.

Conversations seem to open up between strangers, once having passed
into unfamiliar
territories or lands. Such conversations hold hidden evils; whose
brightness shines with
the radiance of youth grown pious, and clean in the naivity of
innocense. People will
discuss the strangest things when they have been driving hundreds of
miles through
unknown territories; making such realms seem unfamiliar and strange.
Time and space
seem to lose their relevance in such nights of memory, growing cold and
barren as night
passes into morning. Such conversations become illusions lost into
melting landscapes,
and soon dreams take over the world inhabited by our senses. I once
remember being
quoted Goeth once, when traveling through the green lands of
Indiana.

"Youth fast and fleeting
Art long eternal
Opportunity, yes happiness
Is a full purse."

Some rides seem more memorable than others, and come back to haunt the
mind years
later, mainly because of their surrealistic beauty. This once occurred,
while entering the
heartland of Iowa, and the conversation that ensued from that
experience has remained
with me, giving me comfort and rest in the barren dryness of the most
souless of winters.

It had been a hot summer in Iowa that year, and teh grass had turned
so brown that it
gave off a dull burning odor in the air at night. Sometimes, the heat
would get so hot that
the pavement would melt making the air seem stagnent. It lay hanging
like some piece of
rotting dead meat, hot and heavy, smoldering in noontime temperatures
reaching 120
degrees; until the skin burned to the touch in the thick mid-morning
air. The early dew that
normally comes to replinish the earth never arrived that summer, and
the soil rested in
dry solemness, waiting for the gentle breathing of rain turning clouds
into water.

These are the times when the mind may play tricks, once the road has
been long. The
air seems to hang heavy, turning into a dull haze. Cars pass by in a
line of continuous
motion. Noise and sound turn into a low steady hum, until a casual
bystander loses time,
leaving present, past, and future suspended in one moment. The car
appeared out of
the dust and heat of the afternoon. It was the car of deliverance, a
delicate capsul
suspended in place forever held by threads that unravel, and once they
lose their substance
remain forgotten in dreams. To describe the sight of such a car in the
middle of the heat
of Indiana or Iowa on a hot summer's day is to attempt to portray, how
a stranded desert
traveler must feel on viewing an oasis in the desert.

Indiana interstate 80 going down into Iowa, in a sun that had been
unforgiving that
summer. A red new sports car drove up upon the highway like some mythic
charriot from
the ages of the hidden civilizations of old; a shining red carriage of
deliverance for the
damned. Jaguar, vehicle of status, but also out dated, originating from
some earlier era
of fashion. Mid-eighties............maybe. A far cry from the new
realigned automobiles of
this modern era. A fair young black man with bleached blond hair drove
the car. Like
some winged serpent from Apollo, he seemed to arrive bringing the cool
relief of the air-
conditioned interior from the blistering 120 degree heat springing
across the Iowa
landscape. The wheels made a rough muffled sound, as the car stopped
upon the
side of the highway; sending a cloud of dust circlingin the noon-time
air. The door opened,
and I heard a voice beackoning me to enter the car.

"Get in the car and close the door baby...................you are
going to catch
a heat stroke out there..............."

When hitch-hiking there is always a moment of regret, as the next ride
stops upon
that endless highway of some wandering eternal journey. Sometimes, a
feeling of
nausea accompanies that regret pulling at the stomach; for every
hitch-hiker knows in
the recesses of his or her subconscous that the next ride may be the
last. Most hitch-
hikers, if they are any good at all, develope an inner sense for
determining the
reliability of the next ride. At times, an internal clockwork arises,
creating itself in the
confines of moment and sound. Categories form in the mind of the
hitch-hiker, as to the
nature of the next ride: blue collar truck driver, joe sixpack, lesbian
beauty from hell,
blue-eyed blond..........incarnate immaculate. Something in the tone of
his voice told me
that this ride would be safe, maybe even carrying implications beyond
imagination.

"You been traveling long...........it is too hot for man or beast out
there
today. How far are you going ?"

I stepped into the car. The clean smell of the interior greeted me
instantly; soft music
from the radio filled the inside, drowning out the harshness of the
world outside; causing
sound to hang in place, as the small red sports car sped down the
interstate heading into
the inner reaches of the west. The coolness from the air conditiioner
hit my face, and
drew designs in the fog of the frost (condensation) that was gathering
on the glass
window. "l984. Totally eighties.", I thought to myself. It was as if we
had been
transported backwards in time on that highway of oblivion.

"Where are you headed. This interstate will take you west, but I
hope
that you are not going to Nebraska..............next stop Iowa
City."

"I am headed west towards San Francisco.", I replied with an air
of
casualness, that came more from being tired from the summer heat of the
day, than any
false sense of aesthetics.

"San Francisco. Gay people flock there. Have you ever been to
California. The most crowded state in the union."

"I really just want to visit City Lights Bookstore."

"I used to travel myself...............a long time ago, when I was
younger.
I went through L.A. once in the seventies. When....when I was a
younger man
in my twenties."

"How was L.A., did things go well there ?"

"No baby. They didn't. I tried really hard, but things just didn't
work out.
Bought a suit and everything. Even wore a tie........but the job just
never came
through for me."

Reaching into his shirt pocket, he pulled out a gold cigarette case,
with a bright shining
silver zippo lighter attached to the side. He was a fair feminine man,
with delicate features,
but also a man who had seen the world. He remained confident and
steadfast in his
endeavors. He seemed removed from his surroundings, and moved with a
sense of
indifference. I removed a cigarette from the case and lit the tobacco,
basking in the
taste of the Benson and Hedges sweetened smell. To taste a cigarette
after standing on
the dusty highway of life is one of those pleasures that travelers
share, but few come
to express. It is, however, a pleasure that is rarely denied. Some
unwritten code
seems to exist out in the hinterlands of our forgotten wastelands. As I
exhaled, I
reflected on the unfairness of such situations; the undeniable reality
of our own
inexpressable human condition, at times too horrible to
contemplate.

"Do you think that it was because you were black ?"

"Black............"

"Yes, the reason for you not being hired. Do you think that it
was
because you were black ?"

He removed his sunglasses, placed them on the dash, and then pulled in
the last
dregs of his own cigarette.

"No, I don't think that it was the reason."

"Then, what was the reason ?"

"I don't know..............I still don't know. Maybe, things were
not
meant to happen that way, but you know
something................"

"I sat in a hotel room down in L.A., with a busted out air
conditioner in the stinking heat of that downtown summer,
watching
some rehashed speech by Gerald Ford in l975.................and you
know
something......."

"Yea....."

"I still had a good time. Don't ever forget to laugh baby. It
will
pull through every time.............You know why I picked you up don't
you...."

"Why is that ?", I said as I drifted off into the long slumbering
sleep
of another night on the neverending journey of the road.

"Martin-Luther King. He said to leave no child behind. I saw you
on that highway, and had to pick you up..........You're going to Iowa
City.
From there it is your ride."

"Thanks.", I said as I put out the cigarette, and drifted off
into
sleep; dreaming of the eternal lights of San Francisco.