The Nomadic Life

Chapter 38

The Stalker

The night in the bar. The ride I gave him to the hotel. The departing hug. All of it preys on my mind. I cannot shake his image. I know enough to understand that contacting him again is wrong. He has a partner, a life in Cincinnati. I’ve been around long enough to know that chasing a married man leads only to emptiness and heartbreak. Been there. Done that. So why can I not stop thinking about him?

After two weeks of torment, reflection, and sheer agony, I cave and call.He left me with two clues: the government office where he worked and his full name. That was all I needed. He seemed startled that I pieced it together, his rare surname making the search simple. From that day forward, he would either underestimate me or treat me as if I were not clever enough to manage on my own. But maybe that is what fathers do, I could not say for certain as I had never had one before.

Yes, father. You have guessed it now. That man was my father, and I, his son.We were destined to meet.And from that day forward, my life would never be the same.

The wanderer in me surfaced only once more, about a year and a half later, when he told me that if I left his home, I was not welcome back.

Dad was controlling. An only child, Grandma’s “miracle baby,” born when she was forty. She spoiled him endlessly as he was her gift from God. I do not think she ever told him no. Life had always bent to his will, and with his charm, looks, and brilliance, why would it not? But then came me, his defiant son, a free spirit who had lived by no one’s rules. We were opposites in every way.

And it was that streak of independence and my promise to a dying woman that tore us apart.

In San Diego, I had a friend named Doug. He lived with his mother, Mrs. Nelson, in La Mesa. She never learned to drive, and Doug happily stayed close, caring for her and in return he was gifted room and board. When she sold her home, Doug and I found a trailer in Boulevard, California. It was the only place that would accept my German Shepherd after landlords tightened leases during the 1999 boom.

Mrs. Nelson settled comfortably in a senior studio apartment. She no longer needed rides to the store; everything she needed was at hand. She seemed content. On one visit she asked Doug to run an errand and kept me behind. Her request was simple, yet it would weigh on me for years to come: “Promise me you’ll get him out of California after I’m gone. He won’t make it here.” She knew her son and feared the money she left him would never last. All she asked was that I keep him safe in a place where it would stretch further. I promised. How could I not? It was her final request.

I tried explaining this to Dad, but he would not hear it. His command was ironclad: if you leave, do not come back.

That ultimatum broke me. I had grown up fatherless, and just as I finally found him, he was ready to discard me for honoring a dying woman’s plea.

The day I left, it felt as if my heart and soul were torn from my body. I became a shell, breathing, walking, but lifeless.

I convinced Doug to move to Mississippi, where he could live cheaply with my friend Richard. The only thing they would ask of him is to do a few minor chores. Dewey lived five housed up from Richard and it would have been convenient for all involved. But it did not work. Doug’s attitude and unwillingness to help turned them against him. Within two months, Doug decided on Houston. So, we packed up a U-Haul, and I drove him there.

And then I was adrift. Dad’s house was not an option, and Mississippi was out of the question. I had nowhere left to turn but San Diego. I drove my freshly restored 1984 Ford F 150 Flareside west, hoping to feel the old excitement of freedom. But I did not. My heart and soul were still back in Cincinnati, with my father, and with David, the only family I truly ever had.