This short, nonfiction piece is about the day I left New Jersey and moved to Chicago, over fourteen and a half years ago. It is perhaps the beginning of a novel. It is also a piece of work that got me accepted into the Long Ridge Writers Group School of Writing over five years ago. This version has been revised and edited a bit. I also changed it from third person to first person. Although I KNOW it is not perfect, it is just something I wanted to throw out there. I hope you enjoy it.
On July 11th, 1994 I headed westbound on route eighty passing Rockaway, New Jersey in my maroon, Volkswagen Golf. Packed in the car were all of my worldly and valuable possessions, including my nineteen-inch television, stereo, favorite movies, CD’s, and some clothes. The wallet in the back pocket if my Levi jeans held the last two thousand dollars to my name.
Not more than thirty minutes ago, I shared some very tearful good-byes with my mother, sister and two nephews. The last words I heard were from my sobbing sister, who whispered in my ear. “I can’t believe you’re leaving.”
The day before the good-byes were with my father, stepmother and brother. My dad left me with, “We’ll see you soon.”
My family’s tears were not the same as mine. Theirs were of sorrow, and sadness in hating to see me go. They all hoped and believed that at some point I would change my mind.
I felt the complete opposite. My tears were of shear joy and elation for having the strength and courage to say good-bye and start over again somewhere else. That somewhere else being Chicago. I knew with one hundred percent certainty that there was no turning back and I would not be back, other than to visit.
As I approached the first sign for the Delaware Water Gap, like a reflex action, I let out a huge sigh of relief that only I could appreciate. It seemed as though the weight of the world had finally been lifted off my shoulders. The feeling of exhilaration was nothing like I had ever experienced in my entire thirty years. It truly felt like some angel had swooped in and gently removed the two thousand pound gorilla that I had been lugging around for the past fifteen years.
I stopped to pay the toll at the Delaware Water Gap, where route eighty exits New Jersey and enters Pennsylvania. The scenery on a drive like this is always picturesque, as you enter the Pocono Mountains and head into the heart of Pennsylvania. Mother nature takes over with incredible snapshots of the mountains and the Delaware River. Unforgettable, soothing views of the highway cutting through the mountains can take over the senses and easily become therapeutic. But, on this very warm July day, every physical image around me was totally irrelevant. I didn’t notice any of it, as the drive itself became my therapy.
At that moment, as if timed perfectly, my favorite artist and song blared on the stereo. From a cassette tape I made of my favorite artists and songs, Bruce Springsteen whaled the main chorus of Badlands. The irony of the words was uncanny. “Badlands, you gotta live it every day. Let the broken hearts stand as the price you gotta pay. We’ll keep pushin’ till it’s understood and these badlands are treating us good”.
Every person comes away with their own personal meaning when it comes to classic Bruce tunes like this. For me, it was very simple. The past fifteen years were my badlands. Through life’s trials and tribulations, I always did the very best I could just like I had been taught. I worked hard, played hard and treated people the way I wanted to be treated. But, no matter what I encountered it seemed that everything I touched either broke my heart, my will or my personal identity. I always seemed to bend, but I never broke. Each and every time I picked up my self up and moved on, thinking that some day, my badlands would turn good again. Maybe, just maybe, today they did.
As I rolled on through Pennsylvania and into Ohio, I drove on what seemed to be autopilot, as my mind wandered and wrestled with what led me to this drive. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that the horrors, tragedies, and disappointments of my sordid past were now behind me. All of the signs were there that a change was needed. I prayed harder and more often than I had ever prayed in my life. I became in tune to my emotions, my wants and my needs like never before. From the second I even considered the move, the knots in my stomach slowly began to loosen. Everything led me to the ultimate decision that it was time to move on.
Contrary to popular belief, I was not running away from anything. I was running to something. Although that something was completely unknown, I became convinced that it would beat the hell out of all the madness I had been dealing with since high school.
As I parked the car at some local motel in somewhere Ohio, I smiled and actually laughed to out loud. I knew that no one was convinced that I was serious about never going back. That made it all the more worthwhile. I knew that that all of my family and friends just didn’t get it. They just didn’t get the fact that no one in their right mind could go back that kind of hell again.
Wow good for you, I know exactly what it is like when we move and try to settle somewhere else, for me it was a different country as you know. I wouldn’t go back either. Really we written and it would make a very good start for a novel. 
I enjoyed reading it, Peter. Thanks for sharing. Happy holidays
Hi again, You know you are well in your rights to stand up for yourself there, in my oppinion and many more this is something significant that has happened within your lifetime and you only can tell that story in which ever way you feel will get the point accross. If perhaps one day you should write a novel with this being the first page I will most certainly buy it as I know what you write is from the heart, not only this I know that I will be provided with an extremely good read. I think you should persue this write as a novel project as I feel you will go far with it as I know all your readers will relate to it on some level.
Also may I add in that I feel that fellow writers should only provide constructive criticism when they either are etablished themselves or at least have provided the writing community with something that proves they are reptible enough to pass such judgement on works that have obviously had a lot of thought put into them.
Lea
Hey Peter,
I’m sorry that it took me so long to get here. I think it’s a great beginning and a very familiar one. I did the same thing in ‘97 with my two kids… drove from Manchester, NH to Portland, OR, leaving my entire world behind. I can completely relate to this. I can’t wait to read more.
Happy New Year!
-M
All right, I’m hooked. I want to read more. This was a very enjoyable read; it flows well and it keeps the interest level up. What’s funny to me is that I think I remember that exact day you’re talking about, because that’s my wedding anniversary. That WAS a hot day that year. Anyway, great job!
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