Everand Logo

Welcome to Everand!

  • Discover millions of ebooks, audiobooks, and so much more with a free trial

    Only $11.99/month after trial. Cancel anytime.

    Opting Out and Other Departures
    Opting Out and Other Departures
    Opting Out and Other Departures
    Ebook234 pages2 hours

    Opting Out and Other Departures

    By John Walters

    ()

    Read preview

    About this ebook

    A homeless man fleeing confiscation of the van he lives in stumbles upon a seemingly paradisiacal haven. A housewife enters a mysterious portal to another world. A coma victim, wide awake in a world of the mind, finds that the struggle between light and shadow in his dream is a life and death battle for the real world he left behind. A man who feels redundant and forsaken is offered a one-way ticket for a fresh start on an alien planet.

    Those who embark upon a hero's journey are often not heroes when they begin. The choices they make and the deeds they do make them heroes as they encounter obstacles and dangers. These stories concern misfits, outliers, wanderers, loners – those who have stepped beyond the norm or who have never fitted into it. Each is confronted with the call of the open road. For some it is physical and for others metaphorical, but all must choose to either cower in mediocrity or set forth on the path of adventure and destiny.

    Includes "Opting out", "Portals", "Plants", "Lady Linguist", "Evermore", "A Gathering of Shadows", "Slug", "The Precedent", "Weapons", "Downloading Catherine", "Opting In", "The Island Story, As Revised by One of the Participants", "Afterword: The Call of the Open Road".

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJohn Walters
    Release dateAug 7, 2015
    ISBN9781310336812
    Opting Out and Other Departures
    Author

    John Walters

    John Walters recently returned to the United States after thirty-five years abroad. He lives in Seattle, Washington. He attended the 1973 Clarion West science fiction writing workshop and is a member of Science Fiction Writers of America. He writes mainstream fiction, science fiction and fantasy, and memoirs of his wanderings around the world.

    Read more from John Walters

    Related to Opting Out and Other Departures

    Related ebooks

    General Fiction For You

    View More
    View More

    Related podcast episodes

    Related articles

    • Article

      Three Ordinary Women

      Sep 4, 2022

      Three Ordinary Women
      2 min read

    • Article

      Hollywood, Ending

      Feb 13, 2018

      Hollywood, Ending
      7 min read

    • Article

      One Thousand and One Nights

      Sep 9, 2019

      One Thousand and One Nights
      4 min read

    • Article

      Exploring The Boundaries

      May 10, 2019

      The year is 1882. A crew of four hardy men travels forty miles north from the white settlement of Grand Rapids to complete one of the first land surveys of Minnesota’s north woods before the onslaught of winter. Equipped with canvas tents and staples

      13 min read

    • Article

      Bahrain on Horseback

      Aug 14, 2019

      Bahrain on Horseback
      12 min read

    • Article

      Get Into The Sea, He-karens

      Dec 17, 2020

      Get Into The Sea, He-karens
      3 min read

    • Article

      Nugrybauti

      Apr 24, 2019

      Nugrybauti
      8 min read

    • Article

      Ghost Girl, Banana

      Aug 21, 2023

      By the time I was 25, there were only two things I remembered about Mumma. The first was that she smelled of watermelons, the second was that we were happy. We’d taken our father’s name of course, but a name is only half a story. The other half exist

      6 min read

    • Article

      Speedboat

      Mar 24, 2022

      Nobody died that year. Nobody prospered. There were no births or marriages. Seventeen reverent satires were written – disrupting a cliché and, presumably, creating a genre. That was a dream, of course, but many of the most important things, I fi nd,

      14 min read

    • Article

      Station to Station

      Dec 3, 2020

      Station to Station
      6 min read

    • Article

      Life In The past Lane

      Aug 27, 2021

      Life In The past Lane
      5 min read

    • Article

      The Island

      Jun 4, 2018

      The Island
      8 min read

    • Article

      A Little Love

      Apr 5, 2023

      A Little Love
      7 min read

    • Article

      To Live a Little

      Oct 3, 2022

      To Live a Little
      13 min read

    • Article

      The Leather Coat

      Apr 4, 2024

      The Leather Coat
      6 min read

    • Article

      Sleeper Hit

      Feb 5, 2024

      Sleeper Hit
      17 min read

    • Article

      Not That Story

      Oct 28, 2017

      Not That Story
      7 min read

    • Article

      Joshua Mohr: The Time I Robbed a Liquor Store

      Mar 10, 2017

      Our alibi was a sandy blanket in the back of my truck, an acoustic guitar, a knockout brunette in the passenger seat. Our alibi was a night picnic at the beach. When we got pulled over—if we got pulled over—the cop would peer in the cab and he’d thin

      6 min read

    • Article

      The Phone Call

      Dec 1, 2022

      The Phone Call
      7 min read

    • Article

      On the Road

      Sep 25, 2019

      On the Road
      4 min read

    • Article

      Uncontrollable, Irrelevant

      Dec 6, 2022

      My sister called me the other day. She wanted to let me know that I had once more been merciless and cruel in my relations with our parents. “They say there’s a lot of anger in you,” she said. “It makes them mad. It hurts their feelings. They think y

      14 min read

    • Article

      Ineffectual Tribute to Len

      Mar 15, 2019

      After graduate school I hung around another year and drove a cab for Iowa City Yellow Cab. The cab was a boat, a Chevrolet Caprice wagon. I could have put a mattress in the back and lived in it. I didn’t hate the job. I’d sit in the Kroger parking lo

      24 min read

    • Article

      What If?

      Aug 13, 2019

      What If?
      17 min read

    • Article

      Why I Don’t Write

      Mar 7, 2019

      Why I Don’t Write
      6 min read

    Related categories

    Reviews for Opting Out and Other Departures

    0 ratings

    0 ratings0 reviews

    What did you think?

    Tap to rate

    Review must be at least 10 words

      Book preview

      Opting Out and Other Departures - John Walters

      Opting Out and Other Departures

      By

      John Walters

      Published by Astaria Books at Smashwords

      Copyright 2014 by John Walters

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold reproduced, or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

      This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons places or events - except those in the public domain - is purely coincidental.

      Contents

      1. Opting Out

      2. Portals

      3. Plants

      4. Lady Linguist

      5. Evermore

      6. A Gathering of Shadows

      7. Slug

      8. The Precedent

      9. Weapons

      10. Downloading Catherine

      11. Opting In

      12. The Island Story, As Revised by One of the Participants

      13. Afterword: The Call of the Open Road

      14. End Notes

      For Timothy

      Who smiles in the face of enjoyment, adversity, and adventure

      Afoot and light-hearted, I take to the open road,

      Healthy, free, the world before me,

      The long brown path before me, leading

      wherever I choose.

      Henceforth I ask not good fortune – I myself

      am good fortune;

      Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no

      more, need nothing,

      Strong and content, I travel the open road.

      --Walt Whitman, Song of the Open Road

      Opting Out

      Sanford had just splashed cold water on his face at the tiny sink in his van, dried himself with the slightly rancid blue hand towel, and stepped outside to stretch before checking his e-mail on his old HP laptop when he saw the policewoman coming. She was sauntering slowly along checking the row of dilapidated cars, vans, pickups, and other vehicles, most of whose occupants were still inside wrapped up in their blankets or sleeping bags, speaking a few words here and there, reading registrations and license numbers. The sight of the uniformed officer heading in his direction awakened apprehension within him, as it always had all the long years of his life, whether justified or not.

      When she reached him Sanford wanted to be polite and greet her, but the words froze in his throat.

      Good morning, she said. She was middle-aged, a few decades younger than Sanford, slightly overweight, olive-skinned. She was neither friendly nor aloof, merely businesslike.

      Sanford mumbled an approximation of good morning.

      This has an internal combustion engine, doesn't it? she said. You understand you have just three more months to convert it; otherwise, it will be impounded.

      Sanford found his voice. And then where will I live? It's all I have. I don't have any money to change the engine.

      Have you applied for housing? She was referring to the concrete blocks of dormitories that were being constructed one after the other to take care of the homeless problem. He would be issued a cot and a locker alongside twenty-three other men in a room with common lavatory and dining facilities. And then what? Wait to die. Nowhere to go, nothing to do.

      Not yet, said Sanford.

      The shanty town in which Sanford lived, with its ever-present odor of urine, decaying garbage, and mold, its row upon row of antiquated vehicles, each of which was a home for one or more people, and its tents and shacks constructed of cardboard, discarded lumber, black plastic garbage bags, and other easily-obtained items, was beneath the Interstate 5 freeway in Seattle. Not more than a few blocks away was a cluster of the shelters the policewoman referred to. It would be so easy to give up, check in, and get taken care of...

      Do it soon, the policewoman said. There's a processing time. You don't want to get caught short. A hint of compassion crossed her face. Look, it's for your own good. It's good for all of us. We have to clean up the air.

      But this is my home. I've lived in it for twenty-seven years. It's all I have.

      I'm sorry. You'll be compensated.

      Some things can't be compensated for.

      I'm sorry, she said again, and moved on.

      Sanford's home was a rust-flecked red and white Volkswagen van, so old that it was considered antique. Behind the front driver's and passenger's seats was a dining table that could be collapsed to form a double bed, a kitchen with sink and two-burner stove, and a miniscule bathroom with a port-a-potty and another tiny sink. Sanford kept the interior and exterior as clean as he could. The engine had been replaced several times; Sanford himself could do simple tune-ups and repairs, and for anything more complicated he tried to barter labor with a mechanic.

      As long as he had the van Sanford didn't consider himself homeless. He had a place to call his own. But now they wanted to take it away.

      Later that morning while panhandling down on First Avenue, Sanford made his decision. Spare-changing was getting more and more difficult too. People just didn't carry cash money anymore. Why bother when you could keep it much more safely on a card? And what homeless person would carry around a credit card machine for donations? Some did: those who were natural entrepreneurs. Most, however, reacted to the changes with befuddlement, not realizing they were being marginalized, squeezed out of society. They'd end up in the impersonal blocks of dormitories, and when they died off their species, society hoped, would become extinct.

      It was time to move on. His ex-wife had told him that that was how he always reacted to problems: to flee, to try to leave them behind. And perhaps she was right. But now, today, he had the power of choice and he was going to take advantage of it. The state of Washington, where he now was, had enacted these strict environmental policies; he had heard that California was more liberal, that the banning of internal combustion engines would happen several years in the future, or maybe even never. It was late September, anyway, and it was getting chilly in the Pacific Northwest. He'd head for the sunny south.

      * * *

      Once up on the freeway and on his way he felt better. It had always been so, as soon as he had been out of his parents' house and on his own. There was something about the open road that thrilled him through and through.

      Just south of Portland, after he'd pulled off for gas and was heading back to the interstate, at the freeway entrance he spotted a hitchhiker. The dude stood by the side of the road, his backpack leaning against his leg as casual as could be. He looked to be about Sanford's age; he had long gray hair and a gray beard and wore jeans, a black sweatshirt, and an olive-colored parka.

      Almost no one hitchhiked anymore; there'd been too many stories of highway-side murders. When Sanford was on the move he'd go days sometimes without seeing a hitchhiker, and he seldom stopped for them. It just wasn't like the old days, the days when he'd depended on his thumb to get himself from place to place.

      For some reason, though, this time he slowed down and stopped.

      Thanks, man, said the traveler, as he hoisted his pack into the van and then followed it.

      You can put it in the back if you want, said Sanford.

      No, I'm cool. As the man sat in the passenger seat he arranged his long legs on either side of the pack.

      I hear you. No problem. Sanford put the van in gear and headed up to the freeway. So where you going?

      South.

      Any place more specific?

      Just south. It's getting cold up north, isn't it?

      It is. The van coughed, sputtered, slowed, then caught its rhythm again and puttered on.

      The hitchhiker shook his head. Vehicles, man. Something's always going wrong.

      Maybe.

      You want my advice? Get rid of it. Take it out somewhere and shove it over a cliff. You don't need it.

      What are you talking about? Sanford said. This is not just transportation. This is my home.

      Sorry, man. No offense intended. You're more free, though, if you travel like I do.

      Nobody stops anymore.

      You stopped.

      Sanford had no answer to that.

      People are on the move again, man, the hitchhiker said. You know what people I'm talking about. Remember back in the day, when we'd just pick up and wander from place to place, and everywhere we went we knew we'd find a community of heads? We thought we'd created something new and that it would last forever. Then what happened? It all disappeared. Most of us got absorbed into the system. Some got religious. Some died. A few, a very few, stayed radical. And what's happening now? The system is perfecting itself. It's spitting us out. It has no place for us.

      Sanford was about to make a comment about oversimplifying everything when the van began wheezing again. It stalled, caught, stalled, caught. By downshifting and pumping the accelerator he managed to keep it moving until it rolled into a parking space in a rest area.

      Damn, said the hitchhiker. It looks like you've got problems. My advice is to leave the damn thing here and continue on foot. You really don't need it. You think that this machine buys you freedom but it's an illusion. Freedom is here. He pointed to his head. Then he hoisted his backpack onto his back. Well, he said, here's where you and I part company. That's the beauty of it, see? I can just pick up and go. You're tied to this hunk of metal. With that he turned and headed for the freeway entrance without a backward glance.

      Sanford bore him no ill will. Forty years ago he might have done the same. Now, however, he had no desire to confront the uncertainty of the road with no shelter, at the mercy of the elements and the whims of others. That's what he resented so much about the new facilities for the homeless: he knew that once he moved in he'd never leave. He'd just be marking time until he died. No options would be left to him. He'd never have the courage to walk out with nowhere to go.

      He sighed, lifted the engine cover, and began poking around.

      * * *

      By the time Sanford had found and fixed the problem it was late afternoon, and so he decided to bed down for the night right where he was. He went into the back and opened a can of beans and ate, then pulled a few tattered but warm blankets out of a cupboard, wrapped them around himself, and slept.

      By first light he was on the road again.

      The sun shining in a clear blue sky had taken the early morning chill out of the van, and Sanford was starting to feel elated about the day when he saw flashing lights in the rearview mirror. Damn, he said to himself. What now? He pulled over to the side and rolled down the driver's window.

      The highway patrolman was short, fairly fit, with sprinkles of gray in his light brown hair. Good morning, sir. License and registration, please.

      After handing over the documents Sanford sat outwardly calm, inwardly trembling, in a state of mounting paranoia.

      The papers seem to be in order, the patrolman said. But due to the age of your vehicle I'm obliged to conduct an environmental test. Could you step outside, please? Leave the engine running. Careful. Come around behind the vehicle.

      The patrolman held an instrument no larger than a cell phone before the vibrating exhaust pipe, then studied the data. When is the last time you had the vehicle tested, sir? he said.

      Sanford's heart sank. About eight or nine months, I guess. I arrived in Seattle last spring and I've been parked most of the time. It passed its last inspection; I have the paper inside. I should be okay. It's definitely been less than a year.

      Standards have changed since then, sir. Your vehicle's toxic emissions are now over the limit.

      I'm sorry. I didn't realize that. I'll have it taken care of.

      I don't think you understand. There's no more grace period; that's been done away with. I should have your vehicle impounded right away.

      But... He didn't know what to say. The enormity of his danger rendered Sanford mute.

      The patrolman studied Sanford for a moment. As he did something in his eyes changed, and softened. Listen, friend, he said, I don't want to harm you and I don't want to take your van away from you. But if you stay here you'll get into trouble. Get off the interstate. Stay on the smaller roads. This is redneck territory and they don't like the new laws either. The local police will leave you alone. Head for the coast.

      Yes, sir. Yes, officer. Thank you.

      That's all right. My father used to travel like you do and he told me stories. Take care.

      * * *

      Sanford pulled off the freeway at the next exit and found himself on a two-lane road surrounded by towering evergreen trees. After about half a mile he came across a truck stop. He used some of his panhandling coins to get himself some hash browns, eggs, and coffee, and set up his battered, dusty laptop in front of him to study his route while he ate. All around him truckers and locals chomped on bacon and sausage and eggs and French toast and stacks of pancakes, and swilled pot after pot of coffee. Sanford liked the atmosphere. It brought up memories; it reminded him of past road adventures.

      His route would have to be circuitous, weaving this way and that, but Sanford didn't mind. He was in no hurry. Now that he was out of the city, off the freeway, out of the clutches of authorities, he figured he was safe, at least for the time being. His main concern was the weather. He wanted to continue south before the winter cold caught up with him.

      A man in a heavy brown corduroy winter coat and a cap with the ear muffs turned up stopped next to Sanford's table. He took the toothpick he'd been chewing on out of his mouth and pointed. That your van?

      Yeah.

      It's a beauty. Brings back memories. I always wanted a van like that. Had it converted, did you?

      No. Not yet.

      Damn. You'd better do it right away. I drive that big frozen foods rig over there. We always keep track of vehicle legislation. Word's come down from the state capital that the governor is looking to mount a presidential campaign and he's decided to go heavy on the environment. No internal combustion engine will be safe. You better get the hell out of the state while you can.

      That's my plan. I'm heading south.

      Good call. But, you know, whatever you've heard of California, it's only a matter of time before it'll have to fall in line too.

      I suppose.

      The trucker moved on out the door towards his rig, and Sanford sat crestfallen, numb with shock. He had heard California was safe. Was he only deluding himself? Was there no place he could go? He could, of course, try to find some sort of job and work for a while to save up some money for the conversion, but the last time he had attempted to solicit employment he had searched for weeks on the internet and in person establishment to establishment, and his efforts had been in vain. Nobody had need for an old has-been like himself with no special skills and no university degree. All his life he had been content to take whatever came, to drift from job to job, doing just enough to get by. It had driven his ex-wife crazy; she had wanted him to settle down and learn a trade and bring in a steady, reliable income so they could start having children. His inability to dig in and adhere to a regular routine had driven them apart.

      Now the easygoing, what-the-hell, one-day-at-a-time, keep-on-truckin' attitude he had picked up in the sixties had caught up with him.

      In the minimarket next to the restaurant he picked up a loaf of bread, some lunch meat, a can of spaghetti and another of tuna, and a bag of chips. He was determined to keep on the road as much as possible, to make it through the state without another stop.

      As he drove he kept glancing in his rearview mirror and scanning side roads, lanes, and parking lots. He realized his anxiety was counterproductive but he couldn't help it. Too much was at stake.

      Somehow he made it to the coast and to the Oregon/California border safely, without incident. As soon as he could after crossing he pulled off the highway to watch the sunset. The way the sun hit the water far out over the vast Pacific and spread kaleidoscopic streaks of amber, orange, rose, and russet across the sky and sea always amazed him, purged him of his fretfulness, gave him new hope and vitality. He kept watching until a glittering spread of a myriad of stars filled the dark sky and the sun's light was just a faint glimmer over the water.

      Exhausted after his long day of driving, he had no desire to travel further. Following a sign on an access road he came to an area designated as a state beach. He drove until the road ended and parked as unobtrusively as he could. Warnings forbidding camping were posted at frequent intervals, but the place was deserted except for him, and Sanford hoped that because of the season and the

      Enjoying the preview?
      Page 1 of 1