After graduating high school in 1973, three best friends, Mark, Benji and Kenny, take a cross-country road trip by bus in search of adventure before college. What they discover is a world far different and more complex then their suburban upbringing has prepared them for and that traveling together doesn't mean they are on the same journey. The narrator, Mark, tall, lanky, inexperienced, and younger looking than his 19 years is a keen and articulate observer of life who longs to be more of a participant. his sense of history, current events, music, and baseball combine to make The Dream Rule an inspirational work of lasting importance.
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Excerpt from The Dream Rule
It was over before it had started. The trip, which had become my main focus, the touchstone that kept me going for the past few months had exploded. I felt lost, untethered, adrift. I was shattered. In my most depressed moments it had been the balm I’d soothe my spirit with. When I was feeling down and frustrated over not having a girlfriend, I would tell myself it was okay, because I’d soon be going cross-country and no one would know me. I could meet a girl on the trip. I could be whomever I wanted. Or when my dad, as was his want, started getting on my case for any of the many transgressions he deemed me guilty of, or that just pissed him off, I would tune out his hectoring with thoughts of being on the road, someplace far away. Now that was gone. I felt hopeless and empty. I had allowed myself to invest too much emotional energy into the trip and wasn't sure how to get past it. I had put myself on a path that I believed would have a rainbow at its end. As the day of departure grew nearer, I had been running towards it at full speed. But now it felt like I had just reached the end and instead of a rainbow it was a cliff and I was falling.
When I got home the house was dark. The kitchen was illuminated by the light from the stovetop vent, just bright enough to keep me from bumping into or tripping over anything. As I headed up the stairs to the bedrooms, the stairway walls flickered from the glow of the TV set in my parents’ bedroom and I could hear the soft murmur of a TV show. At the top of the stairs I stuck my head into their room. They were both in bed with just their heads sticking out from under the bed covers. The light from the TV set reflected off their eyeglasses and distorted their faces. I couldn’t tell if they were asleep or not. I stood in their doorway for a few seconds, eliciting no response from them. Then said a soft, “Goodnight,” to which they were also unresponsive. It didn’t necessarily mean they were asleep, I was used to being ignored by them. We were not close. Some of it could have been attributed to the normal distance one feels to one’s parents in adolescence. But, it wasn’t something that had started in my teens. We didn’t one day find ourselves at odds after years of parent/child connections. My parents were never all that warm and demonstrative. The distance between us had always been there. But lately it was widening and many of our conversations ended in fights or worse, my dad completely shutting down leaving me to wonder if we would ever connect. Besides being my chance at a great adventure, I had been looking forward to the trip putting as much physical distance between us as there was emotional. Maybe it would bring us closer for the few weeks between my return and leaving for college, though I wasn’t sure how that would work.
I went to my room and climbed into my own bed and was soon drifting off. But as I felt sleep overcome me, I could hear in the distance the fading sound of a commercial playing from their room. Sonorous voices were singing, “Go Greyhound, and leave the driving to us.”
I bolted upright. “Shit, that’s it!” I couldn’t tell if I had said it out loud or was shouting inside my head, but by the time I laid myself down again, I knew I had the answer to our problem, a way to save the trip. I couldn't wait to tell Benji in the morning.
It was over before it had started. The trip, which had become my main focus, the touchstone that kept me going for the past few months had exploded. I felt lost, untethered, adrift. I was shattered. In my most depressed moments it had been the balm I’d soothe my spirit with. When I was feeling down and frustrated over not having a girlfriend, I would tell myself it was okay, because I’d soon be going cross-country and no one would know me. I could meet a girl on the trip. I could be whomever I wanted. Or when my dad, as was his want, started getting on my case for any of the many transgressions he deemed me guilty of, or that just pissed him off, I would tune out his hectoring with thoughts of being on the road, someplace far away. Now that was gone. I felt hopeless and empty. I had allowed myself to invest too much emotional energy into the trip and wasn't sure how to get past it. I had put myself on a path that I believed would have a rainbow at its end. As the day of departure grew nearer, I had been running towards it at full speed. But now it felt like I had just reached the end and instead of a rainbow it was a cliff and I was falling.
When I got home the house was dark. The kitchen was illuminated by the light from the stovetop vent, just bright enough to keep me from bumping into or tripping over anything. As I headed up the stairs to the bedrooms, the stairway walls flickered from the glow of the TV set in my parents’ bedroom and I could hear the soft murmur of a TV show. At the top of the stairs I stuck my head into their room. They were both in bed with just their heads sticking out from under the bed covers. The light from the TV set reflected off their eyeglasses and distorted their faces. I couldn’t tell if they were asleep or not. I stood in their doorway for a few seconds, eliciting no response from them. Then said a soft, “Goodnight,” to which they were also unresponsive. It didn’t necessarily mean they were asleep, I was used to being ignored by them. We were not close. Some of it could have been attributed to the normal distance one feels to one’s parents in adolescence. But, it wasn’t something that had started in my teens. We didn’t one day find ourselves at odds after years of parent/child connections. My parents were never all that warm and demonstrative. The distance between us had always been there. But lately it was widening and many of our conversations ended in fights or worse, my dad completely shutting down leaving me to wonder if we would ever connect. Besides being my chance at a great adventure, I had been looking forward to the trip putting as much physical distance between us as there was emotional. Maybe it would bring us closer for the few weeks between my return and leaving for college, though I wasn’t sure how that would work.
I went to my room and climbed into my own bed and was soon drifting off. But as I felt sleep overcome me, I could hear in the distance the fading sound of a commercial playing from their room. Sonorous voices were singing, “Go Greyhound, and leave the driving to us.”
I bolted upright. “Shit, that’s it!” I couldn’t tell if I had said it out loud or was shouting inside my head, but by the time I laid myself down again, I knew I had the answer to our problem, a way to save the trip. I couldn't wait to tell Benji in the morning.