The Rich Man's Son

The Rich Man’s Son

The rich man’s son drives a 1985 Volvo. The seats are broken, the floors are filled with garbage and sand and dirt. The car has over 200,000 miles on it. The rich man’s son likes it that way. He always has. He feels safe in his car. His car is the only thing that is truly constant in his life.

The rich man’s son is driving across the country. He is trying to figure his life out. He is driving with only himself and his four cats. They wander across his lap, in the seat behind him. Howling occasionally. The rich man’s son reaches back, pets them and calls each one by name.

Hair blows across the rich man’s son’s face. He has let it grow out and has neglected to wash it, or himself, for the last several days. He doesn’t care. He feels his body can cleanse itself. He likes to be one with nature. Using the streams and lakes as baths, the leaves as a sponge, the sand as soap.

The rich man’s son wears only a t-shirt and a pair of old shorts. His nails are long, with dirt packed tightly underneath them, and his feet are bare, his running shoes thrown in the backseat amongst his backpacks and tent. He plays with the radio knobs, trying to find a station while driving the long stretch of highway.

As the sun reflects through the window and warms the rich man’s son’s face, a smile emerges from his usually sullen expression. He thinks of the woman he has left home, the woman who will be waiting for him when he returns. Her strength carries his weaknesses. They always have. Someday he hopes he can help her as she has helped him. He wants to be the tree with its limbs buried deep in the dirt. Going nowhere, able to hold her among his branches.

When the rich man’s son was young, he was given everything. Everything but what he really needed. His family was always there for him, loving him, but never protecting him. When the rich man’s son was a child, he would call out to his parents at night, during his horrible dreams. But no one would come. No one could hear him through the long dark corridors of his massive house. In the morning when the rich man’s son’s parents would ask him how he slept, he would say fine. He was embarrassed, and ashamed, in the light of day.

The rich man’s son always went to fancy schools. He was shipped away for the best education money could buy. At the schools he would be teased. His shyness would leave him huddling in the corners, eating lunch alone, being beaten by bullies. When the rich man’s son would call home to his father, his father wouldn’t have time to talk. He was making mergers and money, and money and mergers. His father promised him that things would be better, that things would change. But they never did, not until now.

The rich man’s son just left his University. He had one week before graduation, but he couldn’t finish. He stepped out of his Art History class, leaving his half-written final sitting on the desk and went home to pack. He gathered everything he would need into his car, took his cats and apologized to his lover. Promising he would be back. Then he drove 18 straight hours before stopping to rest. A heavy weight already lifted from his shoulders.

During his trip across the country the rich man’s son has done a lot of soul searching. He has forgiven his parents, and he is learning to forgive himself. As he passes each city, each state, he things of all the good qualities he has. He becomes stronger, and for the first time in his life he begins to feel alive. He begins to trust himself and he begins to like the person that he is trusting.

During the dark nights the rich man’s son drives. He drives all night and thinks about when he was a child. He remembers happy times, like his 7th birthday when his father bought him a shiny new bike. But then, for some reason, he can’t remember his 8th birthday, or his 9th. He thinks hard and when he does remember something, he shudders, again trying to forget. He works with his thoughts, getting by them, understanding them, and finally dealing with them. It is then that the sun rises and he parks by a lake and sleeps. Sometimes for just the morning, but sometimes all day, until the sun is so hot, drops of perspiration fall across his cheeks, like tears, and wake him.

By the time the rich man’s son has driven across the country, from the east to the west, he is ready to return home. His dark eyes have become light and his stiffness has become loose. He smiles at people as they drive by, waving to each and every one of them until his arm becomes tired. He drives now during the day, and sleeps at night, the whole night through. He has called the woman he loves, and she is excited for his return, preparing the house for his arrival. He has called his parents, promising his return to school, happy to hear their voices.

When the rich man’s son gets close to home he opens all the windows, driving fast and letting the wind slap his face. He calls out to his cats and they gather up front around him. He pulls them close and shuts his eyes and smiles. The rich man’s son sees nothing as the truck pulls out in front of him. He feels nothing as his car goes barreling off the bridge. The rich man’s son never knew that his life would end just when it finally began.