Excerpt from "A Long Ago Summer's Tale"

There he was, Amy lying in his open arms. Now he had finally reached his destination: “Thou art to follow the way”, and Benjamin also had had to create his own path through life. In Amy he had found a second mother... Benjamin stretched on the ground, Amy had fallen asleep in his lap. Benjamin closed his eyes and tried to remember his real mother, the time he used to lie in her arms...

Benjamin was born in Del Rio, Texas, a town set on the border to Mexico. He never really got accustomed to school, whichever the level. He thought these great distances between towns would excuse him from education. Even though he'd been less at school than at home, he was a quite clever guy from his first years on. He learned to fight and defend himself, how to survive in his own frame.

It could seem preposterous to someone who's been through schooling, where diplomas are the only clue for life. His parents weren't of these. Though Americans in America they didn't really benefit socially. True, they had to fight in order to come through: they lived on the edge of poverty.

Little Benjamin really knew what desperation was like. From age ten on he felt some kind of compassion for his friends who suffered the same, maybe even more, they were Blacks. He started writing poems and lyrics, he was somehow talented... In his dreams he wanted Benjamin Mitchell to reach Benjamin Franklin's level. Later on he'd realize it was pure fiction, because their styles were very different and, most of all, circumstances had changed.

However, he approved some of Franklin's arguments: the day should be used completely and remain in one spiritual line. He fervently believed in Faith, in God, and he knew this would lead him somewhere someday and bring him plenty of Joy.

His mother worked in a library – not as a librarian, she cleaned it! –thus he could read as much as he would like to. Very soon Benjamin discovered the magical power of words. His first poems were "originally" inspired, it all came from himself. Then he realized how important it is to picture other men's work, read. Indeed, he read a lot and all his readings proved the same strong religious belief. During his very childhood he didn't care about the surroundings but once he started reading he built his own culture, and not only literary culture, he also read newspapers. The USA is such a giant country and B. Mitchell is such a tiny little boy in a minute little town.

As time went by Mitchell reached his 18th birthday. It was a day, an ordinary day... nothing's changed, one year older, that's all. "Once again my parents have forgotten my birthday, it's a shame", disillusioned he walked over to the bar - the only bar in town! -and drowned his blues. 

Del Rio's the first stop for truck drivers on their way up North. It was the real stereotypical American bar: pretty waitress, Juke Box, some R & B music or pure Texas Country, poorly alcoholised beer. Actually this bar was known for truckers - no local farmer was to be seen alone over there - the "men from the road" had a certain maturity and their rude characters left other customers aside.

Benjamin knew it all but he wanted to take a risk. Most of all he wanted to travel, discover the States, and he knew it was the only place in town where he could get real information.

He came inside at 2 p.m. It was almost empty, the sun was shining on a dry ground. The only customer he could find was a worn-out cowboy full of tattoos, everywhere on his arms and chest, only his face was bare, though dried out and tanned like the one of a devil. The stump of a cigar stuck in his mouth and the hat fit very well with the remnants of a vest. A certain chill went through Benjamin's bones at the vision of this man but then he drew closer to him and asked, with a timid voice:

"Is the truck out there yours, Mister?" he wondered whether he should call him Mr.

"Yo man, it sure is, ain't it pretty?"

"Yes sir,mm... may I ask where you come from or where you're going?" Benjamin replied, still very shyly.

"Come from South, go up North" and he took the glass to his mouth, emptied it all at once and set it back. Afterwards the boy realized it was some whisky.

As the evening went on the boys got to know each other. Benjamin offered him several beers and shared dinner with him. Towards the middle of the meal the truck driver started confessing: "Okay, boy, my name's Joe De Placia... well, just call me old Joe and forget De Placia, nevermind who I am". As the discussion went on Joe became more intimate with Benjamin, and explained why he refused to have his name claimed aloud.

He was bound to some bad deal that occurred in Mexico several years ago. He didn't say much about it but insisted on the fact he'd been expelled from Mexico. However, he used to live on the boundary to Mexico and drove trucks for a Mexican company.

Benjamin didn't care about Old Joe's story, and would soon ask where he was going.

"Where are you going, Joe?"

"I gotta reach Chicago, but to do this I got plenty of time. So I'll make my own path through the States. You know I'm quite accustomed to the country and I've got plenty of lil' lovin's hangin' around... They ruin their lives with some wornout hippies and wait for my return. Or rather my drop-in or pass-by! "

The night was to continue in the same atmosphere, the same point of view. Benjamin kept on hiding his sentimental side and tried the best he could to show the rough side of his. However, his was a child's compared to Joe's. [...]

© 2012 Matt Oehler