everyone's sins."
"So all you have to do is talk to him about it. Tell him what's in your heart. One thing Billy Graham said always has stuck with me: 'Either Jesus is who he says or he's the biggest liar of all time.'"
"Yeah?"
"We're all going to stand before the judgment seat of Christ, regardless of race, religion, or economic status. That includes you, Sam."
"Whatever. Think I'll do what your kids are doing and take a nap."
16
Back home Sam fell into his routine of work all week and party all weekend. He had promised to read the Bible Dave gave to him but it soon joined a stack of other books, tapes and albums that he had received but never made the time for. Receiving the Bible reminded him of the time he had been hitchhiking from Washington DC to St. Petersburg, Florida. Two men had driven him hundreds of miles, bought him breakfast and handed him a copy of The Cross and the Switchblade, which chronicled a small town pastor's adventures helping gang members in New York City.
Other memories flooded back, such as the ones at college who had told him about Christ. Then there was a friend who had looked him up in Germany when Sam was in the Army.
"Life sure must be a drag, just getting high and listening to music every night," Rick had observed the day after Sam had introduced him to his dope smoking friends. "You know, God has a perfect life for you and a perfect wife for you."
Sam hated it when words cut through his many walls of defense and struck him deep in his soul. It was okay if the lyrics of a song did it. But someone speaking truth about his condition was not welcome. His platoon sergeant in the Army had done so when he had called Sam into his office one day.
"Smaltz, do you worship the devil?"
Sam's mouth dropped open. "No."
"Well you remind me of two of my men back in the States who worshipped the devil. I never saw anyone with more hate in them."
There was hate enough, all right. Once some soldiers had put someone deemed a snitch in a locker and thrown him out of a third story window. Another time some blacks angered by two white soldiers riding their mini-bike on a Sunday afternoon when they trying to sleep had grabbed bats and beaten the two senseless. For some the hate turned inwards to acts of self-destruction, as the soldier who jumped out of a second floor window after receiving a Dear John letter. Luckily, his friends had slowed the fall by grabbing his pants which then ripped loose from his body. Then there were the two soldiers who had a score to settle with a sergeant. So they waited until all three were back in the States before paying him a visit.
When Sam had asked for more details he was told: "All I'm going to tell you is that they paid him a visit."
And now came the moment that Sam hated most of all. He had to deal with his affection for his girlfriend, Danielle. Doing that dredged up painful memories from his past failed relationships: the girl a friend had set him up with for Sam's first date, the girl he had taken to a dance but then foolishly avoided because he couldn't handle the sweet innocence and goodness that she radiated, the girls whom Sam had selfishly pushed into sexual situations that they didn't want. All of them had ended as bitter memories.
The fear of a repeat performance kept Sam from calling Danielle for two weeks, but Dave's final words at the airport haunted him.
"You've got to fish or cut bait, Sam."
Finally, not so much in an attempt to give their time together another try, but more to get it over with, Sam invited Danielle over to his place. For Danielle to agree to come was more than an act of love; it was an act of faith as Sam's neighborhood consisted of folks at the lower end of everyone's socioeconomic scale, a place called the wrong side of the tracks even by some of its inhabitants.
"Only place I can afford," Sam had always shrugged to Danielle. "Of course, if I moved in with you, we've both be saving money and?"
"And you could get your playtime with me anytime you felt like it."
"Well?" Sam would grin.
"No, thanks."
To fortify himself before he confessed that his best friend Dave had helped him to realize that she was the one for him, Sam decided to have just one beer. When Danielle had to wait for the auto service to come give her a jump start and could not reach Sam because his phone had once again been disconnected due to lack of the bill's payment, Sam grew anxious and started on a second beer. By the time Danielle arrived at the dingy apartment Sam had finished the entire six pack. It took a bit of pounding on the door by his girlfriend before Sam realized she was there because he had turned up the volume to a deafening roar to better enjoy his favorite Lynyrd Skynyrd album.
"Hi. Come on in."
"Can I please turn it down?" Danielle motioned toward the stereo.
"Huh? Can't hear you. Give me a kiss." Sam lunged toward her but he moved so slowly that he grabbed only air as she started toward the stereo. Just as she turned down the volume, Sam's drunken momentum propelled him headfirst into one of the speakers. The cheap covering tore easily and his head jammed into the wooden frame holding the speaker. When he sat up the speaker was attached to his head as the three guitarists launched into their solos on Freebird.
"Far out. This is better than seeing them in concert."
"Is that beer I smell?"
"Yeah. Want one?"
"Doesn't look like there's any left."
"Let's go get some more."
Danielle put the bag holding Sam's favorite meal on the kitchen table as tears filled her eyes. "Sam, I don't know whether to laugh or cry because of you. I was hoping to try to get back together, but?"
"It'll work out. Just remember that I'm one of those rockers that just can't change. Just like this song says."
"Goodbye, Sam." Danielle turned and headed out the door.
"Hey, don't go." Sam lurched to his feet. As he tried to remove the speaker from his head he lost his balance and fell to the floor. The impact, mixed with the beer, was enough to make him drift into a fitful sleep.
17
When Sam finally awoke it was 4 a.m. Sunday morning. He grabbed another six pack of beer at the convenience store on the way to the best solitude available for hundreds of miles in every direction - the nearby national forest. Relief did not descend on him until the paved roads gave way to only dirt roads and the tall trees blocked every view. A friend from Sam's days in Northern California years before had rekindled Sam's love of nature.
"Seems like you can feel God in that place," he once had told Gale, who had taken Sam along on a camping trip at Yosemite. After hiking in to a lake in Yosemite that had only five other groups camping around it, Sam had muttered, "What do we do now?"
"You're supposed to bring along a book," Gale had replied as he opened The Hobbit.
Some time later the two had hitchhiked to Muir Woods and Point Reyes north of San Francisco and then split up as they neared their homes on the return trip. Sam went to one side of the road and Gale to the other. Gale contentedly sat down, opened The Return of the King and had a ride within minutes.
"You didn't even have to stick out your thumb," Sam had later complained. "I got stuck on my side of the road for 30 minutes."
"Everyone knows why you're sitting there," Gale had smiled. "So I just read a book. I don't have to stick out my thumb. Keep on truckin'."
Those memories of happier times brought a faint smile to Sam's face. He remembered the time he was stuck in Nebraska and trying to get home to California. Feeling abandoned he had looked up to the heavens and said, "God, if you get me one ride all the way home, I'll serve you."
The next two cars had passed by but the third stopped. Two guys from New York on their way to visit a friend in the Bay Area then gave Sam a ride to his doorstep, some 1300 miles away. Along the way the two told Sam how they preferred the heroin that was then popular in New York City over the LSD so popular on the West Coast. With the three traveler's money just about gone in Nevada, a quick stop at a small casino and few hands of blackjack provided just enough cash for food and gas for the r
est of the trip.
The memories faded when Sam's favorite clearing eventually came into view and he pulled over and the first three beers went down quickly. He was about to open the fourth when a passing hunter asked if he could use the remaining three full cans as targets to sight his gun.
"That sucker did it just to keep me from driving away drunk," Sam would tell his children years later. "First he had me take a can way up to the top of a hill. After he fired at it, he gave me some coffee while he took his time to retrieve the can. Then he had me place the last two cans a hundred yards apart at the bottom of a steep ravine. After he nailed them, we climbed back down to retrieve the cans. Then he said he had some sandwiches up in his truck. After all the exercise and the food, the first 3 beers had worn off and he left. Never saw him again."
The hunter had told Sam how that part of the forest was to be designated as a wilderness area that had yet to be named. Thus, the last thing Sam saw as he drove home about noon was the sign that awaited one last line in the middle, the name yet to be chosen for the new wilderness area: