Walter didn’t walk.  He ambled.  Today, though, he had a destination.

Walter wasn’t much of a planner, preferring to be spontaneous or, as he put it, just going with the flow.  But the flow today, required some preparation.  He had packed a lunch:  cheese sandwich, apple, Hostess pink Sno Balls and a bottle of Gatorade.  Green. 

He had seen the photo in a magazine.  Beartown.  He was even intrigued by the name.  A Vietnam memorial to a lost son deep in the heart of the West Virginia high mountains.  A series of boardwalks and large rocks, verdant and mysterious.  A sanctuary, sacred and oozing peace.  The perfect place to soothe a soul or lift a spirit.

Somewhere he could amble, but he had to get there first. 

Not yet dawn and the day was drizzly.  He threw a poncho in the backpack with his lunch and DSLR. Yup, he’d pulled out the big guns for Beartown.  It looked like a photographer’s dream location – moody yet tranquil.  He wondered if there were really bear up there on that part of Droop Mountain.  Droop Mountain, for sure, but in this state park?  He didn’t know.

He hurried to the car – hastening his footsteps so as not to lose precious daylight.  He intended on ansel adamsing for hours.

Four hours or so by car.  How had he been so close to such a marvel and not ever heard about it?

The car was old and rusty, much like Walter.  But reliable.  Like Walter.  Against all odds, it started day after day and carried Walter where he needed to go.  Or wanted to go. 

Need is such a strong word.  Perhaps if we needed less, tragedies like Vietnam wouldn’t happen. 

Walter pushed in a CD.  Mozart’s Jupiter Symphony. His favorite.  The music filled the car.  While the vehicle may have been an eyesore, the stereo system had been the top of the line and well-maintained–unlike the car.  Priorities. 

He pulled out of his driveway, signaling with his left hand. 

As he drove through the sleeping town, Jupiter blasting, he unscrewed the thermos of coffee and poured a cup.  He had intended on waiting a bit, but he wanted a cup now.  Walter had enough of deprivation and delayed gratification in the Army.  He did as he pleased.  His disability wasn’t much, but he was able to get by.  His needs were simple. 

If only he could sleep, life would be perfect.

He was lucky to get a few hours in before the mayhem in his head started.

During the day, he blotted it out with music.  Everything but the angry or hateful stuff.  He used music like some veterans used alcohol and drugs—to blot out the images and sounds and feelings that lingered in his head.  Oh, what 13 months in a jungle can do to a young mind.

He stepped on the accelerator.  He took the car to 65 mph and let it shake and complain.  He noticed his hurry and laughed.  He hadn’t been in a hurry in 52 years.