The Endless Road

I have trouble sleeping.

I can go days with little sleep.

When I do sleep I see nightmares.

After my divorce I had night-terrors.

The following story is about night-terrors.

This is a true story as best as I can remember.

This is an imagined story as the truth is imagination.

Art and work was my life. My youngest son Micheal had moved out of my apartment after he graduated from high school and I was living alone for only the second time in my life.
My oldest son Mark was moving from Kansas City Missouri to Minneapolis, Minnesota with his girlfriend Jennifer. Mark asked me to help with the move because I had a Mini-Van.
Everyone called me Mister Soccer Mom until they needed me and my van to move.

I was glad to help my son Mark move. We were never the same as father and son after the divorce. I love Mark and he loves me but we picked apart each other. We knew how to push each others buttons and we did.

I got off from work on a Friday and the next day I would help my son move. I came home to my basement apartment in Lee's Summit, Missouri. This was the second time I lived in this suburb of Kansas City Missouri. This time I lived in a nice apartment in a better neighborhood.
The phone rang and I answered it.

"Dad are you ready to go tomorrow?"

"Yeah Mark, I got a full tank of gas on the way home. Do you want me to meet you in North Kansas City?"

"No, it's going to rain by the weather forecast. You know you get lost on overcast days. I'm going to swing by Mom's house and say goodbye, then I'll come by your apartment and you can follow me back to my duplex."

"Around 8:00 then?"

"8:00 sounds good. See you then, thanks dad."

I hung up the phone and looked at the wreak that was my apartment. What did Mark call it?

"The Empire of Junk."

His voice echoed in my memory. I had to clean the apartment before he came over.
I had hundreds of books, a few items in the frig, glasses, dishes, an office chair, light-box and a computer. Everything else was my Art or my Empire of Junk. Over 40 large foam sculpture in every shape and color filled the apartment. Thousands of concept sketches and all kinds of junk used in the sculptures filled the gaps in between the art. I found some trash bags and filled them up. As I flung the trash into the dumpster I thought about Toni and her brothers. Did I do the right thing. It's a hard thing to know that you broke up a family even if it was for the right reason.

I stuffed all the rest of the junk in cabinets and closets. I didn't have a clean apartment, I had a clean private Art Gallery. 11:00 p.m. and there is a knock at the door. Damn! I forgot about the party next door. I didn't go to parties, I hated parties. I didn't drink alcohol or smoke anything.
The next door neighbor always had parties on Fridays and at 11:00 p.m. I let her and friends tour my Private Art Gallery. I opened the door.

"Wow you cleaned the place up!"

"Just for you and your friends" I lied.

"So we're ready to make payment."

"Oh yes, I forgot. Wait here."

I left the group at the door and went into the kitchen and grabbed a handful of 3-D puff paints in little plastic squeeze bottles out of a cabinet. I handed the bright colored paints out to my guests.

"You know the drill go ahead and paint."

"I'm new, my name is Sally. What's the drill?"

That name again. I never saw Sally after I left that first apartment. Did she die alone?

"These two tall multicolored blob are called Brother and Sister. To see the rest of my art you must add color to these sculptures. Men paint the Brother and Women the Sister."

They all had fun painting the sculptures. I made silly jokes as I showed them my weird and wonderful art. Maybe my art was just part of my Empire of Junk but sculpting your emotions and giving them color seemed to touch people. On the walls for all to see was my Love, Hate,
Fear, Friendship, Pain, Lust, Courage and Joy. Freestanding sculptures were harder to name as I tried to think of nothing when I sculpted those.

By 12:30 a.m. the party moved back across the hall. I needed some sleep. I turned off the lights and got in bed. As I closed my eyes the car wreak in a blue and gray vision played out. I stood by the side of the road watching the car flip end over end with me in it. I woke in the back of an ambulance. I tried to get up but the paramedic with a big mustache and a 70's haircut pushed me back down. The world was in vivid color. Most of my dreams were in monotones. Was this a dream?

"Its all right, you're not going to die."

He was right, I had already died and came back. I swam in darkness for a moment and then the sound of laughter. I opened my eyes and was in an emergency room. As I propped myself up on my elbows I saw most people in the room were laughing. The doctors and nurses were laughing and many of my high school friends were there and laughing. I saw my ex-girlfriend Gail talking to her sister Ann. They weren't laughing. Then I heard myself tell a joke. It was as if someone else was telling the joke. When I was unconscious I had told every joke I knew. I swam in blackness again.

I was alone in my hospital room. I sat up in bed and my head felt gigantic. As I stood up to go to the restroom I felt like a living bobble head. I looked in the mirror and saw an elephant man version of myself. My left eye lids were the size of a grapefruit and the area of my scalp had ballooned to the size of a small watermelon. My nose was a blob with nostrils. Behind me a monster appeared in the mirror. Its face was a spiral of horns attached to a body of yellow wedges with red slashes. Its arms and legs were made of cow bones with rusty wires. It had no hands or feet. In the mirror the arms reached out to me.

I woke screaming. I looked at the alarm clock, I had only been asleep five minutes. My visions of the car wreak had never turned into a Night Terror before. I couldn't sleep. To be honest I was too scared to sleep. I couldn't do any art or I would make a mess and I didn't want my son to see even a hint of the Empire of Junk. I worked on my computer. I worked on my most positive movie script. I didn't try to work on the story about God, love and redemption. I was a nervous wreak and just concentrated on finding typos.

4:30 a.m. and I was still wide awake with little hope for getting any sleep. I turned the computer off and went back to bed. I faded into the darkness of my room. I was dreaming that the darkness of the void had swallowed me whole. I was very small, a wisp of nothing in a maze of atoms. I was at peace with myself and then the monster came out of the darkness.

"I am the Demon of the Night in the River of Darkness your fear has summoned me."

I was in my bedroom staring at the ceiling when an evil, empty of light fell upon me. Four glossy mantis like forearms ripped out of the black orb. The claws clenched my torso and carved into my ribcage.

I woke screaming, jumping out of bed, slamming against my bedroom door and then falling to the floor. I was somewhere between awake and my Night Terror. I stood at the door screaming trying to open it. I was turning the knob but pushing in instead of pulling the door open.
Suddenly I heard an echo of a memory in my mind.

"Dad you're having a nightmare! Wake up and pull the door open!"

I was alone in my bedroom. I was alone in my apartment.

It was the memory of Mark waking me from a Night Terror after the divorce. My left hand began to twitch and my face contorted. I felt the pressure in the back of my mind. I fell to the floor and had a seizure. I thought to my self, "better now than on the road". It didn't last long.

It was dawn. I got dressed and went out for breakfast. I got a Denver omelet just because I like the name. It was 7:30 a.m. by the time I got back to the apartment. I wished I hadn't drank the orange juice as I felt it sour in my stomach. I heard a knock on the door.

"Dad open up it's me."

I opened the door and my son Mark walked in.

"Do you have some window washing fluid? Its misting outside now."

"Sure Mark, I've got some under the sink."

I opened the cabinet under the kitchen sink and junk fell on the floor.

"Tried to hide the Empire of Junk from me, didn't you?"

As we walked out the apartment, Mark asked for one of my abstract sculptures. I pulled it off my wall and put it in the front set of the van. I followed Mark to his old duplex in North Kansas City. The overcast day made me see all the floaters from damage to my left eye. The cloud of black specks made driving hell. We loaded my van with the larger items and hit the road.

We got on I-35 North and by the time we made the Iowa boarder the rain was coming down hard. Between my floaters and the heavy rain I'm having trouble seeing Mark's car.
Somehow I keep up with Mark and we pulled into the first Truck Stop we saw. Mark bought gas with a credit card but I was using cash. I ran to pay the clerk and fell in a big puddle of water.
I got back to my van with a swollen ankle and soaked pants. As I cursed my luck I realized the sculpture in the passenger seat was the torso of the demon of my Night Terror.

"I'm a superstitious fool"

I said out loud as I thought how my subconscious mind and Mark had picked out the most striking of my Wall Art. Just an accident of timing. The road went on forever through Iowa.
Rows of corn, heavy rain and lack of sleep were a bad combination. For a second I fell asleep.
I had to take my mind off the boredom of the road. I thought about my sons when they were three and six years. Those were my favorite memories. Mark was born a little old man.
He is an old soul if ever there was one. When he was six years old he taught me more than I taught him. He taught me a better way to mix paints. He taught me how to whistle.

The best thing my six year old son Mark taught me, was how to fly in my dreams.

"Father do you fly in your dreams like Superman?"

"No son I've never flown in my dreams."

"Oh Father, you must fly in your dreams. Nothing is better than flying in your dreams."

"Well son, you either fly in your dreams or you don't."

"No Father, thats not true. I can teach you to fly in your dreams. When you go to sleep think of flying like Superman and I will come to you in your dreams and teach you how to fly."

I went to sleep that night thinking of flying like Superman. That night six year old Mark came to me and spoke to me in my black and white dreamland of New York City.

"I will tie this tread to the button of your shirt and then I'll fly you like a kite."

Six year old mark took a spool of tread and tied the loose end to the middle button on my shirt.
He ran away from me letting the tread run off the spool. Then he clenched the tread in his hand and I was airborne. Higher and higher Mark pulled me into the sky. Soon I was higher than the Empire State Building. Six year old mark was so tiny below me.

"I'm breaking the tread Father. You can fly like Superman because its a dream."

Mark broke the tread and I flew like Superman. I weaved in and out of the 1930's skyscrapers and did loops through the clouds. It was the most fun I ever had in a dream and I woke up laughing. Strange, thinking of my favorite dream was helping me stay awake.

Rain, corn fields and the road. I was so tired. I needed to stay alert.

Micheal, my youngest son. My son with the big heart. He was a difficult child when he was three years old. He had the most beautiful curly blond hair. While Mark and I got on each other nerves, Micheal and I didn't seem to have much in common. I love Micheal so much but I'm not sure he knows it or believes it. That little boy of three that I nicked named BAM BAM was more strong willed than I could have imagined a child to be. It wasn't the Terrible Twos with Micheal but the Terrorizing Threes.

I was having trouble keeping up with Mark. Why did he drive so fast in this rain?

Micheal was always breaking things at three years old. He didn't seem to have any fear at that age. We let him watch a Martial Arts movie once and he kicked a hole in a wall. Micheal woke me up one morning by pulling a bed slat out from the box frame and hitting me across the face.
For six months he refused to go to sleep in his bed and would sit in the middle of the floor wrapped in his favorite blue blanket swaying back and forth trying to stay awake. When he could no longer fight off sleep he would till his head back looking directly at the ceiling and scream at the top of his lungs. He would fall over on the floor mid-scream passed out. I remember turning to my wife Jackie after one of those episodes and saying;

"Do you think he was a Viking Warrior King in a former lifetime?"

There was one moment that Micheal of three years of age forever became a legend in the Vollrath family history. When my boys were three and six years old our family lived in a duplex complex in Lee's Summit Missouri. In the center of the complex was a picnic area, playground and swimming pool. On Saturdays when my wife had to work I would hire our summer weekday baby sitter to watch the boys for three hours so I could get some artwork done. Ginny would watch the boys at the playground while she talked to other teenage girls in the duplex complex.
My wife came home early one Saturday and I still had an hour without the kids. We made hot tea and just sat at the kitchen table and talked.

Finally the Minnesota boarder. The rain was letting up but my vision was taking on a fish eye lens reality. Stay awake, keep thinking about Micheal and the bully.

Jackie and I had just finished our tea when someone began to pound on our front door.
I opened the door to find Ron the twelve year old neighborhood bully. Half of the boy's left eyebrow was missing. It looked like someone had sliced off the half of eyebrow from mid-brow to the left side of the face with a sharp knife. Blood was dripping down his left side of his face and half of his white T-Shirt was soaked with blood.

"Your son did this!"

He said as he pointed to his bloody half brow with his left index finger.

"Mark wouldn't do that, he's the most peaceful child I know!"

"No! Not Mark, your son Micheal!"

"How could Micheal a three year old do that to you?"

"He hit me with a board with a nail in it! I just came to tell you I'm going to kick his ass!"

"Now wait a minute! It's bad enough you've bullied my six year old son but if you touch my three year old boy I don't care if you're twelve years old, I'll kick your ass!"

Ron the bully stood there not knowing what to say. Every time he pushed six year old Mark to the ground he would say; "You can't do anything to me I'm only twelve years old."

"Go home Ron and have your Mom take you to a doctor. I'll come by and talk to her tomorrow."

Ron didn't say another word as he turned and ran back home. I shut the door and turned to my wife.

"We're going to get sued."

"How our we going to get sued? Ron's been picking on our son Mark, a child half his age for months now. Micheal didn't know what he was doing. Besides we've both talked to Ron's mother about his bullying and all she would say was; The kids will work it out!"

"This is too weird! I just threatened a 12 year old that was picking on my 6 year old who lost half a eyebrow because my three year old attacked him!"

"Claim down Robert. We need to talk to Ginny and find out what happened."

"I guess we are beyond the kids will take care of it phase."

I saw the abandoned Aircraft Museum on the right side of the road and the big log lodge Sportsman Store just beyond that. In front of the store was an oversize sculpture of three stags.
Those landmarks told me I was getting close to Minneapolis but my eyelids were so heavy.
I had to finish the story in my mind to stay awake.

Another knock on the the front door. This time the knocks had a lighter touch. I let Jackie answer the door. Ginny our sixteen year old baby sitter was at our front door holding Micheal on her left hip. Micheal was laughing, like he new he had just mutilated a bully that was four times his age as he defended his brother who was twice his age. I saw Ginny's teen age friends standing behind her trying to hide their smiles. Six year old Mark ran into our duplex out of nowhere.

"Micheal did it, I never touched Ron! I'm not making it up!"

Mark ran into my arms.

"I know Mark you're not in trouble."

"What happens if Ron comes after me now?"

"He won't, I'm going to talk to his mother tomorrow."

"That never stopped him before."

"It will this time, I promise."

Ginny put Micheal down in the doorway and he ran into his mother's arms.

"Micheal, you can't solve all your problems by breaking things and hitting people."

Micheal just giggled at his mothers words. Ginny looked back and forth between Jackie and I as she spoke.

"It all happened so fast my friends and I couldn't stop it. Ron kept pushing Mark down and Micheal pulled a board out of the shrub fence by the pool. He hit Ron before we could get to him."

I handed Ginny her baby sitting money and told her it wasn't her fault. The next day I talked to Ron's mom and all she said was;

"I told you the kids would work it out."

The rest of the time we lived in the duplex I never saw Ron bully any of the neighborhood children. When Ron saw me he would always rub the scar of his half brow and just walk away.
I sometime imagine Ron as a grown man in a bar somewhere and someone ask him what happen to his left eyebrow. I can't imagine he tells them the truth.

We crossed the city limits of Minneapolis at sunset. I yawned as I pulled into the parking lot of Mark and Jenifer's apartment. I helped Mark unload my van in a zombie like trance.
I tried to fall asleep that night on a couch too short for me. Jenifer's black cat stared at me from a chair across the living room. I tossed and turned and the cat with her yellow eyes remained motionless on the chair looking at the foolish human on the tiny couch.

I woke with the cat on my chest. I couldn't breathe as I saw a glowing mist coming from my throat. The cat was breathing the mist in. I was having a dream. I woke up.

I sat up on the coach having an asthma attack. My subconscious was telling me to wake up because I was breathing in cat dandruff. The cat was staring at me from the chair because I was sleeping in her bed. I'm allergic to cats and the couch was the cat's bed. What was the cat's name? I looked at the cat and her name came to me.

"Annie lets you and I change places."

I sat in the chair watching the cat sleep for the rest of the night.

The next morning Mark and Jenifer took me to see a large format movie at the Minnesota Science Museum in Saint Paul as a thank you for helping them move. I got back on the road by 1:00 p.m. and the lack of sleep was causing me to see spots.

The next part of the story is a blur. I don't know what is Rest Stop nightmares and night terrors and what is real. I don't remember crossing into Iowa. I remember driving like a manic, trying to get away from the Demon of the Night. I don't remember the sun going down. It was just dark.
I remember the Demon tearing into the top of the van as I tried to sleep in the back and I woke
up screaming, fighting off a monster that wasn't there. Everyone at the rest stop looked at me like I was insane. Maybe I was insane from lack of sleep.

Then I was back on the road driving south into the night on I-35. I saw an exit sign and turned off not knowing why. The sign said Birthplace of John Wayne and The Bridges of Madison County, Winterset 13 miles. I think I drove through two little towns on the way to Winterset.
One was called Patterson and the other was a blur. I came to Winterset and they had one of Covered Bridges relocated to the edge of town. I parked the van beside the bridge.

"This is the wrong bridge."

I said to myself not knowing why I would say such a thing. I began to aimlessly drive around Madison County trying to find the right bridge. At 4:30 a.m. I found a covered bridge out in the middle of nowhere. As I drove around a large curve leading up to the bridge I saw a white pickup
stopping twenty feet in front of the bridge. Two men got out. One of the men had a red gas can and the other had some papers or rags in his hand. As the curve straighten out my headlights pointed directly at the two men. The men got back in the pick up and drove off kicking up gravel as they did.

"They would have torched that bridge if I hadn't been here."

I said to myself in stunned disbelief. Just an accident of timing? I drove back to the bridge in town. I parked the van and crawled into the back and fell asleep. I was in a black void facing the Demon.

"That's the last good deed you'll ever do!"

Screamed the Demon in a voice that sounded like grinding teeth.

"I'm not scared of you any more."

The Demon laughed and said;

"Of course you are. It's all too easy to take your life. Just to make it fair you can call on any two memories of warriors to fight with you."

Six year old Mark appeared to my right and three year old Micheal appeared to my left.

The Demon laughed as Micheal lifted the board with the nail in it above his head.
With one quick flick of the wrist Micheal flung the half brow into the void off the nail and charged the Demon. He had the war cry of a Viking King. The Demon didn't laugh long as Micheal shattered one leg and then another. Mark tied a piece of tread to the button on my shirt.

"Fly like Superman father."

Up I went like a kite on a string. The tread broke and I was flying. Micheal was in trouble as the Demon was the same size as him now without his legs. The creature was matching the warrior toddler blow for blow. Mark tackled the Demon mid-torso and the head and arms of the creature went flying. Micheal shattered the arms in midair and turned into eight-teen year old Micheal.
Mark was 21 and walking away with a piece of artwork I gave him.

As the young men that were my sons disappeared into the void I flew down and caught the Demon's head.

"You'll always be a coward!"

"Not of my own imagination."

I flew over Iowa and dropped the Demon's head on I-35 south where trucks and cars smashed it into nothing.

I woke in the back of the van and it was daybreak. I've never had a night terror again and I've been traveling down the endless road of my imagination with a bright future ahead of me.