The Grin of a Madman

Jack had the grin of a madman stretched across his face.

He was riding down Route 66 - a dream he had nurtured for his entire adult life. And he was driving a beautifully restored 1968 Mustang GT Fastback, exactly like the one Steve McQueen drove in Bullitt, right down to the color - Highland Green.

Jack could not believe his luck.

He began the trip in Chicago after hitting every iconic blues club he knew of. Like Kingston Mines on North Halsted street; Chicago's oldest continuously running blues club. He hit Buddy Guy's place too - Buddy Guy's Legends on South Wabash Avenue. He just had to breathe in that rarified air. Buddy was not around, he was touring - but Jack felt his presence, his spirit with every drink and every note. Spectacular.

His mind ran away with him as he drove. The spirit of this iconic road made Jack pensive; he thought about his life. Unspooled it in his mind, decade after decade. Some memories brought smiles, but more often than not, they dredged up pain. His life had not gone as he dreamed it would, but then nobody's does really. Life lives us more than we live life.

Jack made some memorable stops along the way to fuel his soul. Oklahoma City, Oklahoma - had himself a wail of time there. Sooner Steak. Absolutely delicious, the preparation of which is considered a delicate art form. He washed it down with a fine bottle of wine and did no more driving that night.

He thought about his wife Jaclyn. He never understood why she divorced him. She knew what she was getting right out of the gate - he was who he was, no pretense - it was as simple as that. And he never cheated on her. Never. She said she outgrew him.

Amarillo, Texas. Jack had a blast there. He always felt he could have lived in Texas - the state matched his over the top appetite for life. He took a slight detour through the Palo Duro Canyon, which absolutely blew his mind.

He thought about his kids. Barbara and Joe. I guess you could say he was estranged from them; they didn't talk much. They just kind of drifted away as adults. There was no dramatic or painful rift - just a slow separation that caused Jack more pain than he thought possible.

Jack decided to end the trip in Flagstaff, Arizona; he had no interest in going all the way through to California. Arizona was the state he really wished he had made his home in. Something about the desert. The starkness, the heat, the barren landscape that challenged you to find a way of life there. It was a test of sorts, a test of the mind and the will. Solitude of a severe nature. Solitude that Jack had always longed for.

His soul relaxed. Jack felt at one with Arizona, at home and at peace.

He checked into the hotel, cracked open a cold one from his cooler and laid his paperwork neatly across the bed. His life before him summarized in individual pieces of paper.

The repossession notice for the Mustang. Divorce papers. A notice of foreclosure on his house. A notice of severance from employment. Denial of appeal claiming unjust severance. A picture of Barbara. A picture of Joe. Both outdated.

Jack sighed and took another drag off the beer.

Pulled a gun out of the travel bag and blew his brains out.