Carolina Dreaming: a Dare Island Novel
“He didn’t mind a little wind. Where he’d been, there were no seasons and no privacy, only the stink of metal grease, piss, and violence like the inside of a ship.
Lying in his rack at night, he used to dream of spring. Spring and women and the sea.
When he got out, winter had still lingered in North Dakota in the dirty piles of snow, in the biting cold. But here, the Carolina sun was warm against his face. The long bridge ahead arched like a gull’s wing, skimming between sea and sky.
His heart lifted. It had been eleven years since he first crossed this bridge from the marshy inlet over the flashing waters of the sound. Behind him, the highway was littered with fast food chains and beach shops, gas stations and marinas, but this view hadn’t changed.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
He’d read that somewhere, Afghanistan, maybe, or jail. His teachers used to complain he wasn’t much of a reader, but that line had stuck with him. Maybe because ...he’d never had a home.MoreLess
Lying in his rack at night, he used to dream of spring. Spring and women and the sea.
When he got out, winter had still lingered in North Dakota in the dirty piles of snow, in the biting cold. But here, the Carolina sun was warm against his face. The long bridge ahead arched like a gull’s wing, skimming between sea and sky.
His heart lifted. It had been eleven years since he first crossed this bridge from the marshy inlet over the flashing waters of the sound. Behind him, the highway was littered with fast food chains and beach shops, gas stations and marinas, but this view hadn’t changed.
Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
He’d read that somewhere, Afghanistan, maybe, or jail. His teachers used to complain he wasn’t much of a reader, but that line had stuck with him. Maybe because ...he’d never had a home.MoreLess
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