Better Late Than Dead: Preface

 Hello, everyone.

I thought it would be appropriate to post the preface to the next novel to be serialized on The Jittery Goat. Its title is Better Late Than Dead. It begins tomorrow morning, and episodes will be posted every Monday and Friday. 

Preface

Two years passed. Rich lived in his old room. However, the seven years he had been gone were impossible to make up for. It was like living with pleasant strangers. Each went out of their way to show how kind and forgiving they were. Deep inside, Rich felt an underlying resentment, a resentment he understood. There were conversations, but Rich never felt that a true meeting of the minds had occurred. The fact was that he ran away from home at the age of 15 because he could no longer tolerate the emotional and verbal abuse he and his parents inflicted on each other.

They did everything they could to convince him they had changed, but the years of abuse inflicted on each other left scars that could not easily be hidden. 

Rich always felt as if the lid holding their emotions and anger in check was about to erupt. He was careful with every word, look, and deed. Nothing had really changed. He was always on guard. Never able to be himself. And he was certain his mom and dad were under the same stress. 

Rich found employment with a local newspaper. It was larger than the one he worked for in Rockland. The writing and reporting were not nearly as good. 

There were several reporters about his age. Just out of college. But Rich was years ahead of them in many ways. They had four years of college. Rich had seven years of writing and living. He faced things they only read about. He sailed around the world, faced dangers, corrupt people, and challenging situations; he found good people, fell in love, and was married. He coped with fear, insecurities, and deaths. Collectively, the people he worked with had not experienced what he had. 

No one at the newspaper knew he was a published writer. He never felt like he was part of the newsroom the way he did in Rockland. 

During his first six months at the newspaper and since returning, he finished his second novel. It was short. His publisher paid a small advance. After the advance was paid back, he earned a small quarterly check. 

Rich helped with farm work.

One night, Rich lay in bed. It seemed strange. He felt as if he were 15 again. He murmured, “Nothing has really changed. I have. But nothing here has changed.”