know you always have a place here whenever you want to come home.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll do my best to grow up and make you both proud. Hey, tell sis I’m sorry she couldn’t make it and that I hope she’ll get out to Portland to visit sometime soon.”
Just then, Mr. Russell burst through the front door, cell phone in hand, apologizing for being late. “Sorry, you guys, I had a client on the phone with a big tax problem that just couldn’t wait. You boys have a safe trip now, and if you run out of money, call the Christies! Just kidding,” he laughed, as Maggie gave him a threatening look. “Julian, you watch out for Ryan now, and Ryan…try to keep the insanity to a manageable level, you hear?”
“Amen to that!” seconded Martin, looking directly at Ryan, who managed a weak assent. “Keep up with the Gibson, too, Ry. I want to get my money’s worth out of that thing,” he grinned.
“I’ll do my best,” replied Ryan, sliding into Vinnie’s well-worn driver’s seat. “Well, Jules, I guess we’re a bit early for Lenny and Kyle. Sure gonna miss them…Oh well, all aboard, bro, this train is heading west!” he exclaimed as the old bus sputtered to a start.
“Don’t drive too fast, honey!” called Cathy amid a flutter of goodbye hand-waving.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Julian mumbled as Ryan backed the van out of the gate and onto Meeting Street. This thing wouldn’t go over sixty if Van Gogh himself were waiting for us in Portland! he laughed to himself as they chugged off toward Broad, leaving behind four loving parents and the only world they had ever known.
“Still think this is a good idea?” Julian asked tentatively as Vinnie rumbled up to the stoplight at Meeting and Broad—the well-known Four Corners of Law, and the line of demarcation between the highly genteel, ultratraditional, remarkably unchanging historic district to the south and the more modern Charleston business district to the north.
“Oh yeah,” Ryan replied with no hesitation whatsoever. “You know, we’ve both grown up here and I love it as much as you do, but it’s definitely time to see more of the world, don’t you agree? I mean, there’s a lot of new thinking, new ways of living, and new ideas out there, Jules. Don’t you remember how cool it was when we flew out West? Portland is my kind of town, dude—purple hair, funky clothes, nose rings, tattoos…those people look and act however they want to and nobody cares. That would never happen in Charleston, especially south of Broad!”
“That does indeed sound like progress,” Julian jibed back in his usual manner. “No doubt you’ll be wanting to do all those things just as soon as we arrive,” he continued, rolling his eyes upward as the van crept past Calhoun Street and Marion Square on the left.
“You just don’t get it, Jules,” Ryan countered. “I’m not saying that I personally want to do all those things. I just think it’s cool to experience a culture that’s way different from what we’ve known here all our lives, that’s all. Maybe even you will loosen up a bit!” he laughed as he reached for his sunglasses and flipped on the radio to his favorite oldies station. “Oh my god, Jules!” he shrieked as the chorus of an old Eric Burton and the Animals tune blared out between them. “This is unbelievable—what an omen, dude!” he insisted, turning the volume up even louder as Eric crooned the final chorus:
We’ve gotta get outa this place
If it’s the last thing we ever do
To Julian’s horror, both of Ryan’s hands had left the wheel and were in midair now, mimicking the lead guitar riff at the end. “Dah da, dah da,” his voice synchronized with his fingers before being interrupted by Julian screaming, “Ryan, watch out!”
Ryan instinctively grabbed the wheel and slammed on the brakes as a vehicle pulled out right in front of them from a small side street to their right. “Damn tourists!” he yelled as a Lexus with Georgia plates sped across their lane toward the Visitors Center, narrowly avoiding a collision with the lumbering van. “Good thing Vinnie’s a little on the slow side,” Ryan muttered, shaking his head and trying to regain his composure.
“Almost dead, and we haven’t even gotten to the interstate,” Julian moaned as the entrance to I-26 loomed ahead. “If you really want to get outa this place, I strongly suggest that you keep your hands on the wheel and your brain focused on driving!” Julian warned as the van accelerated and shook noticeably as they approached the freeway speed of 60 mph.
“Say goodbye to tradition, Jules!” Ryan grinned, looking back over his shoulder one last time at the towering spires of St. Michael’s and St. Phillip’s churches, well-known landmarks of the historic old city.
“Mother of God!” Julian grumbled, hoping desperately that “Lady Madonna” wouldn’t be next on the oldies playlist. At least we’ve made it to North Charleston! he consoled himself as the van rumbled up I-26 heading for Asheville.
“Orange Peel, here we come!” shouted Ryan, motioning northward out the window with his index finger while Julian shook his head in total disbelief, fully convinced that his demise was imminent, most likely prior to even reaching the neighboring town of Summerville, a mere twelve miles up the road.
chapter 3
Drugs, Thugs, and a Minor Deity
Portland, Oregon
July 6, 2002
Ben felt slightly anxious as he flipped on the turn signal of his dark-green Mazda Miata just prior to a sharp right onto NW Maywood Drive. It was a partly cloudy summer evening in Portland, with the temperature hovering around 70 degrees and the sun already beginning to create a spectacular array of pink, orange, red, and violet hues in the western sky. He checked his watch, 7:30—good, right on time. The light was already beginning to fade as he wound his way up the hill toward his parents’ home on Culpepper Terrace, and as usual, his tensions also began to fade with the ascent. Prior to moving into the dorm his junior year at PSU, Ben had lived there with his parents since his first year of high school and honestly thought it was one of the most beautiful neighborhoods on the planet. The Amanis lived just a couple of houses from Hillside Park and Community Center, in a rather-lavish home perched high on a hill overlooking downtown Portland with a view to die for. He remembered many times sitting out on the deck, watching the sun rise, with its golden rays reflecting off the buildings and beautifully silhouetting snowcapped Mt. Hood farther east beyond the city. From that deck he could see Mt. St. Helens and, on a clear day, all the way to Mt. Ranier, farther to the north. Who couldn’t love the Pacific Northwest with a view like this? Ben often thought to himself, this evening being no exception, as he rounded the last curve and pulled up into the alley behind his parents’ home. Far below, the entire Portland metroplex was coming to life, with myriads of twinkling lights now beginning to augment the fading summer sunlight, creating a mesmerizing visual amalgam that extended in all directions almost as far as the eye could see. In the darkening sky to the east, what he liked to call “city stars” were now becoming visible as they descended in perfectly choreographed omnidirectional patterns, indicating the arrival of seemingly endless numbers of air travelers making their final approach toward PDX, the city’s international airport, several miles to the east.
Ben had seen his parents only briefly at Christmas, and sensed then that they wanted to have a talk with him about his future. He assumed that their invitation to dinner tonight might have such a purpose, and while part of him actually appreciated their interest, he also knew that their disparate backgrounds would likely result in a career tug-of-war with him in the middle. Not a pleasant thought, really, but the breathtaking beauty of the city below offered him considerable
