Ricky rode his Harley to a tiny coastal resort town in North Carolina. It had been months since anyone had seen Larry. He had taken his friend Mike Rajcich with him to Jacksonville to play music with Trevor Bild then like a ghost he disappeared. In the past, Larry would go to the little fishing village by the sea to recover and heal. It was there that Raissa had told him he painted in the colors of sadness. They became good friends, and in truth, this is where the story began many years ago.
Ricky pulled past the old cottage nestled in the myrtle trees near the inlet. Larry’s truck was there but the Harley was gone so he walked up to the porch and pulled the screen open and found the door unlocked. He called out but heard only silence, a silence free from cars and highways, just the gentle wind coming off the beach rustling the myrtle trees and the sound of seagulls fishing in the inlet.
He walked towards the back sunroom and found several paintings in different stages of completion and several books with bookmarks in them. The books were classic Larry books, Hemingway, Steinbeck, and surprisingly enough Game Of Thrones. The paintings were in dark blues, purples, and touches of white. Larry called these the colors of sadness. On his desk was a writing pad with a story started called Ghost Rider. It was about a man in his twilight years riding a Harley across the south stopping in small towns and helping people.
Taped to his refrigerator was a note. Ricky, I knew you would come looking for me. I am where a café sits by the shore and I saw a lady painting the sea, or down some dark road, maybe playing in a dim-lit Blues club. Maybe it is me sitting on a back pew in a little white church eyes closed listening to a gospel song, most likely you will find me on my Harley on the lost highways. Tell Raissa to find the colors of sadness and she will find me.
The Writer’s Café was becoming a great success and Ricky knew none of them would ever hurt for money, yet he knew Larry would find a way to not only be a ghost rider but also find a way to help others.
They say you cannot go back but in a way you can as the old memories create new ones.
Beautiful story and message here. You can go back in your memories and help write your future. Living in the present. I’m sure you found a peaceful place to hang your hat no matter where you were.
This one was special for me. I spent so much of my younger years on the lost highways. It’s was a time in my life that I have always changed
Beautifully told, Larry. I’m working on adding stories like that to the bio I am working on. Reading your stuff, and the poetry in the prose is inspiring.
Jim thank you for your kindness and encouragement. I always love what you write. Are you on FB. I always share you stories on my groups and page and people like your stories