Jack Kerouac

I first met Dean Moriarty in a little flat in East Harlem, the Spanish Harlem. We talked about all the things that a man with the heart of a traveller could possibly talk about and when we were done went for drinks in a little jazz bar where we talked about the beauty and magic of jazz, making casual comparisons to the beauty of the American countryside. Dean Moriarty was the perfect companion, filled with compassion and a yearning for more. More knowledge, more truth, more people with which to share the endless ever growing love in his heart. We told each other about our lives, I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about my life in as much length and depth as I did when I talked with Dean, he was just so…easy to trust, so lacking in prejudice and one second judgements. After Dean told me about his marriage to his sweet little Marylou, a doll from Texas, he said that he wanted to go back to the city where he met her, but without her by his side, to try and get an accurate judge of Houston’s beauty without the rose tinted glasses of love blocking his vision. After all, love can blind us to the beauty of the world, as well as its ugliness.

I asked if I could come along, and we could make it something of a road trip, travelling through America in a two man truck, taking all the time we wanted to observe every field, river, ranch and hobo in sight. He said, ‘yeah, alrighty then. But, you gotta promise me something’.

‘What’ I asked him, so overjoyed to be going along with Dean Moriarty that I’m sure I would have done anything he wanted me to do. ‘You gotta find yourself a new girl. Stop moping around over your ex. Hell, get yourself a guy if you want to, I don’t mind as long as I get to see what love looks like in your eyes’. I managed to stop myself from blushing right on time and promised that I would try to find someone that took my fancy, someone to distract me from the long, lonely nights at home when there ain’t no body to cuddle with.

So we parted ways for a while to pack up what we couldn’t get on the road, then met up and bought a yellow truck that shone bright enough to make the sun jealous. Dean liked to joke that we wouldn’t have to worry about no thieves. Ain’t no body gonna try an’ steal a bright yellow truck, way too distinctive, and that was exactly what I liked about it, and Dean. He was so distinctive in everything he did or said. Ain’t nobody could impersonate him, not even for a second, and ain’t nobody who could outshine him.

We set off the next morning, just as the sun was beginning to shine over the grey and brown buildings of New York, giving the city a rarely seen beauty. I wish I could’a climbed to the top of one of those buildings and stood there as the sun bathed me with its holy rays but my wish was denied. Instead we climbed into the truck, and began the magical journey into the unknown beauty of the crooks and crannies of America.

Published 26th October 2017