Somewhere Beyond the Rim: A Tale of Teens in the 1960's America's First Baby Boomers

By John Herrera

Johnny Nova, a struggling attorney, has decided to return home for his high school's twentieth reunion, the first time he has returned since graduating in 1964. His memories of high school begin to flood back to him on his return flight, especially his junior year. There were many fond memories, but some he'd rather just forget. He remains single. That junior year plays back to him in full detail during the flight. When he does get home, he discovers a beautiful surprise he never could have expected.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781643500942

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Somewhere Beyond the Rim

John Herrera

Copyright © 2018 John Herrera

All rights reserved

First Edition

Page Publishing, Inc

New York, NY

First originally published by Page Publishing, Inc 2018

ISBN 978-1-64350-092-8 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64350-094-2 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

This book is dedicated to Lynn, Dennis & Kathy, John-boy, Tim, Susan, Jim, Bobbie, and Julie

1

Looking out the airport window, the skies over Seattle smelled of rain, even from this distance, the gray clouds a common sight. Waiting here at Gate 13, the expectant crowd sat and waited, lodged and listless; their muffled conversations, sipping coffee, and heads buried in literature seemed very calm and normal. Soon we would be on our way, slicing through those same moody clouds. My boarding pass started to moisten in my palm from anxious waiting. Finally, I heard the announcement for the handicapped and then shortly for first class boarding. That was my call. Down the entrance chute, we all hustled. Soon I found my seat, scooted in, and plopped down. I had the aisle seat, but I was not complaining. In a moment, the man with the window seat arrived. I must get up to let him in; he was a rather large specimen.

Reminiscing began now as I got comfortable. The poignant reason for my trip began to grip me. The high school reunion, marking twenty years, I remember it was all so beautiful, so very beautiful with all my young friends back in the day. Those were sense-filled days back home of new discovery, days of nothing but pleasure or pain and nothing else. Discovering love? We were testing the water, anyway. The flush of many faces, books, sports, mentors, challenges and many, many laughs, that’s what filled those high school days.

I guess that’s why they call them glory days. Who knows who I’d run into at the reunion, or if I’d even recognize anyone. It’s both exciting and scary. Still above all, I could never forget that one year, our junior year; what a year. The year filled with some of the sweetest and coolest people I’ll probably ever know and of course, something we never expected in a million years. It was such a rush. The memory of that year is forever frozen in me. At times, it’s like a wonderful, colorful movie that plays back to me flawlessly. Yet it was no less real than sitting here on this plane, as real as the pervasive din surrounding me, as real as the rather large man sitting next to me. It was only too real. It’s funny, but that year started out a lot like where I am right now—on a plane.

At long last, a very special getaway now. It had been quite a while, maybe three years, since I’d had a proper vacation. Here I sat comfortable and calm, first class, and ready to hear those jet engines roar. John E. Nova, Esquire, was flying first class. The law office of Nova, Franklin & Lopez, here in Seattle would just have to do without me for about a week. The last case on my docket had come to the end of its course, and all party’s actions were concluded. The judge saw it our way. How could he not, considering the strength of our argument? Still there could be an appeal. There didn’t seem to be any shortage of wrongful injury cases for us; only God knows what I’d find on my desk when I return.

Oh yes, this certainly was a very special trip back to Payson, and it had been years. I debated with myself about this trip considerably but decided that this would be the time, the Payson High twentieth reunion for the grand and glorious class of 1964, the graduating class that was unfortunately marked by John F. Kennedy’s assassination. We were among the first wave of baby boomers to reach adulthood. It would be something returning to the old haunts and strolling down memory lane.

The tenth reunion came, and I simply let it slip by. At the time, it all seemed so irrelevant and unnecessary. Memories not so happy were still begging to be forgotten. The happy memories gave in to some negative ones, and the further compelling path that lay before me led me on. When I finished high school, I just wanted to dive headfirst into college and follow the road to the future. Breaking loose of parental bonds and standing on my own two feet meant independence. There came a time when I needed achievement, to plow forth and become whatever I was meant to be. But enough time has passed now that I feel like renewing some old ties and memories I can deal with maybe. With my parents’ help then, we researched schools, and Northern Arizona seemed a good choice. I applied and got in.

Of course, I was anxious to see how Mom and Dad were doing now in person. We talked often enough on the phone, and they’d been up to Seattle a few times. However, they were getting on in years, and I worried about their health. A good son always does right by his parents, doesn’t he? My sister, Laura, living and married in Connecticut, couldn’t get away now. Oh well. And my folks, bless them, still wondered why I hadn’t married. They got married a lot sooner than my age now. That’s how they gauged it. Lately I put my professional life before my personal life is what I tell them.

Are they fueling up the plane or what? Seems like we should be airborne by now.

Okay, there goes the telltale bing bong; that should be reason enough to buckle up. Here comes one of the gals to give us the usual breathing apparatus and emergency exit demonstration. Most passengers didn’t seem to pay it much mind. I’d seen a healthy number of passengers stroll by; We’d have plenty of flight time ahead of us. First stop was Denver, and then I would take a smaller plane to Flagstaff. From there, it was grab a rental car and wheel off for home.

Hurray! We’re moving. The gentleman sitting next to me appeared to have brought enough literature, magazines, and assorted materials to engross himself for a trip to the East Coast. I didn’t expect much banter with him. He was really crammed in his seat. I hoped he didn’t snore. The stubble on his face told me he might have left home in a hurry. Maybe I should have been a detec …

Where ya headed, son? he muttered.

Oh my god, he spoke. I’m going home, Arizona, very special occasion, thank you, I said. Why did I have to thank him?

He turned his head back forward, and it turned quiet again. Then he said, Home, now there is the best doggone place to be. I’m a-heading down to Florida, crocodile land, on some business. But I’m just gonna rest my eyes for a spell. Good luck to you. He then rested.

Listening to my window friend, he had to be from the South.

Well, we finally hit the runway. We’ll soon experience that stomach-sinking feeling of getting airborne. School reunion. It should be something. Oh, that life we all shared back when. I now was nostalgic; it existed only in memory. But that life brought me to this present moment. We can never live it over again. Still I liked to think about it now and again.

The jet engines roared, and our plane gently lifted off the ground. The interior lights flickered for a few moments, giving the cabin a slightly uncertain feel. I let my mind drift slowly back, back to that return trip from Illinois in the early fall of 1962 when …

2

Man! This had been quite a summer for the family, at least for the past two weeks. Here we were … probably thirty minutes from the end of our flight back to Payson. As the plane descended, I could see the beginning of the Tonto National Forest and that huge escarpment known as the Mogollon Rim. Like a huge green carpet, the forest spread out over the undulating landscape. We learned a bit about the magnificent high-country cliffs in Arizona History class. It stretches probably from Heber all the way to the Sedona area. Dad took us camping in this area a few times when we were younger. Maybe I would have learned more had it not been for the distraction of Rita Bono in that history class. She wasn’t in the class; I just got stuck thinking about her. But this scenery below was captivating, and a silvery stream snaking its way through the mountains looked awesome.

This rim country area, which we could scope out uniquely from this aerial vantage point, abounded with wildlife. Elk, deer, turkey, and javelina, we had on occasion viewed, as well as a skunk family once when we were camping. Sometimes you could be lucky or unlucky to spot a bear or mountain lion. Eagles and hawks weren’t too plentiful but almost everywhere were the squawking raven, dark and loud. But with school starting soon, I hungered for a different kind of wild life.

Otherwise, here I sat somewhat bored next to my sister, Laura. She sat here writing up a storm in her little diary book. Thank heaven for that, or for sure she’d be bugging me about something. Is there anything worse than having an older sister who constantly chimes off to the world about how a totally inept younger brother is ruining her life? Mom and Dad sat quietly behind us.

Our trip back to Illinois was serious. Mom’s mother, they told us, was in early stages of elderly people’s problem they call senility. Most of the time spent there entailed moving Grandma into an old folk’s home. She didn’t look happy to go. She’d been alone ever since Grandpa died two years ago. I was sure visiting Grandma when we could would not be the same anymore.

School would start in two weeks. The beginning of my junior year at Payson High, I looked forward to getting back with some buddies from last year. The total drudgery of some of the more boring classes didn’t thrill me, but I must say a cute chick here and there eased the pain. This business of school is a constant tug-of-war between shining cool with the girls and getting good grades. Those grades, our teachers kept telling us how important they are and that the cold cruel world will be upon you before you know it. I