The end of the beginning

This story really has very little to do with anything, except that one of our recent new readers was a participant, so I’m reminded of it.

It was a warm Saturday night in October 1993. Me and some friends somewhere for drinks after the night’s paper was rolling on the presses. Most were ready to turn in by 3 a.m., when my wife came home from her job, but Sarah wasn’t. Neither was I. Seemed like a good night for an adventure, we decided. We went back to my house and knocked down a few more, waiting for The Wife to get home.

When The Wife arrived home from her 12-hour restaurant shift, we let her in on the plan. “We’re going to Memphis,” we said. “And you’re driving.”

Oh, she replied. Not really being up for an adventure, but also not one to pour cold water on others’ desires — especially considering the others were several cold ones ahead of her by this time — she dutifully got in the car and pointed it in the direction I indicated.

The plan was this: Drive the five or so hours from Anytown through southern Missouri and eastern Arkansas to Memphis. The three of us would find a decent hotel room upon our expected 9 a.m. arrival, sleep for a few hours, then hit Beale Street about 4 p.m. and hear some music and see some sights.

So The Wife drove, despite her eye-crunching fatigue. I thought this a little unusual, because she usually was an incredibly high-energy sort, especially when an adventure was involved. But the restaurant job was a tiring one; I understood that.

Having basically sobered up by sunrise, I took the wheel from my wife shortly before we crossed the Mississippi. She went to the back seat and promptly went to sleep. Sarah and I began the business of finding a place to stay.

We had timed our arrival poorly. A large convention of some sort was in town that weekend. We weren’t going to find a room downtown, or close to Beale Street, or, really, anywhere. We found ourselves at one point in front of Graceland. There is a Howard Johnson’s across the street from Graceland. We asked ourselves, “It’s a HoJo’s. How bad can this be?”

We got our answer, shortly: Pretty bad. The pool was filled with green muck; a strange odor permeated the area around the room. We forked over Sarah’s Visa; the nice old lady at the front desk with the unidentifiable accent said, “Thank you, Sy-rah.” We found our way to our room. The key wouldn’t work in the lock. The Wife was fatigued to the point of uncontrollable sobbing by now. She laid down on the concrete balcony outside the door and attempted to go back to sleep.

With some help from the nice maintenance man, we got the door opened and went into the room. It was pitch dark, but we didn’t see much of a need to turn on the lights, because we were merely going to sleep. The general consensus was the less we saw, the better.

We woke up a few hours later. The Wife was basically rejuvenated, but still oddly subdued. We cleaned ourselves up a bit and proceeded to experience some Memphis blues. Ate a great meal on the banks of the Mississippi; went up and down Beale Street, taking in music and cold brews and just generally having a great time. We went up on the roof of the Peabody and looked out at the river and the city. We fed the ducks at the Peabody.

After we were pretty sure we were drunk enough not to care how bad the HoJo’s was, we went back there and crashed. Woke up the next morning, made the obligatory trip to Graceland. Settled up with Howard, piled back into the car and went home. Talked on the way about the woman with the cool accent who called our friend “Sy-rah.” The Wife was still really tired, despite having eaten some great food and enjoyed a good night’s sleep.

The reason this wacky adventure stands out in my memory bank is because 1/it was a hell of a good time and 2/it was our last wacky adventure.

We found out the source of the out-of-character fatigue a week later: The Wife was pregnant with our first daughter.

A week after that, we found out that I had been hired in Cincinnati. Less than a month later, we left Anytown — and all our great friends — behind.

I’ve said before in this space that I wouldn’t trade my current situation for any in the world, and that’s still true. Part of the reason that’s true is because of all the great experiences of the past that have made me who I am. I don’t feel like I’m missing anything now because I didn’t miss anything then.