My Life in a Year Ch. 01

Author note -

Here is "Chapter" 1, (after the first two intros) of My Life in a Year. You might want to read those first to catch up, but at this point, not needed. Enjoy, and send me feedback!

January 3rd, 2005

Dylan roared up the side street, the sounds of his mustang reverberating off the rows of houses. It had snowed the night before and the grass and trees were brilliant white with snow and ice. Piles of the dirty snow crowed the curbs where the plows had come through, and the street itself was covered in chunks of rock salt.

When he screeched to a halt at a four way stop, the back tires skidded and a spray of white salt shot into the air. Dylan smiled a half cocky grin, griping the steering wheel and let out a low whistle.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" He said out loud, revving the engine up again for a quick start off the line. It was going on ten in the morning and Dylan had some loose ends to tie up before he set out for his trip.

The day before he had called Phillip to apologize. Dylan knew he'd flown off the handle, but he was still glad he did it. After the pleasantries were completed, Phillip let him know that his job was always open and that after Dylan 'found himself' he was welcome back.

"Fat chance." Dylan said to himself inside the empty car. Still grinning, he cruised into the driveway of his mother's home. She still had her Christmas decorations up and several newspapers littered the doorway.

He revved the engine one last time before turning off the car. The streets of his mother's New Jersey suburb was still and he had fond memories of the quite before he moved to the outskirts of the city.

He pulled the bag of bagels from the front seat and let himself into the house. The television was on to some morning news program and Casper, his mother's Bichon, lay snoring on the couch.

Dylan's mother however, was in the kitchen brewing coffee and looking especially elegant in a dark blue pantsuit, her hair coiffed up. At fifty-seven, she looked better than most thirty year olds Dylan had dated. His mother took care of herself and was proud of the fact.

"Hi Dill Pickle." His mother said, smiling and kissing him on the cheek. Dylan flinched when his mother used his childhood nickname, but he smiled in spite of himself.

"Hello mother. I've brought breakfast." He sat the bag on the table and took off his coat. He pulled two coffee mugs from the cupboard and filled them with coffee - his black, his mother's with cream and sugar.

"So, tell me Dil, what's so important that I get a visit mid week from you?" She sat at the kitchen table and began slathering cream cheese onto a bagel. She looked at him through upturned lashes, waiting for him to speak. He took a seat opposite her and reached for his own bagel.

"Well, I wanted to stop by, say hello and let you know I've decided to do a little traveling."

"Sounds like fun. Any place in particular?"

"Nope. Just kinda gonna go."

"Was that a mustang I heard you pull up in?"

"Yeah." Dylan said sheepishly. He knew his mother didn't approve of 'fast' cars, but he knew he just had to have it.

"Dil, you know how I feel about those cars. After what happened with your father -"

"I know mom, but it's safe. I promise I will be safe." Dylan assured his mother with pleading eyes. He knew that she wasn't happy with it, but he also knew that she was only looking out for him.

Dylan was fifteen when his father died. The Montgomery dynasty was booming at that time in the early 80's, and Dylan's father was in the lead. Literally and figuratively. The Montgomery's came from a long line of racecar drivers and at the height of the NASCAR frenzy, Dylan's father was in the thick of it.

He was god.

Well, so Dylan thought anyway.

It was a practice run before a mid-season race, and the track was still a little slick from an earlier rain. Dylan and his mother were watching from the stands, bundled up in blankets and drinking hot chocolate. On the fourth lap, debris on the track snagged the racecar and careened it into the wall at speeds excess of 150 miles per hour. The car burst into flames.

"Dylan?" Dylan was pulled from his memory by his mother's soft voice. "Are you okay?" She asked.

"Fine mom, just thinking about dad."

"I know honey, but it was a long time ago, and I know that I should trust that you will be careful."

Dylan's mother was more relieved that he didn't follow in his father's footsteps. After the accident, his uncle took over the empire and has since moved it forward into many great and wonderful things. His mother profited from it of course, as did he, but Dylan wasn't really involved, and he liked it that way.

"I'm always careful." He stood, kissed her forehead and placed the dirty dishes into the sink.

"So, you seeing anyone?"

Dylan groaned audibly from his mother's question. "Why do you have to ask that every time I see you?" He asked, smiling.

"Because I'm not getting any younger and I want some grandbabies!"

"Mom, I promise, I will give you some grandbabies. Just not yet." He sat down again, sipping on a fresh cup of coffee. "So how is David?"

"Ah, yes, David." His mother said, brightening. It was a very long time before his mother showed interest in other men after his father's death. Almost 10 years. Dylan thought that she'd live out her life alone and not in love.

"Have you set a date?" Dylan asked.

"No, no. Not yet. We are taking it slow you know, one thing at a time." She fingered the large diamond on her left hand, fondly looking at it. "It's only been a couple of months since we got engaged, and neither of us is in a rush."

"Good call mother," Dylan said. "Just make sure you keep in touch while I am traveling so I can make it back for the ceremony."

"Oh yes, of course!" His mother said. "It will be small, probably at the court house, but it would be lovely if you were there."

"Absolutely. I'd not miss it for anything." Dylan looked at his watch and sighed. "Well mother, I have to go."

"So soon?" She asked, standing.

"I'm sorry, but I have a lot to do before I leave and not a lot of time to do it."

"So, what exactly are you doing? Or going?"

Dylan smiled. "Actually, I'm just going to drive. Somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. I planed out a route to get to every state, spend about a week in each place. See who I meet, what new things I can try."

"Just promise me you'll be careful and that you will call." His mother said. "I am sure I will be okay here on my own."

Dylan knew she was going for the guilt trip, and he wasn't going to fall for it. "Mom, you'll be fine. You have David and the rest of our family here if you need anything. You act like your 75 instead of 57!"

"Okay, okay. No guilt!" His mother threw up her hands, caught in her game. "I guess I have to let you go at some point." She walked him to the door and hugged him.

"Mom, I'll be okay. I'll call when I get to where I'm going." He kissed her cheek and walked to the car. She waved as he roared out of the driveway and up the street.

January 4th, 2005

Dylan was dreaming.

He knew he was dreaming, but couldn't wake himself up enough to get out of it.

In his dream, he was driving fast, too fast, up a tree lined street with nothing but the wind and a whizzing sound of life going by. He knew that if he didn't wake up, he'd see the concrete wall and he'd not be able to stop. Panic began to rise in his throat, and in his dream, he tried in vain to brake, to stop the car, but it wouldn't slow down.

He saw it.

The concrete wall was looming closer now and the wind and the whizzing seemed to increase and the panic Dylan felt was growing. He was getting closer. Closer. Clos -

Dylan sat bolt upright, grasping his chest and gagging, sweat coating his face. He took huge gulps of air, the blood pounding in his ears and head. He hadn't had that dream in a long time. Almost 5 years.

Relaxing slightly, and catching his breath, Dylan adjusted his eyes to the hotel room. It was light outside and the clock on the night table said it was just after nine. He flopped backwards into the pillows, damp from his nightmare.

He stayed this way for a few moments, deciding what today was going to bring. Or not bring. He had no plan, no schedule, no one to answer to. He liked that.

Sighing he sat up, pulled off the covers and padded to the large bathroom, turning on the shower. He striped his boxers and tee shirt, stepping in the stream of warm water.

"Good morning," He said to his protruding member. He hated morning wood, especially since it was awhile since he last had someone to take care of it. He took a piss and it faded away. "Soon, good buddy, soon."

Fresh from the shower, shaved and smelling of soap, he locked the room and headed to the hotel's restaurant for breakfast. He was escorted to a table for two, and after explaining he was dining alone, the hostess took the other chair.

Dylan sat facing the room; people watching was going to become his new hobby. He figured that there was no better way to read a person than to see them interact with others. He placed his map on the table with his highlighters and pens.

He drove 300 miles the day before, placing him just past Washington DC. He decided to stop for the night sometime around 8pm and found a Hilton right off of 95 South. He marked the route off on the map with a yellow highlighter and traced his finger down to North Carolina.

"Coffee?" A young and cute perky girl with equally perky breasts stood by his elbow with a silver pot filled with a fresh brew. She gave him a shy smile, using her free hand to sweep her long brown hair behind one ear.

"Sure," Dylan said, leaning back. She filled his cup and pulled creamers from her pink-pocketed jumper.

"Do you want to order breakfast?" She asked.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Um, sure."

"Do you live around here?"

"Yeah. I live in Georgetown, why?"

"Okay then, I will have pancakes and two sausage links and scrambled eggs please."

She wrote down his order and smiled. "Do you order according to where your waitress lives?"

"Not usually. I was just curious."

"Uh-huh. Well, your food should be out in a few minutes," she said and took the menu away. She glanced back, catching him watching her and smiled.

Dylan busied himself with looking through the DC tour guide he picked up from the lobby the night before and was making a mental list of things to do. He figured he would stay in DC for about a week. He wanted to visit the Washington Mall, hit a few museums and check out the nightlife.

"Here ya go," the waitress said, returning to set down a plate of steaming food. "More coffee?"

"What's your name?" Dylan asked.

"Stephanie."

"Sure, I'll have some more coffee, thanks."

She left and returned with the silver pot. "You're an odd duck," she said, pouring.

"Why do you say that?" Dylan asked, opening a sugar packet.

"You ask the oddest questions."

"I don't think my questions are odd," he said, smiling. "So, when do you get off?"

"See, now that's not an odd question," she said. "But a personal one. Are you a stalker?" She had a glimmer of a smile in her eyes.

"Not recently."

"Hum. That makes me feel better." She laughed and then turned when her name was called from the kitchen. "Gotta go. I'll come back to check on you in a minute."

Dylan chuckled. He poked at his eggs while reading about which art exhibit was being displayed at which gallery. He flipped to the back and looked up restaurants next, planning out his day.

About 20 minutes later Stephanie returned with his check and cleared his place. "So, I take it you're not from around here?"

"Actually, not really. New York. I'm here for a week." Dylan was signing the charge slip to be added to his room bill. When he handed it back to her, he said, "So, what is there to do around here?"

She smiled brighter and took back her pen and the charge slip. "Well, depends on what you're into."

"I'm into a lot of things. I guess I just want to do some touristy things."

"Well, there is the mall, and a ton of museums. There are tours and shopping and anything else you want to get into."

"Huh. Well, when do you get off?" Dylan asked again more seriously.

"Why?" Stephanie placed a hand on her hip, narrowing her eyes playfully at him.

"Well, I figure you live around here, you know what is what and I don't. Might be fun if you gave me an insider's look at the city."

"While that sounds oh-so fascinating, I am a waitress, not a tour guide."

"Well, just in case, I wrote my room number and my cell number on the charge slip," Dylan said pointing to her apron. "If you change your mind, want to go out, maybe do something cultural and grab some dinner, let me know. Otherwise, I will see you tomorrow morning."

"Gee, thanks," Stephanie said, pulling the slip of paper from her pocket while Dylan stood from the table. "If I change my mind, I'll be sure you let you know."

"Well, until then, I'll see you later."

Stephanie watched as Dylan crossed the restaurant and walked out the door. She smirked and instead of putting the charge slip back in her apron, she put it into her back pocket.