Obsessions of a Wandering Mind

I know I haven't written in a while, but I've been lacking in both time and motivation. In an effort to get something posted again I've decided to break format for a little bit. I recently revised one of my old stories for my Sci-Lit final and would like to share it here. I realize that stories don't tend to get responses, but that's not why I blog anyway. I think people will appreciate this story better if they understand what it means to me. The plot was first conceived when I was feeling very lonely and out of place. The main character, Rhiana, is obviously modeled after myself during that time in my life. I often wished to escape my own life and have something fantastic happen. (Well, let's be honest...sometimes I still do.) Much has changed in my life since I fist wrote "Taken by the Wind." With the new revision I tried to remove myself from the story, while still connecting with the tale. This story has come to mean a lot to me and I wanted to share it here. It's rather long, but I hope you all will take the time to read it, and hopefully enjoy it!

Rhiana McCoy cranked up the volume on her radio; it wasn’t so much that she liked the song as she was trying to tune out the thoughts in her head. Each summer, Rhiana, a 25-year-old history student, took a break from research and made a trip home for a few weeks. Her latest trip had opened her eyes to certain things about herself that she’d been denying for quite some time. Now, cruising down an empty I-70 in “Middle of Nowhere,” Kansas, those revelations were clamoring for attention.

“No one can relate to you anymore, Rhi! It’s no wonder you have no real friends."

Rhiana flicked off the radio in frustration as her brother’s words blasted through the shroud of calm she’d been trying to construct. The worst part about the argument had been that every cruel and biting word her brother had said was true.

Rhiana was a girl born into an era to which she didn’t belong. As a child, she had listened to vinyl albums on her parents’ record player. When she got her first car, a psychedelically painted ’65 Volkswagen Beetle, she didn’t groan over how it was falling apart, but gushed over the vintage vehicle as if it were a brand new Porsche. She didn’t know the first thing about current pop culture, but she could spout off obscure facts about the 70s as though she’d lived through them. It was only natural that she would study history in college. She was currently working on her PhD in American history at Yale, and it took up a majority of her time. She was more likely to be found doing research in the library than going out with other people. It wasn’t news to her that no one could relate to her, because she couldn’t relate to anyone else either.

Rhiana stared out at the empty road, her mind drifting back to a particular afternoon, not long ago, that she spent holed up in the library.


It had been raining all day, and her nook of the library had never felt cozier. Her iPod streamed out familiar songs; Rhiana was perfectly content with her music and books. Who needs to socialize anyway; people are boring, Rhiana thought to herself. She was bent over a text about Vietnam, specifically the soldiers. Rhiana’s thesis was on the relationship between the Vietnam protest groups and the soldiers who had fought there—a far more complex subject than she originally expected. Rhiana flipped the page to reveal a large picture of an anti-war protest taking place outside a hanger where soldiers were returning. Rhiana could almost feel the anger that showed on the faces of the protesters. She reached out to touch the small, printed figures. As her fingers made contact with the paper, Rhiana noticed a sudden increase in the sound of the music coming from her iPod. More strangely, however, was that the music didn't seem to be coming from her headphones.

Rhiana sat completely still; every nerve in her body focused on the sounds around her. Underneath the sounds of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son” was a rhythmic roar that reminded Rhiana of a chanting crowd; this was odd, because she had never been near a chanting crowd in her life. Without realizing it Rhiana slowly stood, as if to join the people she heard more clearly with each passing moment. Suddenly, following the sound of a sharp crack, silence descended on Rhiana. A deep feeling of loss and confusion filled her as she looked around for the source of the crack. It was her iPod, which had fallen to the ground after she stood up.

Picking up the fallen iPod, Rhiana slowly sat back down. She turned her attention back to the book and turned the page, trying to quash the rising feelings of loss and loneliness that occurred when she looked at the picture of chanting protesters.


Snapping out of her reverie, Rhiana focused briefly on the road in front of her before her thoughts started drifting again. The feelings of loneliness she had felt in the library that day were nothing compared to how alone Rhiana had felt the moment she pulled out of her family’s driveway. At least at home, her parents accepted their daughter’s quirky interests. Back at Yale, she had next to nothing to look forward to; she was a social outcast, just like her brother had implied.

Still, Rhiana thought, if someone can’t accept me for who I am, then they aren’t worth my time. The words rang hollow, even inside her head; nevertheless, determined to put the depressing thoughts out of her mind for the moment, she flicked the radio back on, getting lost in the music of an era more than 30 years in the past.

When “her” song came on the air a few minutes later, Rhiana couldn’t help but smile. Her parents had named her for the Fleetwood Mac song “Rhiannon,” as a tribute to the band that had been playing at the concert where the two met. Rhiana couldn’t help but feel a sense of contentedness every time she heard the song.

Her eyes fixed on the road, Rhiana began to sing along, knowing the words by heart. When she came to the words “A woman—taken by the wind,” a sudden feeling of nausea washed over her. A flush of heat accompanied the general feeling of sickness, and for a brief moment Rhiana felt she was going to pass out. The music blared too loudly in her ears for the brief moment of complete disorientation, and then—like the flip of a switch—it was all over.

“What the hell?” Rhiana swore out loud, quickly adjusting her steering wheel. For once she was relieved that the roads in Kansas were as straight as a ruler and as barren of traffic as the surrounding area was of sentient life. She briefly acknowledged that the song on the radio had suddenly changed, but it was at that point that she noticed the hitchhiker.

She’d never in her life stopped for a hitchhiker, so why she stopped now she really couldn’t explain. She felt a sudden urgency to stop for this man, as if it was the most important thing she could ever do. The disorientation of moments before seemed to come back. The sound of the radio increased loudly in her ears. The sound of the static became more apparent. Her field of vision seemed limited to that of the hitchhiker. Everything else faded in comparison. Slowing down to stop as she passed him, she couldn’t help but notice that he was a fairly attractive man—possibly only a little older than herself. Still feeling disoriented, she shoved open the door to get out. I need some fresh air, that’s all...just don’t throw up, Rhiana thought as she stumbled out of her car. Suddenly she stopped to think briefly about her appearance and the sort of first impression it made. She thought of how outlandish she looked; a bell-bottomed jeans-wearing blond with Farrah-Faucet wings, driving a psychedelic bug.

Rhiana noticed the hitchhiker coming toward her. The first thing that popped into her head when she got a good glimpse of him was, He looks like Burt Reynolds in “Smoky and the Bandit.” Mentally slapping herself upside the head, she put on her most charming smile.

“Looking for a ride?” Nice, Rhi. How much more cliché can you get? She winced internally at her unoriginal greeting. “Burt,” as she had mentally dubbed him, noticed.

“That would be the purpose of the thumb,” he said teasingly. She now winced visibly. “Groovy ride,” the man stated as he looked at her car.

“Thanks,” she said suspiciously. Plenty of people liked her car, but the use of the word ‘groovy’ usually had a mocking connotation. “Where you headed?”

“As far as you’ll take me.” The words had a bitter undertone, but Rhiana didn’t press.

“Alright. Well the trunk’s up front so…” She gestured to the military-issue bag slung over his shoulder.

“Lead the way.”

She walked around to the front of the car, popped open the trunk, and indicated he should throw the bag on top of her bags already inside. This whole thing was outside the realm of her experience, but she figured she should at least find out “Burt’s” name before letting him in her car. Holding out her hand, she boldly stated, “Rhiana McCoy. Call me Rhi.”

“Jason Markel. Thanks for the ride,” he said, shaking her hand firmly.

“Sure thing. I only have one condition,” Rhiana stated. Jason raised his eyebrow, Rhiana just smiled. “Don’t touch my radio.”

Giving her a grin in return, he replied, “Not a problem.”

Sliding into the front seat, she turned down the radio, briefly noticing that it sounded a bit fuzzier. She fiddled with the dial as she pulled back onto the road, trying in vain to get the station to come in stronger.

Sliding a look at Jason, she noticed he seemed absorbed in looking out the window, tapping his foot absentmindedly to the Cat Stevens song currently playing. Allowing a grin to cross her face, she turned to her unexpected passenger, trying to strike up a conversation.

“So what exactly were you doing out in the middle of nowhere, trying to hitch a ride?” This got his attention, and he turned from the window to look at her.

“Could we not talk about that?”

Well, so much for conversation. “Sure, sorry. Just trying to make conversation.”

“Let’s put it this way: No one ever hitches a ride with a stranger because life is going great. Get me?” The vehemence in his voice made her begin to question her decision to stop in the first place.

“Okay. Gotcha. New topic then. How about music? What bands do you like?” Rhiana tried to lighten the darkening mood. When Jason’s eyes lit up and he started listing off some of the greatest bands from the 60s, Rhiana figured that picking this guy up hadn’t been such a bad idea after all.

Two hours later, the two were debating the merits of the Beatles’ “Abbey Road” when Rhiana saw an exit to a small town off to the side of the road. Suddenly realizing that she hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast back in Denver, she cut into Jason’s discourse on the quality of Ringo’s drum solo to suggest they try to find someplace to eat.

It didn’t take long to find a small diner right off the main drag in the little town. As she pulled into the parking lot of the diner, Rhiana couldn’t help but feel as if something was wrong with the surroundings. Following Jason inside, she tried to shake the feeling of wrongness that accosted her from all sides.

“Something wrong?” Jason asked after their waiter walked away with the order.

The sound of his voice broke whatever spell had held her attention, and she turned to smile at him reassuringly. “No, it’s nothing.”

“So, whatcha gonna do once you get where you’re going?” she started, eager to focus on something else. “Unless, of course, you don’t want to talk about that either.”

Jason sent her a reassuring smile. “No, it’s all good. I shouldn’t have been so short with you earlier. I’d just been standing out there for who knows how long without anyone going by. I didn’t think I was ever going to get a ride, and talking about my depressing life wasn’t exactly what I needed to get out of my funk. I’m lucky you passed by, and even luckier you stopped. Not many people on the roads these days—not with the gas crisis anyway.”

“Gas crisis? I know prices are on the high side right now, but I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a crisis,” Rhiana said, slightly confused. She wasn’t completely oblivious when it came to things like gas prices and the war in Iraq, but she had yet to hear it referred to as a crisis. Still, she thought if one was a bit down on their luck, it could be perceived as a crisis.

Jason laughed bitterly, “You would you’re traveling all the way across the country by car. Anyway though, in answer to your question: I’m starting over. The last year hasn’t been the greatest. I figured I’d just pick everything up, hitch my way across the country, and start over.”

Rhiana’s eyes widened as he finished. “I’m not sure whether you’re out of your mind or just know something the rest of us don’t.”

“What do you mean?” Jason questioned.

Rhiana responded with ease. “Well, let’s just say that I’m not normally the type of person who does anything outside her comfort zone. Not to mention my comfort zone is pretty freaking small.”

Jason looked at her with a grin. “You do realize you’re having this conversation with a random guy you don’t know, but picked up off the side of the road only a few hours ago.”

A soft chuckle escaped Rhiana’s lips. “Point taken. But this isn’t exactly a normal occurrence,” she said, leaving off the fact that this was actually a first-time occurrence.

Rhiana pressed back into her seat as Jason leaned over the table, eyes alight. “Haven’t you ever just wanted to start over? Forget everything about your past mistakes, your personal history, and start fresh? Making a new life for yourself exactly the way you’ve always imagined it?”

Feeling her heart clench for a moment, she whispered, almost inaudibly, “Every day.” Then forcing herself back to reality, she responded logically. “But it’s impossible to forget your past. It will always be there. It’s what shaped you into the person you are.”

Leaning back into his seat, Jason gave Rhiana an appraising look. “What if I don’t like who I am? I’ve killed people, you know.” Seeing the panicked look that entered Rhiana’s eyes, he quickly clarified. “I’m a vet; served in ‘Nam for two years.”

Rhiana suddenly heard her blood rushing in her ears. Certain that she couldn’t have heard right, she hissed out a one-word question. “What?”

Jason sighed. “I should have realized, what with the car you drive, that you were in the peace movement.”

Rhiana tuned out, as suddenly it all came together. A glance out the window revealed what had made her feel so discomfited earlier. All the vehicles were makes from the 50s, 60s, and early 70s. She could just make out the registration sticker on the car closest to her: 74. Her revelation took only a second, but it felt like an eternity. In the back of her mind, she could hear Jason continuing to talk.

“Well, guess what? I was a hippie too—until the draft, that is. You remember the draft right?” he asked in a challenging, sarcastic tone.

Suddenly, several images flashed across her mind. Images of revolt and anger. A feeling of anxiety accompanied an image of a man picking numbered balls out of a bin on a grainy black-and-white television. With shock, she answered Jason’s question. “Yeah, I do.”

It’s not possible! Rhiana thought, feeling slightly sick to her stomach. It must have shown on her face, because Jason stopped whatever he’d been about to say and instead asked her if she was alright.

Rhiana didn’t answer; instead she shot to her feet. Standing up turned out to be a mistake, as she felt the blood rushing from her head. Then she promptly blacked out, smacking her head hard against the table as she fell.

When she came to a few moments later, the first thing she saw was Jason’s concerned face looming over her and a waitress leaning over him.

“Is she alright?”

“Should we call a doctor?”

“What happened?”

The flurry of questions only served to make her already pounding head hurt more, and Rhiana was inordinately grateful to hear Jason yell at everyone to shut up.

He turned back to her, his dark eyes showing concern.

“I’m just gonna ask you a few basic questions, alright?”

Rhiana nodded from her position on the floor.

“What’s your name?”

“Rhiana McCoy.”

“What’s your birthday?”

“June 24th,” she responded, deliberately leaving off the year.

“I’ll take your word on that,” he said with a grin. “Last one. What’s the date?”

Rhiana blanched slightly. “I…I don’t know.”

Jason looked concerned. “Not even the year?”

Rhiana shook her head, grimacing as the pounding inside it increased.

“It’s July 23rd, 1974,” he stated, before standing up again. He turned to the waitress and asked if there was any place to stay nearby. She replied that the closest motel was a few towns down I-70. Jason gave Rhiana an appraising look and said, “Looks like you’re the passenger now.”

“No, that’s alright. It’s my car, I drive,” Rhiana gritted, holding her head. As he had pointed out earlier, they didn’t really know each other. Hand over my keys to a ‘Nam vet? I don’t think so. He probably has PTSD! Rhiana almost burst into hysterics at how easily she found thinking of the situation as normal.

“You let me drive, or you don’t go anywhere.” Jason’s tone was firm, and Rhiana knew he wasn’t going to budge on this one.

“Fine,” she conceded. She didn’t have the energy to argue. Besides, she knew he was right; she was in no state to drive.

Extending his hand, Jason helped her up, steadying her when she swayed slightly. Looking around the diner, Rhiana did not notice the concerned faces of the customers, but rather their clothing. The wide collars, paisley patterns, bell-bottomed pants. How had she missed them? When she reached the car, she plunked down in the passenger seat, letting Jason take the wheel. Rhiana didn’t see the concerned look that Jason shot her as he pulled the car back on the road. Her mind was full of scattered images and sounds that resembled memories—memories she couldn’t quite place.

Closing her eyes, Rhiana allowed the scenes to flood her mind as she drifted back into unconsciousness. These new memories centered around events that Rhiana had thought she’d only read about. She remembered seeing the Beatles’ first appearance on Ed Sullivan; running away from home to live in a commune in the Haight-Asbury district of San Francisco; traveling cross-country to Woodstock; participating in large protests and marches to try to stop the war in Vietnam; the horror she felt when she first heard about the shootings at Kent State. She remembered finally leaving the west coast to pursue a college education. She could recall the irritation at inflated gas prices, thanks to the oil embargo brought about by another stupid war. The barrage of memories seemed to take a lifetime, but it wasn’t more than a few hours before she came back to reality.

Rhiana was surprised to find that they were still driving, vaguely recalling Jason asking the waitress the location of a motel.

“I thought we were going to stop at the next town,” she asked, as she stretched in her seat.

Jason jumped slightly at her voice, and then turned to her. “You’re awake.” Rhiana gave him a look, so he went on. “Well, I just figured that you were already sleeping, so there was no point in losing time. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No worries. Good call. If you want a break, I’m good to drive now.”

Giving her an incredulous look, he responded, “No thanks, I got it. So…what happened back there?”

“I’ll tell you when I get the keys to my car back,” said Rhiana, frustrated with the lack of control she had over her life at the moment.

Jason seemed about to argue with her, but thought better of it before pulling over to let her drive. Rhiana drove for awhile in silence before Jason brought up again the question of what happened in the diner.

Rhiana glanced at Jason out of the corner of her eye. Not quite sure how to answer, and not even sure she wanted to, she whispered, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Jason’s voice was just as quiet and slightly haunted when he said, “You might be surprised.”

Turning back in his direction, Rhiana debated telling him the truth. It was oddly fitting that she had spent the last several years of her life studying the history of people just like him, disillusioned soldiers just wanting to start over. Rhiana suddenly decided that the truth wasn’t important; she would have to learn to live in the now. Instead, she used one of her new memories (if she could call them that) for inspiration. “I believe that, but let’s just say it was a flashback to a bad trip.”

“I can dig that,” he said, smiling at her with understanding.

Settling back in her seat, Rhiana grinned. “Let’s just keep driving.”

They drove through the night, taking turns, with one of them driving while the other slept. At first Rhiana hadn’t wanted to give up the keys, but the prospect of stopping frightened her even more than letting a stranger have control over where she was going. She kept telling herself that if she kept moving, things would work out. And despite the absurdity of the thought, it seemed to be working. Rhiana’s dreams were full of memories that were becoming more real to her with every passing moment. Once they hit St. Louis the next day, they finally stopped at a small motel to rest. Rhiana’s need to keep moving and newly discovered past prompted her to do things she wouldn’t normally do. For example that evening the two travelers went to a small disco, and afterward went down to the riverfront to look at the Arch.

Jason was the first one to break the silence. “So, when do you have to be back at school?”

“Not for a few weeks yet. Why?” Rhiana asked curiously.

“Well, you’re not that bad to have around, and it’s your car, so it’s your decision, but I just figured…” he trailed off.

“Just spit it out.”

“You could come with me, ya know, traveling. You can choose where. Like I said, it is your car.”

Rhiana felt as if her entire future rested on her answer to this question. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew there was a reason she should say no, but when she looked at the scarred veteran standing next to her, she couldn’t think of a single one.

“Okay.” She had never felt so secure in a decision before. With that single word, she was filled completely with peace.


“Rhi, the door!”

The older woman opened her front door to reveal a slightly younger couple on the doorstep. The man stepped forward.

“Doctor Markel? I’m Kevin McCoy. We called about the car.”

A brilliant grin touched Rhi’s face. “Yes, I got your call. Come in. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you. I have to say, it’s remarkable that you put this car on the market when you did. Our daughter is very into retro things. This car will mean the world to her.”

Leading the couple to the garage, Rhi smiled contentedly. “My husband and I wouldn’t have it any other way. He had a fit when I told him I was selling it. We had some great times with that old car.”

The younger woman spoke up. “I was wondering about that. Judging by your description, this car sounds like one of a kind. I find it hard to believe you’re letting go of it.”

At this, Rhi opened the door to the garage, allowing the couple a good look at the beautifully psychedelically painted 1965 Volkswagen Beetle.

A distant look entered Rhi’s eyes as she looked at the car. “Some things just have to be shared.”

Rhi’s thoughts flashed back to a memory of two strangers cruising down a lonely interstate talking about music and driving off the loneliness.