The only problem was that he wasn’t quite sure what that entailed. For the most part, he led a simple life and dreamed of throwing up a rustic little shack like the kind he’d seen in the Florida Keys, something with lots of character that appeared a hundred years old on the outside but was surprisingly bright and roomy on the inside. He didn’t need much space—a bedroom and maybe an office in addition to the living area—but as soon as he’d start the process, he’d reason that the lot was better suited for something more family-friendly. That rendered the image of his dream home fuzzier, since it no doubt included a future wife and kids, neither of which he was even close to imagining.
Sometimes, the way he and his sister had turned out struck him as strange, since she, too, was in no hurry to marry. Their parents had been married for almost thirty-five years, and Travis could no more picture either of them single than he could picture himself flapping his arms and zooming into the clouds. Sure, he’d heard the stories of how they’d met on a church group camping trip while they were in high school, how Mom had cut her finger while slicing a piece of pie for dessert, and how dad had clamped his hand over the wound like a surgical bandage to stem the bleeding. One touch and “Bing, bang, boom, just like that,” Dad would say, “I knew she was the one for me.”
So far, there’d never been a bing, bang, boom for Travis. Nothing even close, for that matter. Sure, there was his high school girlfriend, Olivia; everyone at the school seemed to think they were perfect for each other. She lived across the bridge in Morehead City these days, and every now and then he’d run into her at Wal-Mart or Target. They’d chat for a minute or so about nothing important and then amicably go their separate ways.
There had been countless girlfriends since Olivia, of course. He wasn’t clueless when it came to women, after all. He found them attractive and interesting, but more than that, he was genuinely fond of them. He was proud of the fact that he’d never had what could even remotely be considered a painful breakup for either him or one of his exes. The breakups were almost always mutual, petering out like a soggy fuse on a firecracker as opposed to the big kaboom of fireworks overhead. He considered himself friends with all of his exes—Monica, his latest, included—and figured they’d say the same thing about him. He wasn’t right for them, and they weren’t right for him. He’d watched three former girlfriends get married off to great guys, and he’d been invited to all three weddings. He seldom thought about finding permanence or his soul mate, but in the rare times he did, he always ended up imagining finding someone who shared the same active, outdoor passions he did. Life was for living, wasn’t it? Sure, everyone had responsibilities, and he didn’t mind those. He enjoyed his work, earned a good living, owned a house, and paid his bills on time, but he didn’t want a life where those things constituted all there was. He wanted to experience life. No, change that. He needed to experience life.
He’d been that way for as long as he could remember. Growing up, Travis had been organized and capable when it came to school, getting good grades with a minimum of fuss or anxiety, but, more often than not, just as happy with a B instead of an A. It drove his mother crazy—“Imagine how well you could do if you applied yourself,” she repeated every time a report card came home. But school didn’t excite him the way riding his bike at breakneck speed or surfing in the Outer Banks did. While other kids thought about sports in terms of baseball and soccer, he thought of floating on air on his motorbike as he soared off a dirt ramp or the rush of energy he felt when he successfully landed it. He was an X Games kind of kid, even before there was such a thing, and by thirty-two, he’d pretty much done it
Sometimes, the way he and his sister had turned out struck him as strange, since she, too, was in no hurry to marry. Their parents had been married for almost thirty-five years, and Travis could no more picture either of them single than he could picture himself flapping his arms and zooming into the clouds. Sure, he’d heard the stories of how they’d met on a church group camping trip while they were in high school, how Mom had cut her finger while slicing a piece of pie for dessert, and how dad had clamped his hand over the wound like a surgical bandage to stem the bleeding. One touch and “Bing, bang, boom, just like that,” Dad would say, “I knew she was the one for me.”
So far, there’d never been a bing, bang, boom for Travis. Nothing even close, for that matter. Sure, there was his high school girlfriend, Olivia; everyone at the school seemed to think they were perfect for each other. She lived across the bridge in Morehead City these days, and every now and then he’d run into her at Wal-Mart or Target. They’d chat for a minute or so about nothing important and then amicably go their separate ways.
There had been countless girlfriends since Olivia, of course. He wasn’t clueless when it came to women, after all. He found them attractive and interesting, but more than that, he was genuinely fond of them. He was proud of the fact that he’d never had what could even remotely be considered a painful breakup for either him or one of his exes. The breakups were almost always mutual, petering out like a soggy fuse on a firecracker as opposed to the big kaboom of fireworks overhead. He considered himself friends with all of his exes—Monica, his latest, included—and figured they’d say the same thing about him. He wasn’t right for them, and they weren’t right for him. He’d watched three former girlfriends get married off to great guys, and he’d been invited to all three weddings. He seldom thought about finding permanence or his soul mate, but in the rare times he did, he always ended up imagining finding someone who shared the same active, outdoor passions he did. Life was for living, wasn’t it? Sure, everyone had responsibilities, and he didn’t mind those. He enjoyed his work, earned a good living, owned a house, and paid his bills on time, but he didn’t want a life where those things constituted all there was. He wanted to experience life. No, change that. He needed to experience life.
He’d been that way for as long as he could remember. Growing up, Travis had been organized and capable when it came to school, getting good grades with a minimum of fuss or anxiety, but, more often than not, just as happy with a B instead of an A. It drove his mother crazy—“Imagine how well you could do if you applied yourself,” she repeated every time a report card came home. But school didn’t excite him the way riding his bike at breakneck speed or surfing in the Outer Banks did. While other kids thought about sports in terms of baseball and soccer, he thought of floating on air on his motorbike as he soared off a dirt ramp or the rush of energy he felt when he successfully landed it. He was an X Games kind of kid, even before there was such a thing, and by thirty-two, he’d pretty much done it
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