A Story of Wanderlust, Gambling and Adulthood

By CJ

My second husband spent the better part of our first year of marriage talking about getting out of Texas. There's a whole world out there, and now's the time to go before we have kids to tie us down, he insisted.

Where would we go? I asked nervously. It was 1983, and I had just returned home a few years before after a failed first marriage to a man who felt duty bound to drag me all over the United States without the benefit of a bankroll.

I was 23 years old and had seen 12 of the Eastern United States over the span of six years traveling and living in a 1971 Chrysler Newport. We made money where we could, and even traveled with the circus for a brief period of time. I had learned every trick in the book for earning gas money; working here and there for a few days at a time, loading trucks, picking and packing produce anything that would earn a few dollars but didn't require a physical address on a job application. The thought of leaving my home state again filled me with dread. I had seen some seriously lean times and was not prepared to relive them.

Listen, we can save for the next month, put away a couple grand, he went on, and my truck is in good shape. We can put the camper shell on the back and sleep in it comfortably, which will save us money. If things don't work out, we can always come back. What can go wrong?

Here I was with a second husband who also had an obvious case of wanderlust, but at least it sounded like he had a plan, and I felt confident that he would take care of me.

Where will we go? I asked again, this time feeling a twinge of the excitement that had overtaken him. We were lying together in the darkness of our bedroom, and he rolled over and took my hand and squeezed it.

Washington State! I hear the work there is good! He replied instantly, indicating that he had spent more than a little time considering the answer to this question. If we go now we can get settled in before the weather turns cold. His breath tickled my cheek as he went on to describe how long he thought it would take to get there, what route we would take and what he would do for a living when we arrived. Despite my concerns, I was considering his idea.

This man was different than my first husband; more mature, he knew his duty and would make sure that we would be all right. Besides, as he had said, we had nothing to tie us down and the day would come when the thought of such an undertaking would be out of the question. Lets go. I said finally, and we made love. We rolled out of Central Texas on a sunny day in June, with what items that could be packed under the camper shell in the back of the truck, and pulling a small trailer with our meager belongings inside it behind us. We had a cooler with food, a mattress, an Atlas, and each other. The Western United States was spread out before us, beckoning it was bliss. You'll be back. My mother-in-law predicted as we hugged goodbye. I'll see you in a few months. But remember, she warned, if you get stuck we can't help you, we don't have any money. We wont need it! My husband declared, and with that we left our little home in Cedar Park, Texas, the nose of the truck pointed toward our new life.