Michael's Corner

If you’re looking for an engaging summer read, please consider the edgy and spirited American Odyssey. The tone and presence of its core characters will immerse you in a summer’s day, when you were coming of age, a breath away from awakening unrealized passions, and making enduring ties.

The paperback is available at Amazon.com: American Odyssey: 9781937769895: De Stefano, Michael: Books The e-reader is available at American Odyssey by Michael DeStefano | eBook | Barnes & Noble® and American Odyssey by Michael DeStefano on Apple Books The paperback should be available at Barnes & Noble this week. Happy reading!

Excerpt I:

From the vowel-deprived Cyndy Pytlewski to Claire Caldwell, I went. Claire was waiting for me at the front door, or so it seemed, assuming her demeanor was any indication. Her mission was clear: to annoy me in a way only a mother can. She handed me a piece of paper known as “the dreaded checklist” and then proceeded to go over it one strenuous item at a time, and the list was longer than my goddamn arm! Next, Claire escorted me to my bedroom, where, waiting for me atop my bed was an open suitcase surrounded by an apothecary smorgasbord: eyedrops, nasal spray, mouthwash, nail clippers, sunscreen, ointment in case I forgot to use the sunscreen, aspirin, Band-Aids, talcum powder, and a dozen other items including what first captured my attention: a flat, rectangle-shaped yellow box containing anal suppositories. Able to follow my gaze, Claire defended this idiotic purchase by citing, “The water is sure to be different on a Western Pennsylvania farm, well water, most likely, and if you’re not used to well water, it’s liable to irritate your bowels and cause you to have some difficulty… down there.” Claire shilly-shallied with a schoolgirl’s embarrassment when pointing at my posterior; it was all very un-Claire-like. Then she unnecessarily added, as though somehow it could have slipped my mind: “Remember, you’re a city boy.”  

     I held my ground while wearing my game face; my expression was akin to Carlton glaring in at a nervous rookie. I rarely display such discipline, but had I let loose even a single utterance, the matter of the flat, rectangle-shaped yellow box might have qualified as a conversation, and whatever misadventures that could potentially befall my hindquarters three hundred miles west of Philadelphia was not a subject I was willing to broach. Then, upon listening patiently to Claire’s rationale in support of her first aid just-in-cases and what-ifs, I handed her the checklist and escorted her from my bedroom. As I expected, she got all huffy and moaned, “Fine! I was only trying to be a good mother. But if you don’t want me to be a good mother, then hell with it!”

     For a second, I felt a pang of guilt for having pooh-poohed Claire’s due diligence concerning motherhood, then called to her in the hallway while reexamining the smorgasbord, “What’s the matter; was the drugstore all sold out of Trojans?” If ever there was a just-in-case or what-if item meant to travel with a teen on his first summer away from home, it was a box of Trojans. Moreover, it was challenging to imagine Claire Caldwell too embarrassed to have condoms rung up at the local apothecary, which meant that she had every reason to suspect that I would begin and end the summer of ‘77 a virgin. 

“It’s not too late, Addie,” she called to me from the hallway, somewhat apologetic for the oversight. “I can still run out and get some if you think you’ll need them.”

     “Never mind,” I sourly intoned. I did not want condoms as much as I wanted Claire to believe I needed them.

Excerpt II:    

Joey emerged from the fields and Cillian from the kitchen. We tossed our bags in the bed of Leila’s behemoth pickup, and off we drove. Skipping the bus ride, we headed straight for Pittsburgh and the train station, blasting rockabilly music with the windows rolled down and enjoying our final time of what Leila called “hellraisin’.” As the train chugged west to east through Pennsylvania, I repeatedly asked myself: Who was Leila Bennett? Could she have been just a girl, any girl? Was Leila as common as any one of a million buttercups clustered in an open field and just as forgettable, or was she a four-leaf clover, a rare specimen who, over and over, would compel me to search for her in every crowd everywhere? Was she a young girl in a grown-up girl’s body or a grown-up girl as lost as any child would be when set to wander the vastness of the universe? Air and space: they can prove fickle entities. Not enough of each can kill you, and too much can kill you even faster. But whether we blossom in a vast field or cottage garden, in a way, we all want the same thing: the opportunity to strive for independence while enjoying the strength and comfort of unity. Leila had experienced that aspect of human desire for a time with Aunt Pearl, then later on, for a much briefer spell, with Uncle Dave. I hope, sooner than later, she finds just the right amount of air and space that allows her to bask in the beauty of youth while flourishing as a woman.