Traveller by L.W. Samuelson (english reading book TXT) 📕

Willy. What he wrote was real even if it was fiction,” Lori said. “Steinbeck actually spent time in a Hooverville. At one point his tent was even flooded out during heavy California rains. He spent a miserable night in the mud and water. Not only did he have firsthand knowledge of the migrant worker’s plight, he also collected the stories and experiences of those he wrote about. Lennie was based on a real person. So you see, Steinbeck’s writings shed light on the inequities that existed in the 1930s”
“I’m supposed to write about how Steinbeck explores friendship, none of the people in the book was friends. Curley’s wife marry him for his money, don’t even like the man. She be all comin’ on to everyone she meet. Crooks ain’t got nobody but hisself. Even George and Lennie can’t be friends since Lennie’s too simple to understand what friendship is. Everyone in the novel be all alone.”
“That’s right,” said Lori. “Existence was so precarious that people often thought of survival first and other people afterward.”
“That’s why George has a dream of having his own farm where he and Lennie can grow their own garden and raise chickens. A place without a boss, where they don’t hafta worry ‘bout where their next meal is coming from,” said Willy.
“That’s the American Dream for them. What’s the American Dream for you Willy?” asked Traveller.
Willy’s eyes sparkled with a faraway look. “Man, I wanna be a star in the NBA, make lots of money, be respected. How about you?”
Traveller never said anything. After several moments, he replied, “I snuck off the ship because I was bored. I never had to worry about where my next meal was coming from or even what the temperature was outside until I landed here. My space pod was a one-way ticket to Earth. I don’t have a dream because I’m like Lennie, I’ll never fit in.”
Jesse’s temper flared, “You’re nothing like Lennie. You have friends.”
“Yeah man, you also have a blood brother. Don’t be all forgittin’ ‘bout us,” Willy said.
“So maybe I’ve already found the American Dream, friendship,” Traveller smiled wistfully. He looked at Jesse, “What about you?”
“Man, I don’t think enough about the future to have a dream. I’m just going to go to school and let things take care of themselves.”
“What about you, Lori?” Traveller asked.
“I’m going to get a master’s in American Literature. I’d like to become a college professor at a major university,” she replied.
“Whatever you decide to do, you’ll be good at it,” said Traveller with conviction.
“I believe that success is achieved by having goals and then thinking about how to achieve those goals. That’s why school has been so difficult for Jesse. It’s not that he’s not smart enough, it’s just that he has no motivation,” Lori said.
“Same with me,” admitted Willy. “I only started studying so I could play basketball.”
“Think about it, Willy. What are the odds of playing professional basketball? Not very good and yet you’ve been given a chance to get an education. Don’t let the opportunity pass you by,” said Lori.
“I’m beginning to understand that. It’s just that school is so hard for me. It took me over an hour and a half just to read twenty pages of Steinbeck’s novel,” Willy said.
“But reading is like anything else, the more you practice, the better you get at it,” said Lori. “Did you get any notes? I wasn’t paying attention.”
Willy showed her the blank tablet. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I learn by listening. When I get home I’ll write everything up and think about it. I’ll write the essay before Christmas. Will you proofread it?”
“I would be honored,” said Lori.
“Are we done?” asked Jesse. When no one said anything, he shouted, “Let’s watch some basketball, the Knicks are playing the Celtics.”

When Willy got back to his dorm room, he wrote down everything he could remember about the discussion at Lori’s adding his own thoughts to the notes. He finished with over ten pages of hand-written notes.
On Monday Willy jumped out of bed early. He had thought about Of Mice and Men all night. He started writing and he couldn’t stop. He wrote about being powerless to affect the world around you. He wrote about how the common man often suffers from the policies made by the rich. He wrote about how economic hard times can bring out the worst in people. He discussed prejudice and discrimination. He wrote about the millions who are denied access to the American Dream. He explained how sports provided a way out of poverty for so many African Americans.
After discussing the American Dream at length, his essay turned to friendship. He discussed how every individual is ultimately alone in the world since no one can truly share the experiences and thoughts of another person. He wrote about how the characters in Steinbeck’s novel were totally isolated from one another. He concluded the essay with the killing of poor innocent Lennie who never understood the world around him. He ended the composition with these sentences, “Lennie trusted George. His lack of understanding blinded him; he didn’t see the bullet coming. We all have some Lennie in us in that we are blind to many aspects of life, but if we educate ourselves and study the world we live in, maybe, just maybe, we can avoid the unexpected bullet that destroys our life.”
Willy was so engrossed in writing that time had seemingly stood still. It was eight o’clock at night when he finished his essay. He had drunk large quantities of coffee and hadn’t eaten all day.
He decided to call Jesse, “Hey honkie what you’all be doin’?” he asked after hearing his friend’s voice.
“I just got back from playin’ basketball. What’s up?”
“I’m lookin’ for a pardner to go eat. Are you hungry?”
“Starved.”
Willy and Jesse walked down the campus and across the street to McDonald’s. Willy couldn’t contain his excitement. “Man, I finished that sucker. I wrote over twelve pages. I never thought doing something like that could be so much fun.”
“I’m proud of you Bro’” Jesse said.
They sat down after they had ordered their food. Just as they were pulling double-cheese burgers out of the sack, a couple of Willy’s friends walked over to their table. “Hey Willy, what y’all be doin’ hanging out with a white boy all the time?”
“Hey Tom. This is Jesse. He’s a friend. I don’t worry ‘bout what color he is.”
“That right? Well a couple of us are going to Ribs for a little after hour’s fun tonight. You comin’?”
“Naw man, I tryin’ to get back on the team, got more important things to do.”
“If y’all change your mind, you know where it is,” Tom said. He and his friend shook their heads and left.
“Shit, can’t believe I just did that. First time I ever turn Tom down. I usually don’t miss a chance to drink beer and play cards,” Willy said.
“Who would have thunk that writing an essay could change you into a geek,” joked Jesse.
“I know bro’. I know.”

Willy had delivered his essay to Lori on Christmas Eve. It wasn’t until two days later that she had a chance to read it. She could tell it had been painstakingly written. Several misspelled words had been crossed out with the correct spelling written above. He had even made a few grammar corrections.
The composition revealed a depth of understanding she thought Willy incapable of. She was wrong. It was obvious that Willy had truly been moved by Steinbeck’s writing. Lori cried when she read the part about the farmhands feeling worthless and Willy wrote, “There isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not haunted by the disgusted look on my old man’s face as he says, ‘You ain’t worth a shit.’ I’ll spend my whole life trying to prove him wrong.”
When Traveller saw her crying, he asked, “Is that Willy’s essay?”
“Yes, if this doesn’t get him a passing grade nothing will.”
“Great,” Traveller said and in his excitement he changed topics abruptly. “Guess what?”
“Yes?” she asked.
“I have a job. I start loading boxcars tomorrow,” said Traveller. “I’ll be able to help you out with expenses now.”
“That’s great Traveller. Welcome to the world of drudgery.”Chapter 31 - The World of Work

Pocatello was a railroad town. It served as a major hub for the western United States. It was there that the alien found a job loading boxcars. Traveller reported to the loading dock at three-thirty in the afternoon. Although his shift didn’t start until four, the foreman pressed him into action immediately.
“You don’t mind starting now, do you Sonny?” the grizzled man with a hard demeanor looked up at Traveller. He doesn’t look like the brightest bulb on the circuit the old foreman thought.
“Hi, my name is Travis,” Traveller said.
“That’s nice. See that guy over there moving slower than my grandma? He’ll show you what to do.”
“Your grandmother works here?”
“Yeah right. She’s that bearded guy on the train tracks,” the foreman said.
Traveller looked puzzled. “But he’s a man.”
“You’re really not very bright, are you?” the foreman said with disgust. “If you want the job get busy.”
Traveller ears burned with embarrassment when he realized the foreman thought he was stupid. Anger welled up inside of him. He wanted to hit the grizzled man with the dirty cap perched on his head. Stay calm. You are on Earth now. Lori needs the money. You could be arrested he thought.
He walked over to the heister parked in front of an open boxcar. The older man was picking up boxes and stacking them inside of the refrigerated car. “Here let me help you,” Traveller said taking a box from the man’s arms and stacking it.
The man looked at the foreman. When the boss nodded yes, the man jumped off the dock and left.
It took over an hour for Traveller to load the boxcar. Unused to repetitive labor, his shoulders ached when he finished.
The foreman watched him with approval. When the last box was loaded, the heister backed up to drive into the warehouse. It returned with another pallet of boxes labeled Idagold Frenchfries. The machine stopped before the open door of another boxcar.
Traveller looked at it with disbelief. He stood with his hands on his hips until the foreman shouted, “Well go on, load ‘er up.”
This time he paced himself. Realizing that he would be doing this for eight hours, he worked more deliberately. After two and a half hours of loading boxes a whistle sounded.
“Fifteen minutes,” the foreman said. When Traveller kept working, the foreman angered. “Damn it! Take a break. Are you tryin’ to get me in trouble with the union?”
Traveller came out of the boxcar and sprawled out on the dock to rest.
He could feel the foreman’s glare. When he felt his own anger return, he imagined the Sawtooth mountains and then the Christmas dinner with his friends until he calmed.
Traveller closed his eyes and dreamed of being back on Ship. He was sparring with Porter. His sensory saber strokes were masterful as he danced and parried against his opponent. He he was just about to deliver the victory blow when the whistle sounded again.
“Back to work,” the foreman said.
When Traveller stood up, his back ached; his legs felt weak. He steadied himself and started loading French fries again. He developed a rhythm, things seemed better. An hour and forty-five minutes later the lunch whistle sounded.
“Lunch time. Go to the cafeteria,” the foreman directed.
Traveller looked around. When he saw other workers all heading for the same place, he picked