The dark countryside road went up and down and into the nowhere and into the unknown darkness of the Pocono’s mountains. Google Maps was taking us somewhere we’ve never been before. Driving was getting exhausting as it was getting late into the evening and pitch dark all around us.  

“Honey, why don’t we pull out at the nearest hotel and spend the night there? We’ll hit the road tomorrow morning again. I am so tired of driving in this darkness. I can barely see where I am going.” 

“Ok, sounds good, babe. I am exhausted too and I need a hot shower” my wife said. I flicked a left turn signal shifted to the far-right lane and took the exit out of the highway.   

The curvy exit road took us through the toll booth and out into the town’s street with a gas station right there on the right. There were a few chain fast-food and pizza places down the street meant to be for the tourists, of course, to stop by for a quick bite of something painfully familiar while being away from the city. A few minutes driving down on that street we saw this classy, red-brick, four-story hotel with some lights on the outside of the building and a dead empty and quiet Broadway street. 

I and my wife love to go out into the countryside over a holiday break or just because we feel like going somewhere away from the city and just explore new places, enjoy the view and enjoy getting lost in some weird unknown mountainside traps. We were married for about just three years back then and life was just much simpler and free. 

There was plenty of available parking spaces in front of the hotel so I didn’t have any problems parking as close to the hotel entrance as possible. We parked and went out of the car. I grabbed our bags and we strolled toward the entrance, towards the reception.  

“Hi there,” said I smiling at the young receptionist who was taking her eyes of a book she was reading. 

“Good evening, sir, mam, and welcome to Jim Thorpe Inn.” The receptionist said smiling.  

“Thank you,” I responded smiling. “Do you have any rooms available for tonight?” 

“We sure do, sir. Let me check what we have available for tonight. She went on searching on the computer and offering different options. Since it was just the middle of the week and just a few days before the major national holiday, the hotel was almost empty and they had a lot of options to choose from and the lowest prices ever.  

“For how long are you staying?” 

“Just for tonight. But maybe, we’ll stay for a little longer.” 

“Ok, we have quite a few suites available for reduced prices. Will you be interested?” 

“I don’t think we need anything more than a shower and a bed,” said my wife. I agreed.  

“I completely understand you, mam. I just want to offer you the best rooms for your money and you can get a nice suite with jacuzzi, with a view on the main street and access to the balcony, room service and free breakfast for the two of you for the price of a regular room. Does that sound interesting for you?” 

“I guess so, thank you.” Said I already thinking about melting in that jacuzzi with a glass of wine in my hand. 

We finished checking in and went to the elevators located to the side of the front desk. The concierge took our bags and went ahead of us smiling politely. I’ve already felt better and relaxed. We’ve got into our room on the second floor with the high old-school ceilings, Victorian furnishings all around, a fireplace built into the wall, jacuzzi in the corner of the room and huge TV on a piece of classy wooden furniture. What else can you wish for by the end of the day? We went in and I dropped on the smoothest king bed ever. It felt like dropping into an ocean, so relaxing and comfortable. The road has tired us down a lot.  

“This is just fucking amazing,” said I smiling at my wife.  

“It sure is,” said my wife rolling in bed and looking at the ceiling.  

“Hey, do you want to order something to eat? Maybe we’ll go down to the restaurant?” 

“Oh, I am not sure I want to go out of here. Let’s just order room service?” She suggested.  

“Ok, let’s see what’s on the menu and place the order.”  

“In the meantime, I can take a shower while we wait.”  

That was the plan. I pulled a bottle of wine out of my bag and uncorked it. I always brought some wine with me on the road. One never knows where you end up staying but I wanted to make sure I always had some wine available.  

The food came in after about forty minutes. I tipped the server and we were set around the little nook table eating. Everything was surprisingly tasty. It all went down pretty well, especially with the red wine. 

“That was a good decision, to stop by this place. Wasn’t it?” I asked my wife. 

“It sure was. Let’s stay here tomorrow as well. I mean, we don’t have any specific plans or anything like that. We are just randomly traveling places and enjoying ourselves, right?” 

“That is true, my love,” said I. 

“Speaking about love, do you want to make l.o.v.e.? 

“I don’t see why not.” Said I and started kissing my wife.  

We have progressed to our bed, dropping our clothes carelessly on the floor, the lights all on as we making love like teenagers giving it all away, not holding anything back. After ten minutes of intense exercises, we both came and breathing deeply just laid there in the bed thinking about nothing, not even talking to each other. It was all perfect. It felt like the good old college days again. 

The night was dark and quiet and we were both lying in bed watching something on TV. My wife was already sleeping but I wasn’t. I hate television but every time I spend the night at the hotel, I like to flip through the channels trying to watch five movies at a time along with numerous mindless advertisements and various stupid TV shows. That night wasn’t any different. Besides, there is usually nothing much you can do in the hotel room anyways.  

I still had half a bottle of red wine on the nightstand and that kept me going. Another stupid ad on TV annoyed me and I felt like I need to take a smoke break. I put my clothes on, took a pack of cigarettes, filled up me a glass and went out into the hall, looking for that balcony to smoke. The balcony’s doors were down the hall and to the right. There was nobody there. I opened the doors and walked on to the balcony lightening up my cigarette. The balcony was nice and wide, hanging along the entire building’s length. It was facing the main street of this little town, called Broadway, with some nice little gift shops and restaurants always crowded with tourists during the day.  

I wasn’t sure if I was even allowed to go out and smoke out there but I didn’t care. It was already past midnight and most of the people around the town and those staying at the hotel were already asleep. The night belongs to the dreamers. Both dreamers who are sleeping and watching their dreams and those lunatics who don’t go to bed until late or at all, those who just stare at the night’s sky thinking about nothing while getting inspired.  

The little old mountain town was sleeping quietly, resting before another busy day. There was this calming peace in the air that was soothing. You want to stay around for the nights like these and just enjoy life. The night was beautiful. The town up was dead asleep in the darkness of the night. The main street once so busy and crowded during the day was now deserted with just some big old trees and light polls strategically placed by the sidewalk lightning it up with the warm yellow light. I exhaled my smoke into the air and sipped from my wine glass. Life was just great.  

Victorian-style hotel overlooking the town sitting here deep in the mountains, and me staying up late smoking a cigarette and drinking wine, not worrying about anything, that was a precious moment of greatness. The little moments like this always stock in my memory. I live for moments like these. This town was around for a long time. I cannot even imagine how many millions of people who have lived here or passed through the town. How many people stayed in this hotel and just like I was staying up late here smoking in the middle of the night thinking about all these beautiful things. I felt like this town had its own life and soul. You can see it, you can feel it, you can be part of it. 

The next minute, balcony’s doors opened and a man walked in. I turned around trying to hide my cigarette but then I saw him lightening up his cigar and I thought, here goes another one just like myself, a hopeless smoker-romantic.  

“Good evening, sir.” Said the man with patience and class in his voice blowing the cigar’s smoke up in the air. The white thick cloud of smoke went up and was carried away by the light night mountain breeze. 

“Good evening to you as well,” responded I to the stranger who seemed rather friendly. 

“You don’t go to bed without having a little smoke, right?” He said grinning. 

“True that.” 

“Oh, what a beautiful night it is tonight. I love this place during this time of year. It is just gorgeous.” 

“I totally understand you, sir. That is a beautiful night tonight and I love it. I like this hotel a lot too. This place is the place. I hope we don’t get in trouble by standing out here this late smoking?” Said I smiling. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that. People out here are nice and understanding. I’ve stayed at this place multiple times over so many years. It is not like the big city with their regulations, fines and all that. Things are different out here. Plus, most of the visitors should be asleep by now anyway. Why would they care? We should be alright.” Said the stranger calmly. 

“Sounds good to me. I’m Jake, by the way” said I trying to get friendly with the stranger who seemed to be a great company. 

“William, William Johnson,” said he shaking my hand. “You’ve never been here before?” 

“No, actually, we and my wife enjoy going out on these little trips up here in the mountains and we were just driving to see more of it. The night came over and it was too hard to drive on these dark, curvy mountain roads. We saw this hotel and decided to take a break for the night. So, here we are. You said you come down here often?” 

“Yes, I love this place. I used to know the owner before he passed. I and my wife used to come here often in the early days. She is gone now, unfortunately. The love of my life. I wrote my first book in these rooms. The little town has inspired me plenty. This is always a good place for my mind and soul to stay over, relax and enjoy life and hospitality of this hotel and this beautiful town.” 

“Sorry to hear about your wife, William.” 

“Thank you. It is very nice of you.” 

“You are a writer?” 

“Yes, I am. I’ve been writing my whole life. I still write. There is never enough of it.” 

“Great, it is my pleasure to meet you a real writer. Have you written anything I may know or read?” 

“It depends if you read, Jake. But yes, I had a few best-selling books out there in the world: “Houses of the holy”, “Even mountains were asleep” and “You only live once”. 

“Oh, I’ve read the “Houses of the holy” when I was in college! I thought your name sounded familiar. Damn. A pleasure to meet you, sir,” said I sounding pleasantly surprised. 

“Thank you, Jake.” He said blowing another cloud of smoke in the air.  

“What made you become a writer; may I ask?” 

“Reading Earnest Hemingway really moved me. I was fascinated by the stories and the characters and Hemingway’s style, the way he built each sentence with such simplicity and perfection, and the dialogs, it was just something I thought to myself I wanted to do. Hemingway did it like nobody else. He gets his credit totally deserved.” 

“I agree, I love Hemingway. What a life this man lived?” 

“Yes, he’s seen and done plenty in his days. I’ve had a chance to meet the man once when I was a child.” 

“Really? Wow! I would like to hear the story.” 

“Sure. I was about ten back then and I didn’t even know who Hemingway was, of course. It was until later that I’ve realized who he was. He was just a regular old man to me then. My father was a boat builder and mechanic in Key West. We had a little house there and I loved to hand out around my father watching him fixing the boats, seeing him talking to people and all that. Hemingway was living in Cuba back then and rarely came to Florida. He was already married to Mary Welsh and his other wife was still living around here. He wasn’t too excited to come down here because of all his family history, but when he did, he stayed here briefly and then went back to Cuba.  

It was one of those nice sunny and humid days in Keys, right before the major thunderstorm. My father was busy with another boat, as he always was. There are a lot of boats in Key West. Almost everyone has one. There is no way to live there without a boat. I was playing with my toys near the pier, right by our house. I’ve heard the signal coming in from the ocean and there was the boat coming down our way from the South. That boat was nothing special but it looked pretty interesting to me. It wasn’t too big or too small and there was something about it and how it moved in the open waters. It was Pilar, Hemingway’s boat. I’ve used to see many kinds of boats during my childhood but this one stood out. My father was standing on the pier smoking a cigarette and watching this boat approaching. The boat parked and the old man with a big beard white beard walked out. 

“Hey there, Jack?” He said 

“How are you, sir?” my father replied. 

“The best boat mechanic of all Key West as I’ve heard,” Hemingway said. 

“Not sure about that, but I do get something fixed around here.” My father was a humble man. He knew of Ernest Hemingway; at the point, everyone knew him even though he wasn’t living in Florida anymore. He seemed to be as local as anybody there. 

“I might need your help, Jack. I don’t want to go back to Cuba until I fixed the engine issue. Something doesn’t sound right to me. Could you see what is wrong with it?” He looked at me when he said that as I came closer to look at him and his boat. “Hey kid, how are you?” He said to me smiling through his white beard. 

“Good,” said I puzzling while not really knowing what to say. His beard seemed kind of hypnotic back then to me as a kid. I was staring at his face and at his boat and listening to everything he was talking with my father about. 

“Yeh, I could hear some strange sounds as you were approaching. Let me take a closer look at her so I could tell you for sure what is wrong. There should be a storm coming this afternoon. I can start working on her early tomorrow if that’s ok with you?” My father asked. 

“Sounds good, Jack. Thank you very much! I guess I need to think about the place to stay over tonight. Is Sloppy Joe still around? Have you seen him lately?” 

“Yeh, he came to me the other day, as sloppy as he usually is. I was replacing something in his boat. I think he was planning to go out fishing soon.” 

“Good old Joe… How old is your kid? He sure takes a lot of interest in boats I can see.” 

“Oh, yeh, he loves to play here watching me working on boats. He’s that kind of kid, you know?” 

“Yes, good boy.” He said looking at me again smiling through his beard. “Ok, I guess I will get going to the Sloppy’s have a drink while I’ll wait until the storm over. I’ll stop by tomorrow, Jack. Thank you again.” 

“Sure, no problem.” Said my father and they shook hands. He looked at me as he was walking by and into the city.  

“Father, who was this man?” I’d ask my father later.  

“That was a famous writer, son, he used to live here in Key West, not too far from here. One day you’ll grow up and probably read his books.” 

“Have you read his book?” I asked. 

“Yes, I’ve read a few. There were very popular, everybody read them when they were just published.”  

“I want to read it too, father.”  

“You will, son. Now lets me get back to work before the storm comes here. I need to finish something.” 

“Ok” 

“And that was that. This is just one time that I saw and briefly talk to Ernest Hemingway. I never saw him again. Apparently, the drinking at the Sloppy Joe’s went a full blast and he never returned on the next day. I don’t know when he returned for his boat but he did eventually. I was sitting at home reading my father’s copy of the “The old man and the sea.” This is how it all started with writing for me. I fell in love with Hemingway’s books and style and as I was growing up, I’ve tried to write short stories myself and eventually it became more than a hobby. Here I am sixty-some years later still writing and talking about it.” He chuckled and as did I. 

“That’s a nice story, William. I am fascinated. I mean I am always fascinated when I hear those kinds of stories. The world is a small place.” 

“You are right, it is a small place.” Said William smiling and puffing on his cigar. 

“I wish, I’d meet Hemingway somehow, but there could be no chance in the world. I’m glad I’ve met you though. You are a great writer yourself, sir. One day I’ll tell somebody my story about meeting you this night at the hotel, talking about Hemingway and smoking on the balcony.” 

“Thanks. Everyone has their own stories to tell. Did you know that all that FBI spying conspiracy with Hemingway was actually true?” William asked me rather seriously. 

“No, I did not. I always thought that maybe with aging and so much drinking throughout his life and then all that electric shock therapy – it all just dawned on him.” 

“That was part of it but he always was a true man. He knew that something’s wrong, especially when he moved to Cuba and of course he knew Castro and the American government was going after Castro and all that Cuba ban. He also has some dealings with the American ambassador in Cuba. Hemingway did some spying himself. He told my father then that the FBI is was spying on him. My father later told me that. It was fascinating. Nobody believed him back then but it was true. He wasn’t paranoid or insane, he survived so much in his life that this paranoia would never take him down. But it did, indirectly, it did. That is just sad.” William let another huge cloud of smoke out in the nightly air looking into the deep darkness of the mountains. 

“That is fascinating, wow. Thanks for sharing all those stories with me, William.” 

“Call me Bill, please. We are almost friends now.” He said with a chuckle. 

“Sure, we are.” Responded I smiling back at him. 

The night was dark and quiet and we were smoking and talking and laughing. We stayed out there for a little while. William was an interesting man full of stories and adventures. I’ve enjoyed talking to him. He was getting tired and I needed to return back to my room. 

“Alright, sir, I think it is time for us to call it a night. We both got to take some rest before tomorrow. It was a pleasure meeting you and talking to you.” 

“Sure, no problem. The pleasure is all mine. Have a good night, Jake. 

“Have a good night, sir. I hope I will see you around again at some point?” 

“I hope so too, Jake. Take care now.” 

“Take care, William.” Said I opening the doors and walking into the hotel’s hall. William followed. I went into my room. The wife woke up. 

“Where were you, Jake? It’s late,” she said through her dreamy voice. 

“I was out there smoking. We’ll talk tomorrow. Go back to sleep, honey.” 

“Ok, good night, babe.” 

“Goodnight to you as well.” Said I and went into the shower. No jacuzzi for me tonight. 

Back in bed, I wasn’t sleeping for some time. I was still thinking about what Bill said. It was all fascinating stuff. Poor Hemingway, damn. One should never mess with ‘feds’. As I was thinking all these thoughts I slipped into a nice deep sleep. I remember having dreams that night but couldn’t remember what they were all about.  

We both woke up the next morning and went out for breakfast. The hotel was treating us well. We stayed for another night and spent the entire day in the little town. As we were leaving the hotel and going back on the road, on the parking lot, while I was loading our bags into a car, I saw William on the balcony smoking his cigar. I waved to him, he waved back to me.  

“Who is that?” My wife asked. 

“I’ll tell you on the way back. This will be a good story.” 

“I hope so. Ok.” 

“Alright, babe, let’s go.” 

We drove home and I told her all about it. It was one of those vacations that I will never forget. I never saw Bill again but I bought and read some of his books. I will always remember that night at the hotel smoking cigarettes with him and listening to all those stories and enjoying the beautiful night in the mountains. Certain moments you can’t and you should never forget. Until next time, Jim Thorpe.