Introduction: This story is based on Bruce Springsteen's classic song "Glory Days," which has to do with memories, immaturity and aging. In the song, the narrator talks about, "boring stories of glory days," in a hardscrabble Rust Belt town.
As I've listened to the song over the years, I've started seeing interesting possibilities for a very nice erotic story with an important message. The plot loosely follows the song through the first two stanzas, the first two chapters, then makes its own way to the conclusion.
Chapter 1
Braxton Rogers sighed as he maneuvered his car through traffic on the interstate. He had just crested the last hill before the highway descended into Palestine, and he could see the town spread out before him.
As was the case with anyone who approached the town from the west, as he was that day, the first thing he saw was the Palestine Steel Works, the massive plant that dominated the skyline of the town from every direction.
It sat up high, like a king's castle, on the banks of the river that snaked through town, hovering over the buildings that made up the nearby downtown business district.
The huge smokestack still blew the detritus of steel manufacturing into the warm summer sky, lending a yellow haze to the sun that was dipping into the western horizon.
Braxton couldn't believe he was coming back here to live, but that was the fate that had been thrown his way.
There really hadn't been any choice. His mother had passed away eight months earlier, quite suddenly, and somebody had to take care of his father. Bruce Rogers had worked at the steel plant for 35 years, and he had developed lung problems, which left him an invalid.
Bruce was still of fairly sound mind, but physically, he could no longer keep up the house where he and his wife had raised their three children. With Mary gone and himself unable to get around very well, Bruce was considering selling the house and moving into an assisted-living facility.
If that happened, someone had to come home to take care of the business of selling the house, making sure the legal niceties were handled and keep an eye on Bruce.
Braxton hadn't liked it, but he was the logical choice to move back and help with his dad. His older brother lived in Philadelphia with his family, where he had his business, and his little sister lived in California, with her family.
At age 35, Braxton was still single, working as an insurance adjuster for a major company, so it was fairly easy for him to get a transfer from Nashville, where he'd been living, to Palestine.
It wasn't that he averse to a move from Nashville; far from it. He'd just broken up with his most recent girlfriend, and it had been a rather hostile split. So he didn't mind putting Nashville behind him. But Palestine was about the last place he wanted to live.
He had left town at age 18 after accepting a football scholarship to a small school in Kentucky. He'd played four years there while majoring in business, then had gone to work for the insurance company. He was good at his work, but his personal life hadn't been as successful as his professional life.
Braxton had had plenty of relationships, but none of them had been "the one." Early on, his girlfriends had accused him of having a commitment problem; later, they were the ones who had the difficulty committing to a deeper relationship.
So, he was coming back to make a fresh start, but he wasn't exactly excited about the prospects of making Palestine his home again.
Certainly, he had been back to visit many times, but he rarely stayed long. The place had always slightly depressed him. It was a hard town, a workingman's town, a town that had seen better days.
It was in the heart of the Rust Belt, and in its prime it had been one of most prosperous in the state, with a population of approximately 90,000. Now that number was down to about 50,000, and opportunity for those not interested in going to work at the steel mill was pretty limited.
Finally, Braxton came to the exit off the interstate and headed south on Main Street. The first thing he saw on his left was the old train station, which still did a surprisingly brisk business, largely because Palestine was on the main Amtrak line between New York and Chicago.
Further down the street, he passed St. James Prep, the Catholic high school he'd attended, which was the feeder for St. James College, a Jesuit school that had been founded by steel money, but which had developed a reputation as a fine Catholic college with a good small-college athletic program.
Braxton turned left at the high school onto Capitol Street, then turned right a couple of blocks later and wound his way through the side streets to Five Points.
In spite of himself, Braxton found himself smiling as he reached the place where five streets came together at one intersection. He was back in the old neighborhood, for better of worse, and his feelings were decidedly mixed.
He took a left, then an immediate left again, onto St. Patrick Avenue, went three blocks to Chestnut Street, took a right and traveled two blocks to 607 Chestnut. He pulled into the driveway of the old house, just as the sun was disappearing for the night.
Braxton greeted his father warmly, and they talked far into the night over a 12-pack of Rolling Rock, which had been the favored beer in Palestine long before it went national and became trendy.
They discussed a wide range of subjects, including whether or not Bruce should move. They didn't come to any decision, but as they polished off the last of the beer, they seemed to be leaning toward Bruce's staying in the house with Braxton.
The next day, Sunday, father and son made it to Mass, even though they were both a little hung over. It was the first time Bruce had been to church in several months, but he wanted to let all of his friends know that his boy was home, this time for good, he hoped.
Braxton's brother, Lenny, and his sister, Julie, had taken after their mother. Mary had always been a little frail and slight of stature, and she'd passed that on to her oldest and youngest child. She'd been a teacher, and very smart, and they had also inherited her brains and her sense of achievement in the classroom.
Braxton, on the other hand, had been his father's child, all the way. He was bigger, though not that much bigger, but certainly more athletic than either of his siblings, and the only one of the two boys who went hunting with their father, back when he'd been healthy enough to do so.
Bruce loved all three of his children, and he was proud of how Lenny had made his way in the big city, but he and Braxton shared a closeness that was special. They were a lot alike, with many shared interests.
On Monday, Braxton started his new job, and within a couple of weeks it was like he'd never left.
