THE LONG SEARCH

1985
Marist College
Poughkeepsie, NY

“Describe Hell.”
My five college roommates and I are lounging around one evening in our tiny apartment living room, in various stages of undress – Flash dance socks inside big, mangy bunny slippers, sweatpants with camisoles, and other weird collegiate loungewear. Our good friend, John, is asking us this question for a Philosophy assignment.
One by one my roomies answered:
“Burning hot.” Kelly.
“Everyone hates you in Hell!” Lea.
“You hate them!” Tammy.
“It is u-g-l-y.” Lynn.
“Country music blasting 24/7!” Courtney.
“Dara, how ‘bout you?” John asked.
“Hell…is a beautiful place,” I decided.
“Yeah?” he asked, pen poised. I saw Tammy roll her eyes and heard Kelly sigh, and Lea disappeared into the bathroom. I went on:
“Hell fools you. It has gorgeous scenery and people and there are buffets everywhere. But…Hell is a cruel place. You are truly damned if you do, or don’t. People are smiling and pleasant but they hate you; the flowers stink; the food gives you the runs.”
“Yeah!” yelled Lea from the bathroom.
“And?” John asked, scribbling.
“Cramps are even worse in Hell,” said Lynn thoughtfully.
“And men are even moodier,” added Kelly.
“And nothing you do in Hell pays or means a thing. It is, like, totally postal,” said Courtney.
“Even worse,” I added, “no matter how many degrees you have you will always be referred to as a ‘housewife.’
“No!”
“And… everyone calls you Ma’am in Hell!” Lynn, really on a roll now.
“Not only is Hell hot, but it is humid and sticky and filled with bugs you can’t see. But they bite – hard.” I went on:
“No matter how hard you try to fit in, in Hell, you don’t. Your fellow Hellions hate you. It is no use. Even worse, in Hell you get everything you ever wished for but realize it sucks.”
“Oo, this is good. Go on,” John ordered.
“In fact you realize in Hell that everything you ever believed to be true is wrong. Lying is King in Hell and Love is taken away.”
“She went to one of those Catholic schools,” Lynn whispered to Tammy, who nodded knowingly.
“Hell is NOISY. You are driven to distraction, no matter what you try to do. And, while it may look Rockwellian in Hell, everything is loaded with mouse dung.”
“Ew!” Collective disgust from the gallery.
“Anything else?” John asked.
“Hellions hate puppies.”
“Oh!” Group gasp.
There was a bit of a pregnant pause here. Finally, with wobbly pencil and saucer-like eyes, John asked,” What’s your vision of Heaven, then?”
“Heaven?” I asked.
Everyone nodded.
“Ask me if I get there.”
*
The following semester I took the b.s. – I mean, elective - course John had been doing this assignment for. It was aptly called The Long Search.
Basically, the Long Search is the frustrated attempt of all humanity to find nirvana: the ultimate self-peace. The professor who taught it must have found it because he kicked the almighty podium shortly after I finished the course.
In many ways the search for our Most Livable City was just that - a search for nirvana – with low property taxes and a nice front lawn. David and I were convinced on some level that Nirvana was actually a place, somewhere between San Diego and Weeki Wachee.
We just kept missing it, is all.
And Woody was always, always along for the ride.**
“The journey home is never a direct route; it is, in fact, always circuitous, and somewhere along the way, we discover that the journey is more significant than the destination, and that the people we meet along the way will be traveling companions of our memories forever.”

-NELSON DE MILLE
Up Country