The Truth About Wade Rivaso – A Short Story


By David Rolland

It has been proven. The theory stands true. Boy, oh boy, do I feel blue. All throughout my short life songs jingled in my head. Every morning, afternoon, and night I would  hum from morning to bed.

Never, ever could I be me. What could it be? Was there no peace of mind allowed on our world? Must our thoughts and feelings always be controlled and twirled? Maybe it was something about the water in the town where I stored. I packed a suitcase and searched for a place where my thoughts were mine instead of a manipulation of a particular guitar chord.

Around, inside, and outside the globe did I go. Looking for a location where ideas could flow. Through a village to town under a mountain over the sea, not a single, consistent silence was there to be. Eventually, a moment here, perhaps a moment there I would find silence in the air.  Oh, how those fleeting moments felt so grand, no more of the annoying rock ‘n’ roll band.

Finally, one lonely night in a tavern, I overheard a man whisper of a land in Chile where great thinkers go to think. Quickly as could be I left for the Southern Hemisphere without finishing my drink. Getting off the train I found the bar patron to be right, for never before did I view with such clarity the colors and light. No more music, muzak, or stray, annoying thoughts of a talk radio show. “How could this be?” I asked in a tone very low.

“Simple!” said one of those men who always forget to shave. “In the town of Wade Rivaso we don’t allow a single radio wave.”

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