Near the middle of December in the year 1981, a boy named Jack Sawyer stood where the water and the land came together, hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking out at the steady Pacific. He was twelve years old and extraordinarily beautiful for his age. His brown hair was long -- probably too long-- but the sea breeze swept it back from a fine, clear brow. He stood thinking of his mother, who was dying, and of friends, both absent and present, and worlds within worlds, running in their courses. I've come the distance he thought, and shivered. Coast to coast with Traveling Jack Sawyer. His eyes abruptly filled with tears. He breathed deeply of the salt. Here he was--and the Talisman was close by.
To those in the know, I'm on my yearly re-read of The Talisman.
If you have never read it...
Please, do yourself a favor, and find a copy and dive in.
Hell, first one of you who says they wanna read it and dont have a copy. Ill send you mine.