Drive

by Diana Wieler

  The back tires were still spinning when the realization hit me. That was my truck. My truck was in the ditch. Alarm shot through my numb body and I pushed up on my arms. I knew who had the keys.

  I staggered to my feet and stumbled over, my wooden legs gathering strength with every step. I charged down into the ditch into knee-deep snow and yanked open the driver’s door. Daniel threw up his arms.

  “Don’t hit me! I’m sorry!”

  “For God’s sake, are you hurt?”

  “No, I swear! Jens, I’m sorry.”

  It was all I could do to get him to turn off the engine and climb out of the cab. I tugged him over to the sheltered side of the truck, out of the wind, and for a minute we just leaned there, catching our breath. I couldn’t believe he’d come after me.

  “Daniel…why would you take the truck?”

  “You left me the keys. I saw you in the bar. As soon as the set was over, I ran out after you but I couldn’t catch up.”

  ”Scheisskopf! You could’ve been killed!”

  He was looking at me through narrowed eyes. “Why were you lying on the highway? You…scared me.”

  For a brief second I imagined it through my own eyes, that it was me driving, seeing him on the side of the road. I would have gone into the ditch, too.

  “I fell,” I said.

  “And you just lay there?!”

  It was all gone. The adrenaline and the alcohol and the panic – everything that was holding me up. I slumped against the truck, clinging to it. I wanted to go to sleep.

  “Jens, what’s the matter?”

  “I don’t feel so good,” I muttered. “You have to walk back, get a tow truck.”

  “No, you’re sick. I can’t leave you here.”

  “Just –”

  But he was gone, around the back. In a daze, I slid down the side of the truck to my knees. I felt the tremor as he opened the hatch, and other movements as he rattled around inside.

  Then he was back. I could see his runners in front of me, blue and black Nikes in the snow.

  “Jens, get up.” I could hear the alarm in his voice. “I cleared out a space. We’ll sleep in the truck.”

  I shook my head numbly.

  “It’s not as cold out of the wind. And we’ll share heat.”

  I didn’t answer. He grabbed my arm. “Get up! I mean it!”

  He couldn’t lift me, couldn’t even get me to my feet, but he was trying. Even now, after everything. The heat rushed to my face, scalded my eyes. I had nothing to give him anymore. I’d tried and tried but there was nothing I could do to make it up.

  “Damn it, Jens,” he muttered, struggling with me. “What’s the matter with you?!”

  “I treated you like shit.” The words tumbled out, thick and raw. “You trusted me and I just wanted you to hurt, to pay because I was so screwed up and you weren’t. And it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve any of it. I’d take it back if I could – every rotten day, I swear.” I touched my cold fingers to my burning forehead. “It’s okay to hate me. I hate me, too. But I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry.”

  I couldn’t get up, couldn’t even raise my head. All my life I’d been bigger than him.

  His runners were still. He’d stopped pulling on me. For an awful second there was nothing, only the sound of wind howling around the truck. At last he gripped the shoulder of my jacket, held it so tight I could feel his knuckles digging into me.

  “It’s okay, Jens.”

  Three words, but the relief flooded through me, almost swamped me in a wave. His Nikes were swimming in front of me.

  “Okay,” I whispered back. And I used his arm to pull myself up.

  NINETEEN

  I woke up warm. Daniel had wriggled over in his sleep, and now his back was against my shoulder. With our clothes and jackets and the sleeping bags and each other, we’d made it through the night. My face felt sunburned; I knew that was frostbite, but when I checked my fingers and toes I could move them easily. I’d gotten into the truck in time.

  And that’s when it sank in what I’d almost done. I was suddenly weak and shaken. Yeah, I’d been drunk and sick of myself, but I’d set out knowing I couldn’t walk to Thompson. I’d set out thinking only of myself, where I hurt.

  You’ve got a problem, Jens, I told myself. And I’d almost given it to my whole family, the people I loved most. I’d done some stupid and selfish things, but none came close to that. And there was no quick fix, nothing I could win or earn that would make me feel better the way I needed it – right now. All I could do was live it out day by day

  I could feel Daniel breathe, a faint vibration against my shoulder. Last night I’d told him he was going to be famous. He’d listened intently as I gave him the news about Home Grown. He had me repeat the phone call word for word, but he wasn’t as excited as I thought he’d be.

  I’d told him a lot – that I didn’t have a job anymore, or this truck or even a place to live. It was hard. I’d spent seven months building that cardboard man. I’d almost believed in him, too.

  All Daniel said was, “Come home. Dad won’t be mad.”

  “It’s not about Dad.” As soon as I said it, I knew it was true. Everything I’d done, everything I’d wanted, had been to make me feel better.

  “I need you to come home,” Daniel said quietly. “I can’t take it anymore. They’re on me all the time and…”

  “You’re their kid. They love you.”

  “But they’re just parents.”

  And I was his brother. It wasn’t like being a friend. We could hurt each other harder, or help each other more. Three words from him had made me feel almost new, as if I could start again.

  The windows of the box were tinted. I knew it was morning outside but I couldn’t move yet.

  I would be nineteen in seven days. My mother was hardly a year older than that when she’d had me. She’d been a kid. For a minute I just held that revelation, felt it fill up my chest. The things I’d done to Daniel had been on purpose, and he’d still forgiven me. I knew what it meant to get another chance.

  The air around me was dim and close.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” I whispered.

  At last I twisted onto my stomach and gently pushed the hatch door. We’d left it unlocked for air, but it was on a spring. It flew open, shaking the truck.

  Daniel flipped over, startled awake. He looked at me and then outside, blinking at the brilliant blue sky and melting snow.

  His guitars and amps were all on the side of the highway. As we loaded them back in, I was amazed that he would have risked this.

  He was inside the truck, finding space for the things I passed him.

  “Why don’t you use our name when you sing?” I said, hoisting up the big amp.

  He shuffled it tight against the guitar cases, to keep them from moving. I was holding my breath.

  “It’s no big deal,” he said finally. “Mom never talks about her family – I don’t know what their fight was about – but I think she misses them.”

  He jumped back onto the ground. “I just thought if maybe they heard their name, heard it like it was famous, they’d wonder. And maybe look for us, or be proud.”

  I was proud. I grabbed him suddenly around the shoulders in a hug.

  “What was that for?” Daniel said, surprised.

  “Because I don’t do cards,” I said.

  As we walked the highway back to The Pas, I wondered if he was the older brother and I had just been born first.

  We went to the cafe beside Rene’s Guitar Bar. From the cubicle in the entrance I made my first phone call, to have the truck towed in. I hadn’t noticed any damage but I wanted them to check anyway, once they got it to the garage. It’s the stuff you can’t see, like a bent frame, that can give you the most trouble.

  By the time I got back to the little window booth, Daniel had ordered breakfast. Two tall glasses, one orange juice and one water, were waiting for me. Everything ached. My joints felt like bones grinding i
nto bones. But there’s no quick fix for a hangover. Just time and liquids, and maybe aspirin.

  I drank the water, and then the juice. Daniel’s order came, one of those country breakfast specials – eggs and ham and hash browns, toast on the side. I was amazed to see that much food in front of him, but I remembered he hadn’t eaten at all yesterday.

  He was grinning at me. “You look like hell.”

  “Thanks. Feel it, too.”

  “You want something?”

  I shook my head. “I have to phone Dad.”

  “Yeah, you do,” he said as he began to cut up his fruit.

  I got change from the cashier. Right up until I dialed, I didn’t know which number I was going to punch in first.

  “Good morning, Five Star Ford,” Judi said brightly.

  “Judi, this is Jens.”

  Her voice dropped. “I’ll put you right through to Mr. Lahanni.”

  The line never rang, not even once. His deep voice was suddenly against my ear. “Jens, where’s my truck?”

  “It’s here with me in The Pas.”

  “Is it all right? Are you?”

  I hesitated. “It’s…getting checked out. There was a storm and I wound up in the ditch.”

  “If it’s driveable, just bring it in. Any work we’ll do in our shop.”

  “I’ll pay for it –”

  “Yes, you will.” He hesitated. “Jens, I want you to know, you were about two hours away from being charged with theft. I was giving you until noon.”

  I felt dizzy again, a pulse of nausea. I could see how close I’d been to the edge.

  “Maybe you think I’m being a hardass, but I like you, Jens,” Jack continued. “If I covered for you, you might get out too far.” I heard him sigh. “Believe me, that doesn’t help anybody.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Lahanni,” I said.

  I hung up and for a moment I just stood there, breathing. I had nothing to prop me up now, no big win to push me through. It was just me.

  My father answered.

  “Jens. My God, where are you? Where’s Daniel? We heard about the storm.”

  I told him we’d made it to The Pas, and that I’d put the truck in the ditch. No one was going to take the blame for that except me.

  “Were you drinking?”

  “Yes,” I said softly. I didn’t know how he knew. There was a silence that I just had to live through, hanging onto the phone, feeling small. My father didn’t help me. He only waited.

  “Dad, I screwed up so bad,” I blurted at last.

  I ran out of change. He had to phone me back. But I stuck it out and stayed there and I told him, even about Daniel and the tapes. Maybe I was getting us both in trouble but the problem with being honest is that once you start, it’s such a relief you don’t want to stop.

  “What are you going to do now, son?” he said finally. No pressure but I could feel him beside me, as if he was standing right there.

  “I…think I need to come home.”

  His breath rushed out. A sigh seemed to squeeze me around the shoulders. “Thank God.”

  We talked for a minute more, about where he would meet us in Winnipeg, and when.

  “Okay, see you tonight.” I hesitated. “Give my love to Mom.”

  I walked back to the table a lot lighter. I might never know for sure if he was my real dad. But I knew how I felt, and that was real.

  Daniel had not only finished his meal, he’d started a piece of pie. I laughed out loud. “Who could eat banana cream for breakfast?”

  “You,” he said, sliding the plate toward me.

  I looked at it. Home made, with real whipped cream, but I wasn’t hungry that way. I pushed the plate back at him.

  “Buck up. You’re building a garage this summer.”

  He rolled his eyes. It made me smile, I’m not even sure why. Maybe because I’d known he’d do it.

  “I’d better have some toast,” I said, signaling for the waitress. “I’m building a garage, too,”

  We walked the four blocks to the autobody place, jumping over puddles all the way. I still couldn’t believe how the weather had turned. The sun lit up windows and flashed on the cars as they passed us. There hadn’t been time to sand the streets. The Pas seemed to emerge wet and clean under our feet.

  Daniel was watching the sidewalk, maybe so he wouldn’t walk through water.

  “Tell me again,” he said, “everything Kruse told you.”

  I did, feeling a flutter between my ribs. In the daylight, it was exciting news.

  “Home Grown is small but they’re real,” I finished. “Think about it. You’re only sixteen. Who knows where this could go?”

  He nodded absently. I threw up my hands.

  “Daniel, you should be doing cartwheels! What’s the matter with you?”

  “I don’t like him, Jens. The guy’s…a weasel.”

  I knew that for a fact, but telling Daniel wouldn’t help him at this point.

  “He’s what you’ve got,” I said. “He’s the one who set up the deal. You’ve got to watch out, that’s all. Read the contract. Ask questions, and listen to the answers. Talk to other musicians, or write in to those magazines you read all the time. Find out what’s fair. This is your future,” I continued. “You’ve got to do the research.”

  He turned abruptly. “Why don’t you be my agent?”

  I stopped, too. Moments from the last three days seemed to leap back at me: flashing his tape in Starling, standing on my truck hood in Easton, handing out guitar picks – and getting them back. He’d been right that day. I did love it.

  “Because you’re the best new guitarist in the province and you deserve better than me,” I said. “I’m…a kid, Daniel. I don’t even know what I don’t know.”

  He opened his mouth and then shut it.

  “Besides,” I said, starting to walk again, “I’m going back to school. We both are.”

  For a minute there was only the sloshing sound as we tramped through a melting drift. Neither one of us would get out of this with dry feet.

  “But could you help me figure out what to ask?” he said finally.

  “Sure.”

  “And be there for the answers?” he said.

  “Well, yeah. That’s the interesting part.”

  “Okay.” Daniel was smiling to himself. My brother knew me.

  The truck’s front bumper had been pushed in and the oil pan was dented, but it’d make it back to the city.

  “Well, then you just owe me for the tow,” the mechanic said to me, adding up the taxes on a calculator. Daniel had his wallet open before the total, and he counted out the money almost proudly. He liked paying his own way. It reminded me that I’d liked it, too.

  I debated with myself as we walked out to the truck. I knew I could make an arrangement with the Five Star shop, whatever I wound up owing for repairs. But Mr. Delbeggio had to be dealt with as soon as possible. I took a breath.

  “Daniel –” I started.

  “Okay. How much?”

  I laughed with relief. “You’re way too easy with your money.”

  “Not really. I’m charging you seven percent on it.”

  “You shark!” I gave him a friendly shove. “Don’t I get a family rate?”

  “That is the family rate,” he said, grinning.

  What was left of the storm was drifted in the ditch, or gathered in the brush; I had a feeling it would be gone by afternoon. The highway was clear and almost dry, and I was glad to be on it. I couldn’t make this drive fast enough. But as we passed the city limits, I asked, “You want to stop in Easton?”

  Daniel shook his head no.

  “I hope your Rosetown bootleg isn’t going to get rich over this,” I said carefully.

  He looked at me. With two days’ stubble on his face and clothes he’d slept in, he looked rough. We both did.

  “You can talk to people, Jens. You don’t know what it’s like…”

  “To what? Be lonely?”

  “
Yeah.”

  “Right. And I’ve got a great job and my own apartment and a new truck, too.” I sighed. “Just because I can talk to strangers doesn’t make me a good…friend to anybody. Nobody dates me twice,” I admitted quietly.

  My eyes were on the road but I could feel him watching me. I’d spent a lot of time building that myth, too. Maybe all I could do was start again at the beginning. An idea came to me and I felt my face flush. The steering wheel was slippery under my hands. I hadn’t been nervous like this in a long time.

  “I was thinking maybe this summer I’d phone up Mona Perenthaler,” I said.

  “To go out?”

  I grinned. “No. To sell her a car.”

  Daniel’s hat was on the seat between us and he picked it up, started playing with it, flipping it over and over in his hands.

  “Chantel said we should write, so that’s what I’m going to do – write.” There was an odd slant in his voice, thoughtful but determined. “I figure yesterday was worth three, four songs, easy.”

  My shoulders relaxed, as if I’d put down something heavy. “I understand you need a guitar for that,” I said.

  He turned abruptly, his eyes lit up.

  “Can we make it to Mickey’s before they close?”

  “Oh, maybe,” I said, squeezing the accelerator. I’d let Daniel down a lot of times, but this wasn’t going to be one of them.

  I felt the familiar kick under my ribs as the truck surged forward, pushing the speed limit, nudging over it, the road and sky calling me to run. Maybe I would always love this – having somewhere to go and a reason to get there. I couldn’t believe it was a bad thing. It all depended on where I was headed, and who I took with me.

  I suddenly had to know.

  “What’s your favorite ice cream?”

  Daniel looked at me as if I was crazy. “What? Why?”

  “Come on, just tell me.”

  He thought about it for a second. “Orange sherbet. Why?”

  “Just wondering,” I said. “Mine’s Rocky Road.”

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Dan Frechette, a very talented young guitarist, singer and songwriter who generously shared his experiences and insight.