The Driving Lesson

by Ben Rehder

  He paused, but I didn’t say anything. I was pretty sure I understood what he meant. And I happened to agree with him. At least about one of my parents.

  When Opa continued, he’d switched gears. “I do feel quite a bit better than I did a few hours ago. I don’t know if it will last, but I hope it does. So here’s what we’ll do. You go back to your friend and return those pills. Then, on your way back, see if you can find a drug store and get some good migraine medicine. Extra strength. Then we’ll wait and see how I feel tomorrow morning.”

  Yes!

  “So we’ll stay here another night?” I hadn’t expected that part, but I had no problem with it. You can probably guess where my mind was going.

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Are you hungry?” I sure was.

  “At the moment, yeah. For some reason, I have a craving for fast food. French fries. I don’t ever eat that junk.”

  “You want me to get some?”

  “Yeah, why not. A greasy burger every once in awhile isn’t a big deal. But before you go, there’s something else I want to do. Something we should’ve done a few days ago.”

  “What?”

  I noticed that the smirk was back on his face. He was up to something. He grabbed the pushbutton phone off the nightstand.

  14

  If we could’ve gone online, it would’ve been a lot easier to track down the number we needed. There was a phone book in the nightstand drawer, but it was for local numbers only, so it wasn’t any help. So we had to do things the hard way. The long way. The way people did things before the Internet.

  Opa started by dialing the number for Information. I was this close to laughing. I couldn’t believe he was doing this. It made me nervous, like you feel when you make a prank phone call. I could only hear one side of the conversation.

  Opa said, “I need the number for CNN, please...Yes, in Atlanta, Georgia.” A few seconds later, he wrote the number on a notepad. “Thank you.” He hung up and dialed the number. Waited. Then he had to push a button on the keypad. Then another button...and another button. He was navigating through a voice menu system. Then, finally, he said, “My name is Henry Dunbar. I’m trying to reach Rudi Villarreal. It’s very important.”

  It took a solid fifteen minutes — during which time Opa had to repeat himself to about a dozen different people, most of whom didn’t seem to believe a word he was saying — but he was finally put on the line with Rudi Villarreal’s assistant, or her producer, or her producer’s assistant, or something like that.

  Then Opa totally and completely freaked me out by handing the phone to me.

  “What’re you doing?” I asked.

  “Talk to her.”

  “About what?”

  “Just talk to her. Quick, before she hangs up. You’ll know what to say.”

  I held the phone to my year. “Uh, hello?”

  “Who is this?” It sounded like a young woman.

  “Charlie Dunbar.”

  “Right. We’ve gotten about three hundred calls from Charlie Dunbar in the past two days. What’s your middle name?” She had a midwestern accent and not much patience.

  “Philip.”

  “This home you broke into on Saturday — where is it?”

  She was testing me to make sure I really was Charlie Dunbar, but she didn’t have to be a bitch about it. “We didn’t break in. The front door was open. It’s on a street called LaSalle.”

  “Yeah, okay. What did your friend Matt take from the house?”

  How would she know the answer to that question? Then I realized CNN had probably gained access to police reports. But the answer itself was so insignificant, it was doubtful any of the news networks would have mentioned it. So, for her purposes, it was a perfect question.

  “A cordless drill,” I said. Then I added, “Blue. Eighteen-volt model.”

  The next words out of her mouth could have come from a different person. That’s how much her tone changed. Much nicer. “Charlie. Okay. My name is Eileen. Sorry I doubted you. It’s just that we’ve had all kinds of nutcases calling us.”

  “That’s okay. I understand.”

  Eileen didn’t even bother asking why I called, or maybe she didn’t care, but she sure didn’t waste any time with small talk. “You know what I’d love to do? I’d love to put you on the air right now. Live. Are you up for that?”

  “Right now?”

  “Well, right after the next break. Six minutes. Rudi is in the middle of her shift and I’m sure she’d have a bunch of questions for you.”

  “I don’t think I want to do that. I don’t want to go on the air.”

  “It’s not a big deal, Charlie. No different than talking to me on the phone right now.” She was trying to sound all reassuring and convincing.

  “No, I’d rather not.”

  “Okay, well, can I ask you some questions and record it for the program?”

  I thought about it. “That would be okay.”

  “Great. Give me just a few seconds. Hang on.”

  Eileen put me on hold and I heard some cheesy music. But it didn’t take long. She was back in less than a minute, and she picked up right where she’d left off, firing away with her first question.

  “Charlie, where are you right now?”

  “Uh...”

  “Just kidding. Can you tell us where you and your grandfather are headed?”

  “I’d better not.”

  “But it’s the northwest, right? Without getting specific.”

  I said, “No comment.” I’d seen people say that on the news.

  She laughed. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying. So how are you doing? I mean, in general. Emotionally, physically.”

  “I’m doing fine. It’s been a long trip, but it’s important and I’m glad we’re doing it.”

  I was pretty sure I could hear somebody else talking to her. Maybe several people, like she had a couple of co-workers in the room with her, suggesting questions.

  She said, “How is your grandfather’s health?”

  “I’d rather not talk about that. I don’t think that’s anyone’s business.”

  “Fair enough. It has to be difficult for a boy of your age to deal with all the responsibility that’s been placed on your shoulders.”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Charlie, you do understand why your grandfather is going on this trip, right?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well, what I’m saying is, it must be hard to know that you’re helping your grandfather make that kind of journey. A lot of kids wouldn’t be comfortable with that. There are some people who think it’s very irresponsible for your grandfather to have taken you along.”

  I was starting to get mad. “Look. My grandfather is sick. Everybody knows that. What he decides to do as far as doctors and treatment and all that — that’s his business. Not yours, not mine, or anybody else’s. But I know he needs me right now, and I love him, and that’s why I’m here. If the tables were turned, he would do the exact same thing for me.”

  She didn’t miss a beat. “What about your parents? They didn’t give you permission to go on this trip. They’re pretty upset.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. Not that I didn’t have plenty of thoughts running through my head. I most definitely did. What I wanted to say was, “My parents aren’t upset because I went on a trip with my grandfather; they’re upset because they think he shouldn’t be going to see the doctor in Seattle. They can’t imagine why he’d make a decision like that, so they haven’t spent a single minute looking at things from his point of view. Instead of trying to understand why he’s doing this, all they’ve done is try to come up with reasons why he’s wrong. That doesn’t seem fair to me at all. It’s his life, and it’s his decision. The rest of us should butt out.”

  Of course, I didn’t say any of that. Maybe I’d give that speech later, directly to my parents, or maybe I wouldn’t, but I couldn’t say it now, to a nationa
l audience. Instead, what I said was, “No comment.”

  I was really, really hoping Michele would be at the pool again when I went outside. That would’ve made things a lot easier.

  But she wasn’t.

  So how was I going to get the medicine back to her? I didn’t think it would be smart to just walk right up to the door and knock. Not with her mother there. Talking to a librarian, or smiling at a couple of old ladies at the Grand Canyon — that was as far as I was willing to push my luck. After all, Michele’s mom, if she was like most moms, would be curious about this new boy hanging around her daughter. She’d ask me questions and really check me out, and that meant she might recognize me. My experience with Michele had taught me that I was still recognizable, even with my buzz haircut.

  So how was I going to do it?

  Knock on her bedroom window? Not a chance. I could be mistaken as a peeping Tom or a burglar.

  I couldn’t call or text her, because I didn’t know her number, and even if I did, I couldn’t use my cell phone. So even if I knew her number, I’d have to use a pay phone, if I could find one.

  But wait. Now I had a different idea. I couldn’t call her, no, but I could call someone else. Someone who could get on Facebook, find Michele’s page, and contact her for me.

  Matt.

  “Dude, you are sick! I’ve been going crazy! Why haven’t you called me? They’re playing you on CNN right now! Everybody’s talking about it! Where are you?”

  “If I tell you, you can’t tell anyone.”

  “I won’t.”

  I’d managed to find a pay phone in a convenience store parking lot near the interstate. “I’m serious, Matt. You hear me? You can’t tell a single person.” I really didn’t want to tell him where we were, but he’d figure it out anyway when I asked him to get on Facebook to find Michele Macon. Her hometown would be listed.

  “I promise,” he said.

  “Salt Lake City.”

  “You’re in Nevada?”

  “Utah, you moron.”

  “I meant Utah. Are you going to Seattle, like everybody’s saying?”

  I hated to lie to him, but he wasn’t the best at keeping secrets. I was willing to tell him where we were right now, because we’d be leaving in the morning, but telling him where we were going — that was something else entirely. “I don’t know yet. We might go to Portland instead, or maybe even Spokane. Opa hasn’t decided. He even mentioned Eugene. Says that’s a really nice area.”

  Matt changed the subject abruptly and launched into a long-winded story of everything that had happened to him since I’d left. This was when I learned about his run-in with Cathy Abbott’s wrestler boyfriend, all the details about how he’d been arrested and spent the night in jail, and why he’d finally broken down the next morning and told the cops I’d been with him when he took the drill. “That way, the guy who owned the drill wouldn’t press charges. It seemed like we’d both get in less trouble that way,” Matt said, sounding apologetic.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Besides, with everything that’s going on, I don’t think I’m gonna get in much trouble now. You sorta provided a big distraction, taking off with your grandpa. I think my parents are secretly thrilled that all I did was take a drill.”

  I didn’t know whether to feel good or bad about that. It was starting to occur to me that each of my friends and their family members would have an opinion about what Opa and I were doing. Some of them would support us, but some of them — maybe a lot of them — would feel the same way as my parents about this situation. I didn’t like thinking about that, so I said, “Where are you right now?”

  “In my room. I’m grounded ‘for the foreseeable future,’ is what my dad said.”

  “Did they take away your computer?”

  “No, thank God. I’d be going crazy. But my mom’s always coming in and poking around, to see what I’m doing. So I’ve got it set for private browsing. She has no clue what that is.”

  “I need you to get on Facebook.”

  He laughed. “I’m not supposed to.”

  “But you will, right?”

  “Of course, because my mom’s not here right now. Why am I getting on Facebook?”

  I told him I needed him to find Michele Macon in Salt Lake City.

  “Who is she?”

  “Just a girl.”

  I could hear him typing away. Then he said, “Whoa. A hot girl.”

  “What does she look like?”

  “Wait, I thought you knew her.”

  “I do, but I want to make absolutely sure it’s the same one.”

  “Okay, well, she’s about our age, with blond hair. And she’s hot.”

  “You already said that.” I waited as he looked at her profile. He didn’t say anything for awhile, so I said, “Does she have a brother named Tim?”

  “Hold on.”

  I held on.

  “Yeah, she does.”

  “Okay, that’s her. I need you to send her a message.”

  “Oh, this is funny. I just noticed that her status says, ‘Met someone famous today. Can’t tell you who. But he’s cute.’ Is she talking about you?”

  15

  I hung around the parking lot and started scoping out the vehicles stopping at the convenience store. Most of the vehicles were cars, not trucks, and a lot of the drivers looked like locals who were just stopping to buy cigarettes or fill up with gas. The trucks I did see all had Utah license plates.

  Then, finally, an old Ford F-150 with Wyoming plates pulled in and parked in front of the store. I watched the driver hop out and go inside. I wished I could follow him inside and strike up a casual conversation. Maybe find out where he was going. Was he on his way back to Wyoming? But, again, I couldn’t take that chance. I needed to keep my interaction with people at a bare minimum. Besides, the convenience store was right on the interstate, so the odds were pretty good that this man was traveling.

  I’d already taken Opa’s cell phone out of the packaging earlier, so now I pulled the phone out of my pocket and turned it on as I approached the man’s truck. When I got within ten feet, I could see that the bed of the truck had all sorts of junk in it. Some old tires and pieces of scrap lumber. Perfect.

  I walked along the side of the truck and, in a very quick move, without slowing down, I stuck the phone inside one of the old tires. I was pretty slick about it. Nobody saw me. Then I walked around the front of the truck and went into the store.

  There was a middle-aged lady behind the counter, but she was busy with a customer, so she didn’t look my way. I found the aisle with a small selection of medicine and picked out some extra-strength migraine tablets. A large bottle. The price was nearly eight dollars. Then I grabbed a candy bar.

  When I went to pay, the guy from Wyoming was at the counter, buying a six-pack of Mountain Dew and a king-sized bag of almonds. After he left, I placed my items on the counter.

  “Ooh boy, I hope you ain’t got a bad one,” the cashier lady said as she rang the items up. She had a voice like a shovel being dragged on pavement.

  “Huh?” I was busy watching the guy from Wyoming get into his F-150.

  She shook the bottle. “Migraine. I get ’em myself. Worse than giving birth. Eeyow.” She let out a really big, shrieky laugh, and I saw that several of her teeth were missing. And now, up close, I could see that her face was pretty wrinkly. She was older than I first thought, or she’d spent too much time in the sun.

  “They’re for my mother,” I said. I looked out the window again. The F-150 was pulling onto the access road.

  The cashier said, “Aw, you’re a sweet kid, takin’ care of your momma,” and as she looked at me, her eyebrows furrowed. “You come in here before?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I live a few blocks away.”

  She was nodding. “Yeah, I thought you looked familiar. I reco’nize most of my customers.”

  Another glance out the window. The F-150 was pulling up the ramp, onto the interstate. Exa
ctly what I had hoped to see. I wondered how far he would make it before the cops tracked him down.

  “Watcha wanna do,” the lady said, “is give your momma some peace and quiet. Maybe slip her a glass of whiskey, then stay outta her hair for a few hours. She’ll be good as new.” She winked at me and let out another shriek.

  I stopped at a Radio Shack in a strip center and bought another prepaid cell phone — paying with cash. Then I stopped at a McDonald’s and got four Big Macs and four large fries to go. I hoped Opa was still hungry. I’d noticed he hadn’t eaten as much in the past day or so. I guess his stomach wasn’t feeling well, which was why he’d thrown up this morning.

  When I got back to the motel — by now it was almost two in the afternoon — he was sitting up in bed, reading a book. CNN was still on the TV. “You’re the top story. They’ve been playing your interview every ten or fifteen minutes,” he said. “Of course, they’ll get tired of that, just like everything else. The attention span of the American public is a pitiful thing. How’d it go?”

  I handed him the migraine pills.

  “Perfect. Thank you.”

  I handed him the bulging bag from McDonald’s.

  “I can’t tell you how good that smells,” he said, shaking his head like it was a strange occurrence. Funny, because fast food always smells good to me, even after I’m stuffed.

  Opa handed me a Big Mac. As he unwrapped one for himself, he said, “What about the girl?”

  “Michele.”

  “Right. Did you get that sorted out?”

  “I’m meeting her tonight.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Tonight, huh?”

  I sat on a bench near the sand volleyball pit and waited. This place was called Jordan Park, and it was about a ten-minute walk from the motel, sort of in the direction of Michele’s house, but a little to the south.

  There weren’t many people around. Nobody was playing volleyball. I’d passed a baseball field, but nobody was playing there, either. Of course, it was a Thursday evening. Things were probably a little livelier around here on the weekend. I’d seen one guy walking two enormous Great Danes. Long shadows were creeping across the ground, but there was still at least an hour of light left.