by Joshua Gayou
“Thanks,” Jake said, having climbed back onto the platform to stand next to me. He leaned closer to me to ensure that I would hear and said, “I didn’t know if they were going to buy that or not.”
I leaned over to him and said, “Fuck you, Jake. You believed what you said every bit as much as the rest of us.”
He pulled back and regarded me momentarily, perhaps wondering if he wanted to be offended. He apparently decided he was okay with it, as he nodded and returned his gaze to the small crowd of people whooping and hollering on the floor.
Overall, I think it ended up being a successful night, if not a little odd. Between the three of us (Jake, Amanda, and me) we had wondered how much resistance we were going to catch when we shared our plans for a road trip with everyone else…and what it would take to cut through it all. I was thankful that we wouldn’t have to discover the results of Jake giving up and just saying, “Fuck you all, we’re doing it.” You never want to pull heavy rank like that if you can help it.
Everyone got out there on the floor at one point or another that night and some of them stayed out there the whole damned evening. One of the biggest shocks for me was Amanda, or more specifically, how she moved. It was such a different aspect to her personality from what I was used to, having known her in my time there only as a serious, competent person. Well, let’s face it: if you spend any amount of time with these people you eventually figure out that Amanda is essentially Jake’s Hammer. In all my time living here in the commune, I’ve learned that Jake trusts and relies on her completely. He certainly trusts the rest of us as well, I’m sure, and there have been plenty of things for which he’s leaned on me to handle, but…well, let’s see. I’ll put it like this; if Jake thought it was a good idea to kill someone in their sleep, he wouldn’t ask me to do it. The only person he’d trust for a job like that would be Amanda.
Tonight, though, Amanda wasn’t Jake’s Hammer. She was just a woman who loved to dance, who dominated the floor and made everyone else appear shabby by comparison, even Rebecca, who could only manage a rough approximation of what the smaller woman achieved through instinct. Amanda had a way of moving, of getting low and growling with her body, that I’d simply never seen before. There were no choreographed steps that I could recognize, no easily identifiable patterns. She just closed her eyes and let go, like a creature responding to hereditary knowledge, and her entire body positively throbbed along the floor. Everyone in that room was thunderstruck by her movements; most of the men had to pick their jaws up off the floor. No one came close to her nor did they even look like trying. She was in a whole class by herself and the rest of us were rendered lacking in her presence.
I realized as I watched her gyrate everyone else to shame that there was a little pocket of immobility to the right of the crowd; George, Barbara, and Davidson sat out along the sidelines. The older folks were either giving their joints a bit of a break or they were just busy awaiting a better song, as the one that was currently playing was on the faster side. Davidson didn’t look right, though. He was young; practically a kid. He should have been out on the floor.
Looking at Jake, I said, “Back in a bit. Wallflower.”
He looked in the direction I indicated, seemed to understand, and gave me a thumbs-up. I jumped from the trailer and crossed the short distance to sit down next to Davidson along the wall.
“What gives?” I asked. “Why aren’t you partying?”
He shrugged and said, “I’ve never been much of a dancer. Not too good at it.”
I looked back into the crowd. Edgar was either doing some adaptation of the Chicken Dance or he was suffering a seizure and others, such as Wang and both of the Page brothers, appeared to rely on a minimalist strategy, basically standing rooted in place with their arms out and rocking slightly side to side like they were doing their best Snoop Dog impression.
Looking back at Davidson, I said, “You’re joking, right? You couldn’t possibly be any worse than the people out there right now…unless the only dance you know is some variant of the Russian Dick Stomping Cha-Cha.”
He honked in laughter, shaking his head but saying no more. The animation slowly died from his face and he looked back down at his hands while fidgeting with his fingers.
“Jesus H. Christ,” I said in dismay. I looked back at the crowd. Some people had paired off to dance together (I noticed Lizzy wouldn’t leave Ben’s side and seemed to be eyeing Rose suspiciously) but there were plenty out there dancing alone quite happily. I decided I’d have to take some drastic action.
“Here, look at this,” I said. “This shit ain’t that difficult. Watch me.”
Confirming I had his attention, I stood up and walked directly into the crowd, aiming straight for Rebecca without faltering. Rather than looking surprised as I approached, she favored me with that blinding, heart stopping smile of hers and shot me a mock salute.
“Hey, there, Sailor!” she said happily.
“Marine,” I barked. “I worked for a living.”
She laughed at that, which made me feel a little lightheaded and stupid, and said, “Fair enough: Marine. What can I do for you?”
“Need your help,” I shouted over the music, my voice barely audible to either of us. “Davidson’s smitten like a lost puppy. Said he’s been thinking about asking you to dance only he’s certain you’d turn him down on account of you’re waiting to be asked to dance by the sexiest man in the room.”
She almost doubled over laughing before she asked, “Yeah, and who would that be?”
“Come on, don’t make me say it. It’s embarrassing,” I shouted back. “It’s not my fault I’m such a specimen.” She continued to laugh so I pressed on. “Anyway, I think you must know that I’ve promised my heart to Barbara, only she seems to have chained herself to George for some unknown reason; maybe they’re trading home remedies for arthritis or something. The point is I need your help to make my girl a little jealous and maybe show Davidson that you’re probably a human like the rest of us. What do you say? We just waltz over there and I’ll dump you off before you have the chance to become addicted to my raw animal magnetism?”
She laughed harder than I’d thought she would, causing me to wonder if I should feel a little offended. When she finally came back under control, she said, “Well, only since you asked so nicely. Also, I don’t think I can stand the idea of George coming between you and your true love.”
“Right? What a jerk, huh?”
She looked back over her shoulder at Davidson and a satisfied, mischievous grin spread slowly across her mouth. I’d seen looks like that before. They usually preceded wild, head-first dives followed by sudden stops right at the end, with no parachute or crash helmet to be had.
“Hey,” I warned. “The kid’s my friend. Don’t break him, okay?”
She looked back at me with a hurt expression; a genuinely hurt expression, she wasn’t putting on an act this time, and shouted, “He’s my friend too, Gibs.”
Feeling a little guilty, I backpedaled. “Okay, I know. You’re right. Sorry.”
She seemed to accept the olive branch, nodding once with a hard jerk, and said, “Well, get me over there, big guy.”
I put my arms around her and got moving; holding her like a brother holds his sister to ensure that the wrong signals weren’t sent out to anyone who happened to be watching. As we came closer to Davidson, who watched us openly with a lost, forlorn expression, I shouted a “Sorry!” into Rebecca’s ear right before reversing my grip on her arm, pivoting on my heel, and snapping her out into open air like she was a wet towel that I was using to whip a buddy’s ass. She got about one and a half revolutions before she tilted too far in one direction but my aim was good and she tumbled right into Davidson’s lap, laughing harder than at any other point that evening. The kid’s face went beet red as he sat there stuttering like an asshole and I began to fear that the putz was about to blow my epic setup. Fortunately, Rebecca decided to take mercy on him; she just grabbed him by
the hand and bodily yanked him up out of his chair and dragged his ass onto the floor like he was a cave bitch. It was about as good as I could hope for, all things considered.
I sat down in his place next to Barbara, who was laughing uncontrollably and clapping her hands. She shouted, “Oh my God, I never thought he was going to get out there with her! Thank heavens you came along!”
“Yeah, well, sometimes nature needs a kick in the pants, you know?”
She nodded happily and gave me a playful elbow to the ribs.
“How about you,” I asked. “Think I can pull you away from this chair long enough to make a circuit around the garage?”
She screwed up her face and shook her head. “Let’s give it a while. This stuff is too fast for me.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said, looking back at Davidson as he struggled to keep up with Rebecca, who was still smiling and seemed to be having a grand old time, thank Christ.
I got Jake’s attention up on the stage by waving at him. He shot me a “what?” head nod, so I pointed at my ear and then made a slow-down gesture with my hand. He returned an exaggerated nod and began shuffling through CD cases.
I looked back at Barbara and said, “Okay, I think we’re covered.” She smiled and tapped her foot.
Eventually, the song that was playing faded out and the music stopped entirely as Jake swapped CDs out of the player. He pressed a few buttons, waited a few seconds, and then pressed one more before straightening up and looking back at me. Almost instantly, a slow and simple guitar riff faded in while being backed by a lap steel guitar, instantly recognizable. I was unable to stop the world’s biggest shit eating grin from breaking over my face as I nodded back to Jake, grabbed Barbara by the hand, and said, “This’ll do,” as I helped her up from the seat. We got out onto the floor along with everyone else, all of our friends pairing off and calming down to a warm, happy, mellow. Over the speakers, the voice of Don Williams issued forth as he sang I Believe In You.
“Oh, my God, I haven’t heard this song in ages,” Barbara laughed.
“Me either,” I said. “It was my mom’s favorite.”
“She had good taste.”
“Maybe,” I said. “My dad was a bit of a…well, he left a lot to be desired.”
She frowned and said, “I’m sorry to hear that. Still, she raised you up. She got some things right.”
Let’s hope so, I thought. The discussion died down for a bit and we just concentrated on moving around, me taking it easy owing to Barbara’s older age and weaker bones. Don’t get me wrong; she moved well at her age but you could tell the old girl had a bit of a hitch in her get-along. One person on a cane was enough as far as I was concerned. I didn’t need to do something stupid and make that two people.
I looked out over the crowd as the song played out, saying the words to myself in my head and discovering with some small amount of joyful surprise that I still remembered them all. Amanda appeared to be taking a break by the food table, getting a bite to eat. Oscar came over to say something to her and she looked back toward the stage, mild concern showing in her eyes. She looked back at Oscar, smiled, and shook her head politely. He held a hand up to her, palm out, and nodded before backing away.
“Huh,” I said. “Some people can only move fast, I guess.”
“What’s that?” asked Barbara.
I smiled at her and said, “Nothing.”
25 – Weaponized Super Duty
Gibs
Per Jake’s suggestion, I selected my team based on factors such as ability, group need, and group dynamics. As far as ability was concerned, I needed to use people who had demonstrated solid aptitude with regard to small arms training and fire team tactics. This didn’t mean I just got to grab the best of everyone, though. As I said, the needs of the mission had to be weighed against overall group need, or rather the needs of the entire commune. I couldn’t take Amanda, for example; she had proven to be the best gunfighter after me, mostly due to my years of experience…she certainly wasn’t lacking in killer instinct. At any rate, I wanted her to stay back and keep an eye on things. Oscar and Fred couldn’t go either; they had way too much work to do back at the valley.
After careful consideration, I selected Davidson, Wang, and, after a great deal or argument with some of the others, Greg to accompany me. They had all come along nicely with a rifle, the community wouldn’t take too bad of a hit for their absence, and the four of us worked pretty well together. Every one of them agreed to come along without the slightest hesitation.
Greg was a hard choice for me to accept; I originally argued with Jake that I’d do just fine with only two other people, which he vetoed outright. Greg wasn’t even eighteen yet at the time; younger than Kyle was when I’d lost him. He reminded me too much of Kyle…reminded me too much that I couldn’t keep people protected.
The decision was finally settled when Jake made it clear that, one way or another, there were four people going on that trip and I’d better get busy selecting the last person for the team before I completely pissed away our time. I was in the process of talking myself into taking Monica, who I also didn’t like for the fact that she had a daughter depending on her, when Greg apparently got wind of the discussion and informed me in no uncertain terms that I was gonna have to break his legs to keep him from coming along. I had a hard time saying no to that kind of resolve. I finally agreed and shook with him on the matter, though it twisted my stomach into knots to do so.
It was thus that the day after our little barn dance, the four of us stood in the dining area of the cabin accompanied by Jake, Amanda, Otis, and George with several fold-out maps spread across the dinner table. These showed the states of Utah and Nevada at various levels of detail, some of them focusing just on the interstate highways while others dived into specific detail along areas such as Salt Lake City and Las Vegas, with additional street maps covering some of the cities in between. We had attempted to arrange a number of these in such a way that the interstates matched up, succeeding only some of the time but getting close enough that we could at least get a general idea of spatial relationships. We had a red Sharpie marker that kept getting passed between Jake, Amanda, and Otis as they recalled important land marks, particularly bad traffic snarls, and other points of interest to avoid.
Jake was bent over the table while gesturing excitedly with his index card reading aid; a basic three-by-five card with a small hole punched out of its center. He always had this with him when there was reading to be done, either keeping it in his back pocket or folded in a book as a place marker. He used the thing like some sort of cheat code. The first time I saw him use it I was completely confused at what was going on; he laid the card over the page and started moving it slowly from left to right, lips silently moving as the card progressed. After a moment, I realized he was looking through the little hole like it was a window, so I asked him what it was all about.
To use his words, he’d explained that, “Text has always been a problem for me. Letters alone on a page don’t bother me and I can read my alphabet just fine, but when they get all jammed together into words, my mind starts to do funny things to them. It all falls into so much noise and the meaning becomes lost.”
He said that he noticed at a young age that using his finger to point out one letter at a time helped but not so much that it eliminated the problem entirely. He could still see those other letters and if he got distracted (in other words, he wasn’t able to keep one hundred percent of his attention locked on that single letter) all of the surrounding letters would collapse together and he’d have to start over at the beginning of the word. Sometime later in his life, he figured out that he could cut a hole in a small piece of paper and move it over a page, such that he could limit his view to a single letter at a time, which had alleviated much of his troubles. After that, all he had to do was learn which letters went with which words.
Apparently, that’s not as easy as it sounds. According to Jake, the average person is a
visual reader; we see a word on a page and we don’t actually notice the individual characters. Our brains recognize the complete pattern of the word and we automatically understand the meaning. Its instantaneous recognition and translation is automatic. In Jake’s case, that pattern recognition is completely broken, so he had to memorize the series of letters that goes along with each idea or concept. The really fucked up thing is that, the way he explains it, he has to concentrate on the sound of the letters and map that information to the sound of the word; again his visual understanding of a word is just broken. So what that all really means is that while we map word patterns to concepts, Jake is busy mapping letter sounds to word sounds to concepts manually by taking in a single letter at a time.
If it sounds exhausting, that’s because it is; you can probably appreciate why it takes him so damned long to read anything. It becomes even more shocking when you realize just how much reading he does. I don’t know where the man finds the time, personally.
So, all that is to say that Jake was basically pointing at the maps with his combination Rosetta Stone and decoder ring.
“Your trip is just the reverse of what we did when we first came to the Valley,” Jake explained. “You’ll eventually pick up the 80, here, but don’t try to take it into Salt Lake City; the whole area is a nightmare. Take the 189 at this point here, which will eventually run you into the 15…here. You’ll then have to head north to get to the 73, which will take you out to the tent city out at Cedar Fort. That’s the path you went, Otis, correct?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he agreed. “You’ll catch some knots here and there, but ain’t nothin’ you can’t get around with that Ford.”