Swinging Beef

by Lolita Davis

so it takes extra care to drive this load." He continued describing the cab, sweeping his arm, pointing at different items like he was on the Price Is Right. The cab looked like the cockpit of an airplane. There were buttons and dials and knobs everywhere. He fiddled with a dial on the CB radio until he got some static. A voice blared from the black box.

  "Better slow 'er down. There's a smokey up ahead about five miles." The message appeared to be coming from a trucker coming toward us in a silver Kenworth.

  "This is Wiley Coyote. Much obliged for the heads-up. You're clear for at least 20 miles so nothing to worry about." As they passed each other, the two truckers waved hello.

  "Why did you chose Wiley Coyote as your handle?" I asked, wondering about his CB moniker.

  "Well, I used to go by Cookie Monster, like a lot of truckers. But about a year ago a guy was looking for a trucker named Cookie Monster because he got the guy's daughter pregnant. He was hopping mad and loaded for bear. I didn't do it but I didn't want any trouble. So I changed my handle to Wiley Coyote."

  He went on to fill in more of his history. Before becoming a trucker, Wiley had attended dental school in Chicago. He said he liked the program but after a few months, realized working in an office wasn't right for him.

  "I couldn't handle being cooped up inside all day. It drove me crazy so I got out. He smiled from ear to ear showing a full set of perfectly straight white teeth. "But at least I got my teeth fixed." As testimony, he stuck his chin forward and pushed his flipper in and out with his tongue.

  This sent Kayana into a fit of laughter. I knew about false teeth because of my own front tooth being capped thanks to Andy Worthington pushing me down on the asphalt in the first grade, knocking out my front tooth, but I'd never seen false teeth that could came out so easily. Wiley flipped his teeth in and out a few more times until Kayana begged him to stop or he would pee his pants. After catching his breath, Kayana started talking about himself. He had moved from Hawaii to the mainland right after graduation.

  My full name is Li'i Kāne. It means "little man" and it's pronounced kay'ah-nay'. Now I just go by Kayana. I loved growing up in Hawaii; my family is still there. But I couldn't stand it no more; got island fever really bad because Oahu is only about 60 miles by 40 miles. Plus I wanted to see snow. I'd seen it on TV and wanted to feel it, make snowballs. Oh sure, the weather in Hawaii is great, but it's the same weather every stinking day. There are no seasons. Dis here is da life for me. Driving across da United States and seeing mountains and rivers and flatlands...I love it. It's a great life. Being a trucker is perfect for me."

  The more he talked, the more excited he got. He was positively bristling with happiness. I half expected him to break out singing "America The Beautiful." Instead he abruptly turned around and asked me where I was from.

  "Iowa," was my short answer. Since the last year and a half included the suicide of my brother, the death of my mother and my dad marrying a stranger with four kids, I didn't feel much like elaborating on that part of my life. Then he asked what I was doing in South Carolina. Now that was a story worth sharing. I told them about getting on a traveling magazine crew, how a cop picked me up and I landed in jail where I learned how to roll cigarettes. Since I had lived through it and came out fairly unscathed, I could laugh about it. We continued on, swapping stories for hours; the guys sharing their experiences on the road, me telling stories of people I met while hitchhiking. The time and the miles just flew by. North to Nashville, St. Louis, then west past Kansas City. Sunlight changed to twilight then no light. Night stretched out forever with headlights and white city lights punctuating the black less and less often. We stopped for a quick bite, then got back on the road with Kayana behind the wheel.

  Traffic was getting sparse; so was the conversation. Kayana concentrated on driving so Wiley and I talked, with him doing most of the talking. His deep voice was soothing. While he talked, I focused on his face. He was good looking, about 5'10", medium build and had an easy way about him. His shirt did a good job of outlining his muscular biceps and chest. Just the type of guy I liked. My mind started to wander. I wondered if his short beard was soft or coarse. Ummm, a fine looking man. Oh no, did I say that out loud? Hope not. If I did, he didn't show any sign of hearing it. The combination of the swaying truck and Wiley 's voice made my eyes glaze over. I needed to rest.

  "Do you mind if I lay down back here? I'm a little tired."

  Wiley said, "Sure. That's fine. You know, I'm kind of tired myself. There's room for two back there. Would you mind if I came back and caught a few zzz's?"

  "Sure, come on back." I scooted toward the back of the sleeper, making room for him. He crawled over the front seat and lay down next to me. The closeness of his solid body made my breath come quickly. He turned and closed the curtain that separated the sleeper from the cab. We laid motionless for a while then I felt his beard on my neck. Soft. His beard was soft. He nuzzled me for a while, then kissed my neck. I pressed into him. Oh, he felt good. It had been a while since I'd been with a man. Tonight it was time to break the dry spell. I turned toward him and we were all over each other. What a difference a night makes. Last night sleeping on the floor in a jail in South Carolina, tonight making love with a gorgeous man on my way to California. We explored each other's body as much as the small sleeper would allow, time and time again until we fell asleep, our bodies entwined.

  A voice broke through my dreams. I heard the word "breakfast" and felt Wiley move ever so slightly. He turned his head to face mine and kissed me softly on the lips. I snuggled closer but he pulled his mouth down to make a sad face and said he had to get dressed. He kissed me again, pulled on his clothes then crawled into the front seat. I lay there for a while, reliving his every touch. Finally I got dressed and opened the curtain. I greeted Kayana with a cheery "good morning." There would be no walk of shame this morning; there was nowhere to walk.

  Kayana had stopped at a truck stop just outside Dillon, Colorado on I-70. He was hungry and ready for a break from driving. We chowed down on a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, homemade corned beef hash, peasant potatoes, juice and coffee. I don't know if everything tasted so good because I was in a great mood or because I hadn't eaten anything decent for two days. While the guys talked business, I walked around, checking out the rest of the place. Seeing a small red car in the parking lot dislodged some memories from their place in my brain and were crying out for attention. It reminded me of our red ’64 Valiant Dad bought as a second family car. When my brother, John, drove me to school he cranked up the radio, especially during a certain Ferrari commercial. When that ad played, that push-button, 6-cylinder sensible car that topped out at 70 mph became a hotrod, complete with squealing tires. That car transformed into a Formula One race car and John was a stunt driver. He'd peel out at the one red light in town. When it snowed, he pulled donuts in the parking lot at school. He was always pushing the envelope. Just being with John made my life happier. He was gone now and Dad sold the car. I had to find other ways to make my own joy.

  The movie of that memory was over so I turned my attention back to the present. The restaurant was packed. There were husky guys, little guys and a spattering of women; a combination of truckers and locals. Adjoining the eating area was a store that sold all sorts of things - shot glasses, aspirin, Mudflap Girl playing cards, postcards, maps. I had seen pretty much everything before except one thing - a jackalope head mounted on a plaque. It was a cross between a jackrabbit and an antelope. Something new. We didn't have any of those in Iowa. While looking for other possible new discoveries, my peripheral vision caught a sign saying "Showers for Truckers." A shower is something else I hadn't had for 48 hours. I hurried back to our table and asked Wiley if I could take a shower.

  "We have a few more things to take care of, so go ahead. If you want to wait, I'll join you." He smiled and winked at his la
st remark. I felt my body heat rising. Better make mine a cold shower. After we three had showered (separately) and bought some munchies for the road, we headed back to the truck.

  Wiley checked his watch, then announced, "The mountain roads are good. Nobody coming from the west experienced problems with ice or snow. It's just over seven hours to Salt Lake. It's nine now, so that puts us there around four in the afternoon. We're making good time."

 

  He headed for the driver's side. Kayana stifled a yawn long enough to get in and lay down in the sleeper. I swung up and into the cab like I'd been doing it for years. Kayana was almost asleep, so I wished him pleasant dreams and closed the curtain. About 15 minutes down the road, a steady snore droned from the sleeper. Poor little guy was tuckered out.

  Up front, the mood was happy and our conversation had a more personal flavor than yesterday. Wiley talked about his family (parents still together, one sister and one brother) and his roots (Lincoln Park - a suburb of Chicago). He told me his