Dupree's Rebirth

by Micheal Maxwell

  “How’d that work out?” Dupree was genuinely interested.

  “Been married thirty-two years. It’s been rocky along the way but we haven’t killed each other yet!” Larry’s tone changed to one of deep affection.

  “What’s your secret?”

  “Well, for beginners my wife is a churchwoman. That takes care of a lot of problems. No drinkin’, drugs, runnin’ around. I respect her and she respects me. Don’t get me wrong, we been through some deep water.”

  “Like what, if you don’t mind sharing?”

  The trucker sensed that Dupree wasn’t being nosy. He was looking for answers. Larry took a deep breath and looked over at Dupree. He saw the man sitting beside him looking at him like he was the Dali Lama.

  “We tried real hard to have a baby for the first four or five years we were married. It just wasn’t meant to be. So we adopted a baby boy, called him Aaron, after my wife’s brother. Got him when he was six hours old. Right from the jump, I knew there was something not right about that kid.

  “He was mean, even as a baby he would hit, scratch and bite his mother. She was patient and loved that boy with all her heart. She just would say, ‘He’s going through a phase.’ I knew better.

  “When he went to school he’d hit the other kids, girls included, he stole stuff and would tear up other kid’s work and hide it in the trash can. My wife was forever going to the school. The older he got, the worse he got.

  “Then when he was in the second grade we found out my wife was pregnant! Can you believe it? Guess that’s what happens when you’re not tryin’. The boy hit her in the belly one day, hard. It was all I could do to keep from killing him.”

  “Did you hit him?” Dupree’s thinking kicked into defense lawyer mode.

  “Not with my hand, my belt. Worked for me, that’s what my dad did to all of us kids when we got out of line. He seemed to settle down a bit after that. I thought I showed him who was in charge.

  “In ’93 we had our little Sandy, our angel. She’s my princess. I love that kid to death. She’s twenty-three now. In ’95 Andrew was born. Wait, I’m getting off track here,” Larry smiled.

  “Then, in eighth grade Aaron discovered weed. He started running with the school stoners. They were always getting into trouble for ditching school, vandalizing stuff. Then a couple of them broke into a house. They ransacked the place and stole a bunch of jewelry, small stuff, and a gun.” Larry signaled and changed lanes. “Why do people insist on driving forty-five miles an hour on a freeway?”

  Dupree looked down on the car as they passed it. “Age, I’d say. The driver looks ninety.” They both chuckled. “Please go on with your story.”

  “Well, they got caught and wound up in the juvenile hall. Broke my wife’s heart. But by then Andy was about four, and the sweetest kid you ever saw. Everything his big brother wasn’t. My wife finally admitted that Aaron was just no good. When he got out of the hall I laid down the law and told him no more pot, no more bad behavior or next time he could rot in jail. That lasted about a month.

  “That summer he ran off. Took six months, but he got arrested along with another kid for beating up a drunk outside a bar and stealing his car. The police called from Tehachapi. My wife was trying to make arrangements to bail him out! I took the phone and told the officer to keep him and lose our number. She was mad as hell. Didn’t speak to me for nearly a week.” Larry gave a sad little giggle.

  “How long was he in for?”

  “Three years. We didn’t see him for quite a while, then he showed up with this Mexican girl. Wanted to borrow some money. Thank God my wife wasn’t home. I told him he wasn’t welcome around our place anymore. He called me every name in the book and even took a swing at me. I decked him, then kicked him until he scrambled back to his car, the girl screaming and cursing at me the whole way.

  “Next thing we hear is he’s shot and killed by a Hindu convenience store owner. Aaron was trying to rob the place, threatened the owner with a knife. The guy pulls a gun and blam-o.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. There was something in that kid’s blood, genes or whatever you want to call it. I’m just glad it was him and not some innocent person he decided to steal from.

  “So, Andy is in the Coast Guard now, stationed in Maine. Man, would I love to go back there. My Sandy is a missionary.”

  “A missionary? Like in darkest Africa, religious kind of thing?” Dupree never met anyone even close to being a missionary. Isn’t that what they call the Mormon kids on bikes? That’s America! You can’t have missionaries to America, he thought.

  “Kind of. She is part of a church group that is in Guatemala. They live in a small town where they work with orphans, widows and help the community with health issues. She’s a nurse. They also have a group that does agricultural stuff, better growing methods, stuff like that.”

  “No religious stuff?” Dupree asked, not grasping the concept of what they did.

  “Oh, sure. They have built a church, along with a clinic and daycare. They work during the day and have services and Bible studies at night.”

  “I’ve never heard of anything like that. We were church people growing up. My wife drags me to the church at Christmas in Artemus, she likes the seasonal music,” Dupree offered.

  “My people were all church folks. I’ve never been gung-ho like they are. But the older I get the more important it is becoming.” Larry changed lanes. “So what about your kids?”

  “A son twenty-three and a girl sixteen. I can’t say I like either one. The boy is worthless. Won’t, can’t, doesn’t work. Can’t find, get, or keep a job depending on the season. The girl is a bigger bitch than her mother if that is humanly possible. Their mother has coddled and spoiled them to the point where they think they are entitled to the world and everything in it. If I try to correct, mold or punish their behavior I am belittled, berated, and badgered to the point I just give up.” Dupree cleared his throat, “Too much information?”

  “No, not a bit. I guess now I know why a guy with a Benz worth a hundred grand, and a hundred-dollar hair cut is ridin’ in my truck.”

  An hour later the big truck took the exit into Bakersfield. Out the window, Dupree saw the flat, dusty, landscape of the great central valley. The area they drove through was mostly industrial, with a few car lots, garages, and run down, half-empty shopping centers.

  “Well, my friend, this is where we part company,” Larry said as he pulled over in front of an empty discount car parts store.

  “Thank you for the ride. I hope you get to Maine to see your boy,” Dupree said as he opened the door and tried to figure out how to get down from the truck. “Any ideas on how to get another ride out of here?”

  “You seemed to do OK. Just be friendly and ask, I guess. Good luck.”

  Dupree landed a little harder than he hoped. He slammed the door on the big rig and stepped onto the sidewalk just as the truck pulled away. Across the street was a white truck that was colorfully painted with a tiger and the words Le Tigre Tacos.

  Taco trucks were prevalent in L.A. but Dupree never frequented such lowly establishments. As he crossed the street he could hear music blasting from speakers on top of the truck. The accordions and the bouncy um-pa-pa beat were a pleasant change from the country music of Larry’s truck. The side of the truck opposite the street was connected to an awning, and there were six picnic tables were several customers sat either eating or waiting.

  Dupree found the idea of eating at a Roach Coach, as he heard them referred to, rather appealing. He took a seat at one of the tables facing the truck. The bill of fare was as foreign as his surroundings. Lingua, pastor, carne asada, pollo, what were these things? Burritos, tacos, and nachos he knew from Taco Bell commercials, but sopas, tortas, and gorditas were a mystery.

  As he read and re-read the menu he became more and more uncomfortable. He could feel the eyes of the other patrons on him. He would ask the waiter when he arrived, Dupree thought. Minutes went by and
no one approached. Then a man from the truck called out the window something he didn’t understand, and a man from one of the other tables approached the window and was handed his food.

  Dupree stood and cautiously approached the same window.

  “You order here.” A woman’s voice came from a window to his left.

  The woman was barely visible behind the screen on the small opening, and the poor lighting inside the truck only made it worse.

  “What would you like?” she asked.

  “I’m not quite sure. A burrito.”

  “Super?”

  “Yes,” Dupree replied, quite proud of his ability to order.

  “What meat?”

  Dupree panicked. He quickly looked around the wall of the truck for a list, something, anything that could help.

  “Pollo, asada? Chili verde, Colorado?” the woman grilled.

  Colorado, a word Dupree recognized. He wasn’t sure what kind of meat it was but he assumed it must be beef because they have cowboys there.

  “Colorado,” Dupree said confidently, “and a Pepsi.”

  He paid and was rewarded with a robotic, “thank you.”

  Two cars pulled up and three men got out. A couple with two children got out of the other. It struck Dupree that not only were the people working in the truck Mexicans but so were all the people at the tables and standing in line to order.

  The two kids quickly escaped their parents and ran and played around the end of the truck by their car. They laughed and squealed in some sort of tag-type game.

  It wasn’t long until a man called from the window, “Chili Colorado burrito, Pepsi!”

  The man handed Dupree a large aluminum-foil-covered object and a can of Pepsi through the window.

  “Thanks,” Dupree offered.

  The man in the truck didn’t respond. Dupree returned to his table. This time he sat with his back to the truck. He peeled back half the foil before stopping to take a bite. His first bite consisted mainly of tortilla, onions, cilantro, tomatoes, and peppers. The blend was a shock to his pallet. He took another bite and reached the savory filling of beef, beans, and rice. Dupree was embarrassed when he realized he was grinning from ear to ear as he chewed.

  The light was fading. The people, for the most part, got their order and left. Two men sat across from Dupree.

  “Excuse me.”

  A man in a straw cowboy hat turned and gave Dupree an unfriendly look.

  “Do you know of a motel or anywhere close I could get a room?”

  “No.” The man went back to his food.

  “Thanks.” Dupree regretted asking.

  “Ask Chuy.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Chuy. In the truck. He can hook you up with a place to sleep.” The friend of the man in the cowboy hat indicated the man watching them from the small window in the side of the truck.

  “Great, thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Dupree stood and went back to the small window in the truck where he placed his order. He tossed his trash in the can next to the truck and took the last sip of Pepsi.

  “The fellow there said you might be able to help me with a place to stay the night,” Dupree spoke into the screen on the small window.

  “Twenty.” The man’s accent was thick but clear.

  “OK.”

  “Over there. I suggest the Caddie. Fits nice for a guy your size.”

  Turning, Dupree saw the line of four cars parked against the wall of the building next door. He noticed them before but figured they were abandoned or stored there.

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Those cars there? They are fixed to sleep in. They’re clean and all. No bugs or nothin’.”

  “Mind if I have a look?” Dupree wasn’t sure if he understood what he was being offered.

  The man in the truck bent down, disappearing for a moment. “Here are the keys. You check it out. Then bring me twenty dollars and she’s yours until morning.” The screen opened and a hand with a large keychain came through the window. “Here take a look.”

  The keychain was a large plastic dog with a partial bone in its mouth. Half was missing, snapped off a long time ago.

  “I’ll check it out.”

  A car with its headlights already on pulled up next to the truck. A man in a bright red t-shirt and headscarf got out, looked around, and then approached the window.

  The gold Cadillac Sedan Deville sat in the middle of the group of four cars against the wall. It was a late sixties, early seventies model. Dupree really couldn’t tell. As he approached the car he could see the front and side windows were blacked out. Not with film, but with a thick coat of black paint. Unlocking the door, Dupree saw the lights of the dashboard and overhead come on.

  The seats were removed and in their place was a mattress which extended into the trunk of the car. Chuy was right, the bed was made up with sheets and a dark green blanket. Dupree smiled and gave a soft chuckle.

  “This will do just fine.”

  As he walked back to the taco truck, Dupree took a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket.

  The man in red sat on the bench waiting for his order.

  “Looks good.”

  Chuy came to the window. “House rules, no dope, no smoking, no whores. Got it?”

  “No problem. It’s been a long day, I just want some sleep.” Dupree slipped the twenty across the small metal counter.

  “I get here around six-thirty for breakfast. You can check out any time after that.” Chuy took the money. “Try not to make a mess, huh?”

  “No problem. One question. Is it safe? I mean after you close down.”

  “There will be two of my regulars on either side of you. They will take care of anybody who comes snooping around.” Chuy laughed. “You’re not scared of the dark, are you?”

  “Nope, not scared of the dark. Just people who might try to join me uninvited.”

  “I got you. Won’t be no problems.”

  “Thanks, see you in the morning. Say, do you know what time it is?” Dupree inquired.

  “Almost eight.”

  Dupree threw his backpack into the car. He glanced around and noticed for the first time the car was up on cement blocks. No tires or wheels. It wasn’t going anywhere soon. Behind the row of cars was a small battery charger and a small wire running to each of the four vehicles.

  “Quite the operation,” Dupree said as he climbed into the Cadillac motel.

  Inside, the mattress was quite comfortable. The lights were controlled by a switch next to the door. To Dupree’s amazement, the radio in the dashboard worked. He turned the dial until he found a soft rock station, adjusting the volume to a just-audible level.

  Still concerned by the safety of his strange surroundings, Dupree put his backpack under the mattress and locked the doors. He stretched out, his head toward the dash and his feet in the trunk. He flipped the light switch and lay in the dark. As his eyes adjusted he could see pinpricks of light through the paint job on the window. A bit like stars, he thought as he closed his eyes.

  Alone in the dark, warm, comfortable, and relaxed, Dupree took the time to think for the first time. It was eight o’clock. He wondered if anyone noticed he was gone. He worked long hours, so his wife wouldn’t notice he wasn’t around until morning. Neither of his kids would care, nor probably even notice he wasn’t around until they needed money or his override on a decision their mother made.

  His stomach gave a soft gurgle followed by a roll, and he let loose a huge comforting fart. Life was going to be good. The thoughts of the day, the ride, the abandonment of his car and his life, brought a big smile to Dupree, and as he drifted to sleep it remained on his lips.

  A heavy metallic thud bolted Dupree from his sleep. He didn’t move. He strained to hear what was happening just outside of his Caddie Sleeper. A thump, thump, thump on what must be the roof of the car next to him was followed by the same thud.

  “Hey, you up?” A man’s voice ca
lled out.

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Well let’s go. All the good jobs will be gone.”

  “Hold up, I gotta piss.”

  Light was streaming in from the cracks at the top of the windows. The inside of the Caddie was light enough for Dupree to realize it was daylight. He rolled over and tried to see outside from a small sliver of light in weather stripping of the window. It was indeed daylight. His shoes were somewhere in the trunk where he kicked them off. He struggled to position himself where he could find them and put them on before opening the door.

  Backpack in hand, Dupree opened the door to the fierce rays of early morning. The taco truck was bustling with men buying breakfast. No one paid any attention to his exiting the Caddie. Wet stains against the building showed where the two voices he heard relieved their morning bladders. Dupree moved thirty feet down the wall and did the same.

  The reality of being a hundred and fifty miles from home struck Dupree as harshly as the morning sun. His commitment to a new life seemed to falter slightly with the nasty taste of a morning without brushing his teeth. As he approached the window of the truck, Chuy saw him and gave him a jerk of his head in greeting.

  “Breakfast?” Chuy asked.

  “Not quite yet.” Dupree slid the key to the Caddie across the counter. “Any coffee?”

  “Got you.”

  Moments later a streaming styrofoam cup came across the counter. “Part of our Continental breakfast.” Chuy laughed at his joke.

  “Thanks. How far to hitch a ride north?”

  “Mile that way,” Chuy pointed at the highway. “You should get a ride there. You don’t look like trouble. You ever done this before? Hitchhike, I mean?”

  “No.” Dupree took a sip of coffee. “Is it difficult?” Dupree sensed someone behind him and stepped aside.

  Chuy took the man’s order before answering. “Just stay off the highway. Don’t get in if it don’t feel right. A big guy like you should have no troubles. Good luck.”

  “Thanks, your Cadillac Inn was just the thing.”

  “Cincuenta y cinco” Chuy called out. Their conversation was over.