Dupree's Rebirth

by Micheal Maxwell

  As he walked toward the highway, Dupree sipped his coffee and tried to plan for a day with no boundaries or expectations. He soon realized he controlled nothing. All up to chance rang with new meaning. He shook his head and walked on.

  The Highway 99 North sign signaled his arrival. He positioned himself far enough away from the on-ramp to make it easy for someone to pull over. After nearly an hour no one did. The sun was high enough that Dupree guessed it must be close to eight o’clock. A guy in a pick-up slowed and took a good look at Dupree, then sped onto the highway.

  It was a long while before another car approached. When it pulled over Dupree’s heart raced. The blue Mazda rolled to a stop next to Dupree and rolled down the window.

  “Where are you headed?”

  “North.”

  “I figured that. I mean how far?” The young man driving the car seemed a bit unsure about giving a stranger a ride.

  “Oregon or Washington.”

  “I can get you as far as Fresno. Hop in.”

  The door of the car opened to a world completely foreign to Dupree. The trucker the day before was a totally spontaneous act. This time it was part of a plan, a means of reaching his goal.

  As Dupree settled into the seat, backpack between his feet, the car pulled back onto the road.

  “I appreciate the ride.”

  “First time I ever gave a hitchhiker a lift. You looked like…”

  “You’re right, I’ve never done this either.”

  “I’m Artie.” The young man smiled. He was dressed in jeans and a plaid button-down collar shirt. His hair was neatly trimmed and he was clean-shaven. “I’m going to a new job.”

  “First day?”

  “Yeah. I am a Wine Chemist. New winery, new job, new life.”

  “Seems we’re on similar journeys. I’m Dupree, and I’m looking for the same thing.”

  “You’re a wine chemist?”

  “No, no,” Dupree chuckled. “I’m an attorney by training, but I’ve given that up in hopes of finding…” Dupree pursed his lips. “I don’t know exactly, but it seems I am now actively pursuing it.”

  “That’s funny. I was a history major when I went to Fresno State.”

  “How did you switch to wine chemistry?”

  “There was this girl.”

  “Isn’t there always?”

  “No, not like that. This girl is just kind of the catalyst to the whole story. I was in this chem class, general ed. kind of thing. There was this girl who sat in front of me. She was really hot, so I decided to make a move on her. It seems that this other guy, Francis Petrocelli, I knew his name because of roll, my last name is Peters. Anyway, he had the same idea. One day we both moved to sit next to her, me on the right and Francis on the left. We started trying to chat her up, you know? She gets all huffy and snotty, and gets up and moves. She is such a bitch, that we start laughing. We got yelled at by the prof and almost kicked out.”

  “OK, then?” Dupree interjected.

  “After class, we got to talking, and Frankie and I became friends. Frankie’s family owns several hundred acres of grapes and a winery. His dad offered me a job for the summer, well, Frankie got him to offer me a job. Anyway, I really got interested in the whole wine-making process. Frankie’s dad said I could have a job when I graduated if I got a degree having to do with Viticulture or Enological Sciences. So, I go for Wine Chemistry.”

  “That’s great. So now you are on your way.”

  “The best part is, I am dating Frankie’s sister. I really like her. I mean really like her. So, I lose a stuck-up girl, gain a best friend, and who knows? Maybe a wife!” Artie smiled broadly.

  The pair rode along in silence for several miles. Dupree looked out the window at the dry, dusty landscape. The highway went from smooth and newly paved to the rugged texture of an Afghan airfield with potholes as big as a basketball.

  “So I’ve been thinking. There is a truck stop called Klein’s not too far from where I turn off. Might be a good place for you to catch your next ride. I mean lots of trucks and travelers.”

  “That sounds like a plan.” Dupree nodded in appreciation. “So, what’s the girl’s name, the sister?”

  “Angelina Maria Petrocelli. Old school, huh?”

  “Wonderful! I bet she’s beautiful.”

  “You know, not everybody would think so. But, she has a wonderful heart, and she always makes me smile.”

  “Sounds like love to me.”

  “You think? How do you know? I mean, how do you know when you are really in love, not just some crush?”

  “I thought I loved the woman I married. The more I ride along this road and reflect on my life, I’ve realized I liked the idea of her. Tall, blond, great legs, could drink me under the table, my friends all thought she was amazing. So I married her. Two kids, later I realized I not only didn’t like her, I didn’t like being around her. My secretary was more fun to talk to. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t mess around on my wife, ever. Not my style. But I know now I married a resume, not a person I loved.” Dupree sighed. “Wow, where did that come from? What I’m saying is, it sounds like Angelina Maria Petrocelli is the kind of girl that a very happy life could be built around.”

  “I kind of think that too, but I’m a long way from marriage.”

  “So become best friends, buddies, lovers, be everything she wants. Make her happy. Then when the time comes, pop the question. I’ll bet you anything, you’ll know exactly when the time is right.”

  “You must have been a hell of a lawyer,” Artie said with admiration.

  “I had my moments.” Dupree smiled and looked out the window.

  Over the next fifty miles, Artie told Dupree about growing up in Bakersfield, his love of baseball, his older sister who died of spinal meningitis, and his passion for history. As the miles rolled by, Dupree slowly opened up to the stranger. He felt freedom in sharing intimate feelings, thoughts never spoken, and reactions to situations long buried.

  Knowing he would soon leave the cocoon of the car’s anonymity, Dupree spoke of his disappointments in life and failures, something he normally refused to admit even to himself.

  “You know, this journey I’m on has opened my eyes to a lot of things I no longer considered possibilities in my life. The whole idea of finding a side of me is something I scoffed at in other people. When I was a kid we had an old LIFE magazine from the sixties with an article about people, adults, educated, established professionals who ‘dropped out.’ I remember as a kid thinking, why would they want to be hippies? They’ve got it made. They were well off, successful and had it made. I get it now.

  “Sometimes the rat race gets to be too much. That’s what happened to me I guess, I got sick and tired of my life. I actually thought of ending it.”

  “Why?” Artie interrupted.

  “I suppose I was a coward. I couldn’t face the reactions, the conflict, of telling everyone I know to go to hell.” Dupree laughed at the thought. “So, you see, you can always make changes. You can always find a new road. I have! I just stuck out my thumb and a whole world of possibilities opened up for me.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t kill yourself. Our talk today has given me some ideas and cleared my thinking on something I have been struggling with. So, you are needed in this world. Maybe just not where you were.”

  “That’s very kind.” Dupree looked at the young man for a long moment. “Say, isn’t that the place you told me about?” Dupree pointed at a huge neon sign.

  “That’s the place!”

  As the car moved onto the off-ramp, Dupree was hit with a feeling of sadness. He was enjoying Artie’s company and the comfort of the ride. The task of finding another ride was again looming in front of him and he wasn’t looking forward to starting again. But then again, he thought, this is the journey. Someone once said the journey is often better than the destination. So far so good.

  The car came to a stop a few yards from the gas station.

  “Here you go
.” Artie offered his hand to Dupree. “Enjoyed your company.”

  They shook hands and Dupree nodded. “If I knew where I’d be, I’d say send me an invitation to the wedding.”

  Artie laughed. Dupree opened the door and stepped out of the car. A strong wind blew across the parking lot. Dupree watched the car until it reached the road heading east.

  “You sir, need a cup of coffee.” Dupree’s voice was blown away in the wind.

  CHAPTER 3

  The diner side of the building was noisy and crowded. An open archway provided an entrance to a misnamed mini-mart. The place was huge, with everything from nachos, hot dogs, and sodas to fishing gear and antifreeze. Dupree made his way past the CD rack, the free Cars-R-US newspaper, and the rack of lighters, knives, and ‘legal high’ synthetic marijuana. He chose a booth with the least amount of duct tape patches he could find and sat down.

  The two-foot by two-foot Budweiser clock above the kitchen pass-through window was either wrong or it was a lot later than he imagined. Lunch was behind him and dinner was closing in.

  “What can I getcha?” a very plain, obviously bored waitress asked. “Need a menu?”

  “How about a hamburger and a diet soda.”

  “How ’bout it?” The waitress grinned. “Everything on it?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Comin’ right up.”

  Resting his elbows on the table, Dupree slowly took in his surroundings. The crowd was not young, only one or two women in the place. Lots of ball caps, with every kind of message imaginable. Most of the tables and the entire counter were filled with men by themselves. Curiosity got the better of him and Dupree turned to read the sign above the cashier station: Occupancy 250. Dupree watched as the army of over-forty, pushing-fifty waitresses scurried from table to table, filling coffee cups, resting a hand on a weary shoulder, and passing a kind word or wisecrack.

  Was this what they meant by the aging of America, he thought? Another ten years and the vast majority of the occupants in this room would either be deep into retirement or deep in the ground. How many of these guys ever hitchhiked? How many would pick up a hitchhiker? That was the more important question.

  For the next few minutes, Dupree sat quietly, sipping on his water and returning the occasional nod from a passing trucker. He was at ease sitting in the booth alone. His thoughts were of his surroundings. The world he left behind was just that, far behind. What the next hour, the next day would bring was the source of curiosity. There wasn’t a second of stress or worry, just an amused wonder about this journey he had begun.

  “Here you are, Hon’.” The waitress placed a large over-sized platter in front of Dupree.

  “Thank you.”

  “Need anything else, just holler.” Before Dupree could respond she was gone.

  “My Coke?”

  Another passing waitress said, “I’ll get it.”

  The burger was passable, nothing like the one at Billy’s yesterday, but the fries more than made up for it. Dupree couldn’t remember how much money was in his pocket so he opened his backpack. It was between him and the wall. He unzipped the side pouch and took a twenty-dollar bill from the tightly wrapped stack from the bank.

  The woman at the register was unsmiling, and she seemed bothered by Dupree’s interruption of her rifling through the drawers below the register. He paid, then paused. The service was less than stellar. The burger was nothing special, the woman before him was just shy of rude. He decided no tip was in order and left the way he came, past the racks of impulse purchase junk.

  Two young, curly-haired, bearded, college-age kids sat on the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. Their big green canvas backpack rested against the wall. Dupree couldn’t imagine lifting, let alone carrying, the huge, metal-framed, combination sleeping bag-rucksack-duffel bag contraption.

  “Give us a lift?” asked the blond one of the pair.

  “Sorry, I’m on foot myself,” Dupree replied.

  “For real?” the darker young man asked in astonishment.

  “Is that so strange?”

  “Well, yeah. You just don’t look much like a man of the road.” The blond jumped to his feet. “I’m Curtis. This is my friend Mark.”

  Dupree offered his hand. “Nice to meet you guys. Where are you headed?”

  “Yosemite. But we want to go in through Merced.”

  “Merced?” Dupree inquired.

  “Obviously not from around here,” Curtis said to Mark. They both laughed good-naturedly.

  “It’s about an hour or so from here. We want to camp on the Merced River,” Mark explained.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything. But we don’t sell drugs, steal stuff, or do sex for money,” Mark said firmly.

  “No, no, none of that,” Dupree assured them. “You pegged me pretty well. Until yesterday, I never hitchhiked a day in my life. I was wondering if you could give me a few tips.”

  “Serious?”

  “Never too old to learn, right?” Dupree felt like he was some strange life form completely foreign to the two travelers.

  “Well, OK. Rule number one. Never tell them where you’re going. Be as general as possible, that way if you get in with somebody you’re not comfortable with, you can say, ‘Let me out at the next exit.’”

  “And for god’s sake never smoke or drink anything they offer you. I had a guy give me piss in a beer bottle he pretended to open. Then he laughed until we nearly drove off the road,” Curtis chimed in.

  “Keep your stuff on your lap, no matter how uncomfortable it is. It’s better than getting out and having them speed off before you get your pack out of the back,” instructed Mark.

  “Good one,” Curtis agreed.

  “Never take a ride from a female. They can start screaming rape, and not stop until you give them all your money, and pack, and stuff.”

  “And after all that you still hitchhike?” Dupree was overwhelmed by the horror stories.

  “Oh, yeah, comes with the territory. For every asshole, there are a hundred nice people.” Curtis grinned. “You never know until you go!”

  Mark nodded enthusiastically.

  “So, I want to head north.”

  “Good choice.”

  “Where would I best position myself to get a ride?” Dupree continued.

  “If I were you I would get just between the gas station over there and the on-ramp. It’s not highway and you’re off private property.”

  “Little bit of a walk but will keep you from getting yelled at by the cops.”

  “Thanks for the help. I’ll remember it.” Dupree nodded and started to walk away.

  “My turn.”

  Dupree turned. “What’s that?”

  “Why are you hitchhiking? You’re not poor, or nuts, or a junkie. What’s up?”

  This new life was beginning to have a strange effect on Dupree. His inhibitions were falling like scales from a fish. He neither wanted nor kept secrets. The shielded, secretive, every word has meaning, and every meaning could be twisted life he lived for so many years seemed distant and lacking.

  “I’ve decided to begin again. You guys are just starting out. You can explore the possibilities, your talents, the paths that fit you best. I am forty-eight years old. I found myself on the path to an early death, from life’s pressures or by my own hand. I was doomed. The stretch of highway out there.” Dupree pointed toward the highway overpass. “That road I understand leads from Mexico to Canada. Mexico was way too close so I headed north.”

  “When did you start?” Curtis asked.

  “This is day two.”

  “You da man!” Mark exclaimed.

  “So over there, huh?” Dupree said with a jerk of his head.

  “That’s where I’d start,” Curtis replied.

  “Take care,” Mark said.

  “Thanks, you too.” Dupree turned and began the next leg of his journey.

  Close to an hour passed, and the afternoon shadows were gettin
g longer. Dupree lost count of the cars that passed him by. He tried different postures and attitudes with each new car that approached. Tall, strong, confident, tired, forlorn, pitiful, frisky, thumb held high, thumb up with a wave, and a dozen more attempts at being creative.

  He tried to draw from his training in persuading juries to buy his case. Nothing seemed to work. Many drivers averted their eyes, some waved, several flipped him off, a couple of clever teen drivers pulled up and as Dupree approached they sped off. There seemed to be a strange curtain between the man on the side of the road, and the people encased in their protective cocoon of steel.

  Of course, Dupree did make his own choices. One car contained a man so drunk he could barely get out a cohesive sentence. Dupree told him he was waiting for a friend. As the car jerked and weaved its way up the ramp Dupree wished he still had his cell phone, but not for long. The peace of a life uninterrupted was starting to grow more cherished with each passing hour.

  As Dupree began to tire of the rejection of his fellow man, his spirits were lifted by the sight of a slow-moving, mid-seventies Buick Le Sabre. The huge beast of a car seemed like a relic of a time long absent from the road Dupree found himself on. As the car drew closer and slowed even more, he could see it was perfectly preserved, gleaming gold, with wide whitewall tires and a vinyl roof.

  The Buick pulled over just a few yards from where Dupree stood. He picked up his pack and dog-trotted up to the passenger side window. What he saw next gave cause for alarm and a sense of bewilderment.

  “Hello.” The voice was the strangest Dupree ever heard. “Can I give you a lift?”

  Behind the wheel was a woman who was both elegant and grotesque, well-coiffed yet oddly disheveled.

  “Well, where are you headed, daw’ling?” the woman drawled out.

  “North,” Dupree said, trying to decide if he was going to accept the offer.

  “Well, today is your lucky day! I am headed for Modesto!” The voice was like Clint Eastwood pretending to be Betty Boop.

  It was then that it hit Dupree. This woman was in fact, a man in drag. Not just a man, but a tall, raw-boned, big knuckled, sun-baked, western hero man. The dress he wore was lime green, with sequins and thin overlays of sheer fabric. She wore large, green rhinestone earrings and a necklace to match. Dupree couldn’t help himself; he looked down at her legs. Large, bony knees sat above thin, sinewy, muscular legs that ended in at least size eleven sandals of matching green sequins.