“Freeze!’’ All of us froze, well two of us. The dog tried to lick the officer.
“Is that him?” came a second voice, one on my side. I rolled the window down and the dog leaned out and licked the woman who appeared there. While both officers had guns, she had a rolling pin. She scared me.
Things deteriorated from there. All three of us got out of the car. Jimmy licked the woman until she cried tears of joy. Then he grabbed the rolling pin and ran over to where I was sitting next to my backpack on the curb. He sat down beside me.
“Is that him, ma’am? Your dog?”
“I—of course it is! He’s with Chuck isn’t he? So he has to be and that’s my goddamn car too. That car is worth $220,000! I was just about to report it stolen but um,” said the woman, who was definitely not a hick like Chuck/Frank/Fruck. Both beers had tipped over beside me and Jimmy was lapping it up. Good dog, destroy the evidence. That’s a good doggy. I sat there holding the rolling pin. Maybe I could give it to Aunt Sophie as a hostess gift?
One of the cops came over to me with his weapon out. I giggled and burped. Then the woman lunged and grabbed her weapon back from me while the dog and I were both distracted. Then she screamed like a werewolf and charged Chuck, who as it turns out, was her soon to be ex-husband, because, as I made out between all the cursing, he’d already had a wife when he married this one. And she was pissed as all hell about that little fact.
While everyone was busy disengaging the woman, rolling pin, driver, car and whatever, I picked up my backpack and walked into the woods nearby. I wasn’t intending to split, no, I was too drunk and too stupid for that, but I really needed to pee. Next thing I knew, that wonderful satisfaction of watering a tree was in progress, I could no longer see the highway, and Jimmy was sitting beside me with his tongue hanging out. I bent down to pet him, toppled over (luckily, away from my tree), fell over and fell asleep. Last thing I remember was Jimmy lying on top of me. Aw what a nice dog, keeping me warm and safe.
Chapter 7
A couple hours passed very nicely, and all too soon I was sitting up yawning and praying I would not get another hangover. Geez, I was a cheap drunk. I was covered in white dog hair. Brushing some of it off, I looked to where Jimmy was sitting beside me, playing with another dog, a black one. A funny looking one but still, Jimmy and it were having so much fun, tumbling around, fake-biting, I laughed out loud. I went and watered another tree and when I came back, Jimmy had a kitten in his mouth (the way a mother cat would), and he and the other dog were no longer playing but snarling at each other. The other dog wanted that kitten too! I’d never known dogs even liked cats, but then Jimmy must be a big old softie. He felt he was protecting ‘his’ baby from…shit. That was not a dog.
I inhaled so hard I think I hurt myself. I grabbed my backpack and held it in front of me while I backed toward the road, calling (squeakily) for Jimmy to drop the damn cat and come. Now.
Nope. Didn’t happen. Even though twenty feet farther past the animals was the mama animal of the other ‘dog’—a huge bear. Standing upright, it looked like King Kong. I expected to see it beat its chest. I was glad I had just peed. I suspected, no, knew, that the cub had wanted that kitten for supper. What was obvious also was that Jimmy, an obviously gender-role-bending dog, loved ‘his’ baby and would protect it with his life—and maybe mine. I kept backing toward the highway, not knowing what else to do. So far there wasn’t another car in sight.
It was another beautiful day in whatever neighborhood this was. I think I would have backed completely across the highway except when I reached the double yellow line a car pulled up next to me and a rough voice shouted, “Get in!” and out of the corner of my eye I saw doors open and the driver got out of his side, stood on the side of the car, and aimed a handgun over the roof of it. (And what a car, but more on that later). He started firing and Jimmy and I and whatever he had in his mouth all leaped, jumped, and/or fell into the car. I slammed the door shut behind me, almost cutting off my leg because the door shut backwards. The bear was charging, so close behind us I could feel hot breath on my shoulder and slobber—oh, that was Jimmy.
Thank you baby Jesus and the NRA.
The driver got back in the car and we pulled away, almost sedately. “That’s why they’re called ‘suicide doors’ he laughed. Catching my breath, I was finally able to look around. Besides the strange doors that met in the middle, the back seat on his side was crammed to the roof with boxes and things. I was having trouble breathing with Jimmy standing on my crotch. He was trying to see out the window, cuddle his baby, and get comfortable (turning awkwardly around three times) at the same time. The driver flicked blue eyes at me in the mirror and said, “Climb up here in front. You’re young, you can do it.” He had a laugh in his voice. Somehow I managed this feat, to both Jimmy’s and my quick relief.
Once settled in the front, I looked for a seat belt, but there wasn’t one. “What kind of car is this?” I asked, curious. “I’ve never seen doors like these.” The interior was smooth and sleek as well. I should have known better, but then I didn’t have to worry about what to say for half an hour either.
“Yup,” the driver finally wound down. “A 1966 Lincoln Continental with suicide doors—and I’ve automaticked the hell out of it. The engine is fine, sat in a barn…”
I couldn’t help it. I yawned. Then I remembered this guy had saved my life. It wouldn’t kill me to be polite. “Thank you for saving my life back there. And for letting us get in, I mean, the dog and all.”
“Nice dog, had him long?”
“He’s not mine, I mean, he just adopted me and the kitten, and I guess he saved that from the bears.”
“Ugly thing though.”
I had to agree, even though Jimmy’s attitude made up for a lot. “What about you? I mean, this car is nice.” I felt really awkward now.
“My name’s Bob. Just plain Bob nowadays. I’ve just gotten this car too, I had a nice little Mustang but my woman and I and the kids are moving across country. I got a job driving a truck and they can stay with my brother (I hope.) So I traded the Mustang for this. It’s, ah, bigger.”
“What do you do? I mean, truck driving makes a living, right?” How would I know?
“Oh yeah. Plus it gets me out of the house big time. I used to manage a hardware store but I quit when the owner wanted to unionize the place. And now we got another baby on the way.”
“Where did you learn to shoot?”
“When my Momma died, I was six years old, and my Daddy and I and my sister moved to a farm. His brother had just died and his wife had kids too, so him and her got together and raised all of us together. I’d like to say I learned to shoot there but I didn’t; I learned to say yes sir and no ma’am and got the hell out there as fast as I could.
“I served in the Navy as a Seal, but got kicked out cuz I spent most of my time drunk and in the brig, but hell it was fun.”
I dunno, maybe everything was catching up with me but I felt energy draining out of me. I was headed toward my Aunt’s for the summer, outcast by my parents. They had no clue. I had more money than I’d started with, a gift that I hadn’t checked out yet, met a lot of interesting people, lost my virginity (that made me smile), acquired a dog and a kitten, and met a bear. I hope next fall when school started that I’d have to write an essay about what I did this summer. And I could, of course, show the video as proof. That made me shudder.
“You cold?” Bob asked. “I’m glad I came along when I did. If my woman and I hadn’t had a falling out, I wouldn’t have been right there. Some things are just meant to be. Where you headed?”
Jesus, I must have really been feeling vulnerable because I busted out with everything, except the sex part. I couldn’t quite come up to that. It would have ruined my perfect whine/fear/sadness and hurt monologue anyhow. I knew enough about myself that I wasn’t completely unaware of the fact that I was whining. When I heard myself admit I was scared at home by the bullies at school and how much it hu
rt being called a fag all the time, though, I clammed up. He might throw me out of the car for all I knew.
But he didn’t. I was mopping tears off my face with my hand when he said quietly, “Funny thing that. Here I am this big Navy hero and all, trained to kill, and a drunk; and my youngest son turns out to be gay. You’d never know it; I mean, he looks tougher than I do. Look, let’s pull over here and I’ll teach you some self-defense moves and how to shoot, okay? Once you have some skills like that—I mean, I’m straight but I’m short, you know? But you have that knowledge, you’ll find out your courage just stands right out there and people go, whoa, what’s this guy know that I don’t? Maybe I better leave him alone. See what I mean?”
Size, like orientation, matters. Yeah. So he pulled over, Jimmy got out, the kitten leaped out after him and they both ate grass and did their business. Jimmy ate that, too. And Bob taught me a lot. I learned how to duck and punch at the same time, what torque was and how to make it work for me, and a whole lot else. He kept saying ‘good, good’, and it gave me so much confidence. Then he got out the gun and taught me how to load and fire and aim and he kept saying, ‘damn that’s good, son.’ That praise was like the best gift I’d ever had. He might be his woman’s nightmare and his kids’ too, and for all I knew they might hate him. But right then he was all the world to me, and in many ways, for the rest of my life as well. I’ll never forget him.
It was getting dark by the time we quit. We all got back in the car, Bob pulled a bottle of rum out from under his seat and practically inhaled it. He didn’t offer me any. “Don’t drink, son, it’s a filthy habit.” I smiled. My stomach rumbled. Back to reality.
Chapter 8
We’re cruising along. The kitten is now on my head, yes, that’s right, on my head, sound asleep, her tail twitching in my eye. Jimmy is sitting on my lap with his paws on the window ledge and his head, which seems to be mostly tongue and flying ears, out the window. We’re going about 85 and it’s smooth as a bird. I wish I’d swiped some of the rum. How cool is this, riding along with my drunk driver? I’m not as calm as I sound. And I’m hungry. And horny. Which is not easy with a huge, overweight dog on your lap. It makes me laugh.
I compare this with the scenario right before I left home. My parents are getting in the car. I’m already in the back seat, really upset, trying not to pout, trying not to say anything or act like a little kid, but that’s how I feel, like I’m four-six-eight years old and the only kid not invited to the party, or sent to my room because I laughed too loud, or had my hand smacked at the dinner table because my elbow was on the table or something…I catch Bob’s eye and he grins and winks at me. All was good again. Which one was reality, actually; how could they both be real? I don’t get it. Maybe I never will. Maybe it doesn’t matter. It just is.
Bob pulled into a lonely diner in the middle of nowhere, a place where two roads both going nowhere crossed. He said he had to turn here, bought me dinner, and then gave me a fifty-dollar bill and told me to remember to duck. I smiled as he drove off and tucked the money into my backpack with the rest. What a nice guy. The kitten climbed into my backpack’s outer pocket and dozed off, full of bits of leftovers. Jimmy had had his own burger and half of my fries. We walked back out to the highway and waited in the fading light. I was so full and content that I wasn’t worried at all.
Just as the sun was setting a car pulled up. It wasn’t hard to see it in the twilight as it positively glowed, and so did the driver. Jimmy went into the back seat where there were two little boys. I went into the front seat where there was—”Here, hold the baby,” the driver, a woman, said. And off we roared. The kids and dog in the back seat were jumping and tumbling all over and I was holding a fat baby with its finger in its mouth, which was drooling. The baby didn’t smell all that good either. Shouldn’t it be in a car seat?
The driver must have read my mind. “This is a classic auto and was built before they thought of seatbelts but I wasn’t really supposed to be holding him, let alone nursing him, while I was driving. So I’m really glad to see you. My name is Rosa. You kids shut up back there!”
(Was this a movie? A prank TV show? Had I travelled back in time to star in The Grapes of Wrath?) I remembered that the cars were getting older and older, so I hesitantly asked, “What year is this—uh—car?” I grabbed a towel off the seat between us, placed it on my lap, and put the baby face down over it so he could spit up onto the floor (or as it turned out, my shoes.)
Rosa was muttering. “If Frank, that bastard, thinks he’s leaving me this car and these damn kids and taking my dog, well he’s got a big surprise coming, yes sir, I have plans, man, you dig?”
She looked at me. I nodded. Did I dig what? Huh? I squeaked out, “Dog? What dog?” Déjà vu was creeping all over me.
“My dog, Snausage. He looks a lot like your dog. He’s older though. And you know what’s worse? I found out he’s got a floozie on the side. She says she’s married to him but if she is, then she’s number two. I had him first. If she thinks…”
I don’t know what they thought, but my thoughts were going around in circles. Did she mean Frank/Chuck? Chuck/Frank? Did he have two wives and two dogs? And how many cars? Well whatever, he’d been kind to me. I shook my head. I didn’t understand women and frankly, wasn’t sure I liked them much. Except Miss Barge, of course. And maybe Aunt Sophie. I’d give her a chance, but she’d have to be pretty damn cool to make up for these other witches.
My present witch stopped mumbling and cursing and told me, “We have a couple of stops to make and then bam, this baby is sold and I’ve got more cash than he’s earned since we met.”
That almost slipped right past me. A chill ran through me and down my neck. She was going to sell the baby! The baby was right here on my lap, drooling down my leg. Throwing up on my shoes. And farting bubbles. But still—a tiny human being! Her own child! I needed to get out of here—no way did I want to be a part of this deal.
She muttered on, oblivious to my presence. “I can probably get seventy or eight thou for it too if the right people are there.”
Maybe I should get out right here. If she knows I heard her, would she have to shut me up? Would she kill me? Wait—I knew some self-defense and I can shoot a gun now, right? But what if she has a gun? And I don’t, I only have the baby…maybe—oh my God, my head was spinning! I was trying to breathe normally but I mean my God, she was planning a major crime!
“Maybe I should just burn it. That’d really piss him off. After all it’s his baby, his favorite. That bastard.”
The cold shiver that worked its way up my back froze me solid. I could barely breathe, let alone move. I was with a stone-cold killer and I could do nothing.
The kids in the back seat and the dog were getting loud, laughing, barking, imitating each other and bouncing around. It didn’t bother me at all anymore, compared to the woman’s quiet muttering, but it bothered her a lot. “Shut up or I’ll stop this car and let you out right here!” she shouted. “I mean it now! You know what happened to Charlie!”
Oh my God, she’d already killed one of them! I couldn’t help it. Somehow I was able to speak and I blurted out, “Miss! I mean, Ma’am! Calm down now. It’s okay, I know it will be all right, all right?” I reached out and put my hand on her arm. She turned to face me, glaring, one eyebrow twitching and a horrible smirk on her reddened lips. “It’s okay,” I repeated, fearing nothing was ever going to be okay again. The baby burped and I felt my lap and legs grow wet. It didn’t bother me at all, the dear, sweet, innocent baby.
I was staring at her, then the baby, then the road—oh my God! There was a tree. A big motherfucking tree right in the middle of the—
Road. Not the road. Nope, she had steered off the road right into the woods and we smacked grill first into this huge ass tree. And that tree had the nerve to sit right there and not move out of the way. Crash! Luckily I had a firm grip on the baby. After the initial boom of the crash, there were a few assorted tinkles and dings,
more giggles from the back seat, the loud woofing of Jimmy, and a loud juicy fart from my lap, which luckily or not, was from the baby.
“My baby!” screamed the hot mess of a mama, reaching out for—the dashboard. The baby—the car? She meant the car? The fucking car?! She started to cry. “He’ll kill me! No never mind, I’ll kill me! Oh my poor, poor Mercury. I never should have named you Freddie, should I. You had to choose now to kill yourself, right in the middle of—sob—right when I could have sold you and gotten rich and left that dirty creep forever!” She started really sobbing then.
Being the only one left with any brains, except maybe the kitten, which was still snoring slightly in my backpack, I turned off the engine, put the baby down on the seat between us, and tried to open the door. Nope. And the top was chopped or lowered or whatever they did to it so I couldn’t get out—fuck this, I thought, panicking. Yes I could, I will, I swear to God I will get out this window if it kills me. Oh my God what ripped? I was halfway out the narrow window when something screeched. Well, isn’t this nice, my pants are now air conditioned. Didn’t someone say I had a nice umm, back in the van sometime? How did they…well, fuck. At least I’m out, ha ha and ha, in more ways than one. Let me fix that. I pulled my backpack out the place where the windshield had been. How that happened I do not know (I later found out it as sort of a removable hardtop do it yourself kit. The top did not come off but the windshield did.) Anyhow I got my backpack, thinking, I could have climbed out of there, pulled out a clean pair of shorts and changed, just as red and blue lights began to appear out of nowhere.
So there I was with my ass hanging in the breeze, pulling up my shorts, and the kids and dogs were all—wait, what? ‘Dogs’ as in more than one? At least the kids and dog/s were all unhurt and the baby was okay and the woman—well, anyone who could make that much noise must be in damn good shape too. I was out of this hot mess.
A Hitch in Time Page 3