The Long Road, Part 1
A story about friendship, grief, and middle age
The engine rumbled as Harry shifted the stick from gear to gear through the manual transmission’s H-pattern. There were eighteen gears in all, though the fact that the trailer he was hauling held only a light load meant he could skip gears. Right foot busy, left foot not touching the clutch, he floated through the gears—fifth, seventh, ninth—he flipped the range shifter up—eleventh, thirteenth, fifteenth, seventeenth—his thumb flicked the hi-lo switch. The engine settled in eighteenth gear and the tractor trailer cruised at fifty-five miles an hour down the highway.
The engine created a wall of noise that seemed to shut out the outside world though the late-afternoon sun beat down through the windshield, its heat fighting with the cabin’s air-conditioning. On either side of the highway stretched fields of corn and soybean, just turning brown in the late summer sun. Low, gently undulating hills rippled out from the flat straight road where groves of trees, left standing long before by conscientious, or perhaps lazy, farmers, interrupted the sea of browning crops.
Flat. All gloriously flat and open. Just land and sky.
“Where are we going, Harry?” said Ted in the passenger seat.
Harry sighed. “I told you. Omaha.”
“Where’s that?”
“You don’t know where Omaha is?”
“No, I don’t know where Omaha is. I’ve never cared to find out where Omaha is because I’ve never needed to go to Omaha so I didn’t need to know where it is.”
“It’s in Nebraska.”
Ted was silent for a moment. “Where are we now?”
Harry glanced at Ted. He was tall and lanky, almost unbelievably skinny with messy blonde hair down to his shoulders. His arms and legs were a jumble under and around him in the passenger seat.
“Illinois.”
“I met a guy from Illinois once when I was out in California. He was from Chicago. That’s in Illinois right?”
“Are you serious? Yes, it’s in Illinois.”
“He had gotten in some kind of trouble so he hit the road and just started going somewhere, anywhere. Rode the trains and ended up out in California. What was his name?” Ted mused for a bit. “Randy Johnson.”
Harry snickered. “Randy Johnson? In California, you met a bum from Illinois named Randy Johnson? Did he have any friends? Maybe Yogi Berra or Sandy Koufax?”
Ted looked at Harry. “Yogi Bear isn’t real, Harry.”
“Thanks for clearing that up, Ted.”
Ted’s voice lacked any irony. “You’re welcome.”
Ted produced a bag of sunflower seeds and began chewing and spewing shells into a cup.
Harry did his best to ignore him.
“Do you have to do that?”
“What?” Ted said through a mouthful of shells.
“That.”
“I can’t eat?”
“Not like that.”
“You eat your bananas like a monkey so I should be able to eat a couple sunflower seeds. It’s only fair.”
Harry eyed the trailer in front, flipped the indicator, and merged into the left lane to pass.
“What’s wrong with how I eat bananas?”
“You chew with your mouth open,” said Ted, spitting another mouthful of shells into the cup.
“I do not,” said Harry, resting his stocky hand on the shifter.
“Yeah-huh.”
“I don’t. It would annoy me if I did so I don’t.”
“You do, you just don’t realize it.”
“You’re a liar, Ted.”
“No, I’m not. Take that—hawk!”
Ted simultaneously jabbed the window with a finger and spat sunflower seeds all over the window and door.
“Are you kidding me, Ted?”
“I think it’s a red-tailed hawk. Beautiful bird.”
“I don’t care if it’s a phoenix, clean the window.”
“I saw a phoenix once,” said Ted.
“No you didn’t. They’re not real.”
“Then what did I see?”
“How should I know? I wasn’t there. Clean the window.” Ted sullenly picked saliva-covered sunflower shells off the window. “I better not find a single sunflower seed when you’re done.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Ted. “Sorry,” he added, a few moments later.
Harry swallowed his anger. “It’s fine.”
Harry passed another semi-truck then merged back into the right lane. The afternoon was turning to evening, low sun rays shining straight into Harry’s watering eyes, darkness gathering at the edges of the road and throughout the unending fields of corn.
“How’s that work?” said Ted, gesturing at the gear shifter.
“I’ve told you before.”
“Well, tell me again.”
“Not right now, Ted. Why don’t you go take a nap or something?” Harry jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Fine,” Ted said.
Harry heard Ted rustling in the back. “Can you grab me a Coke?” Silence. “Ted?” The sound of gentle snoring reached Harry over the sound of the engine.
Harry shook his head. He wondered why he put up with Ted. He made pretty good eggs once. He thought hard. Surely that couldn’t be the only thing?
He recalled how, out of gas, out of cash, and credit card not working, a lanky blonde-haired man shuffling past the gas station had offered him a wrinkled twenty, pulled from some hidden pocket, and a few quarters to call his bank.
Ted started to walk away but his kindness and the sad, forlorn look in his eyes made Harry call him back. He had protested that he was just happy to help but Harry felt compelled to help him in turn. He had resisted at first when Harry offered him a ride but eventually his expression turned cheery and grateful and he joined Harry in his cab.
That was a couple months ago now. It couldn’t be a year, could it? Harry liked the company and was accustomed to Ted’s eccentricities, mostly. No home, no friends, no connections. The truck was Harry’s home and it was lonely. Just eat, sleep, drive. Eat while driving. Ideally don’t sleep while driving, or drive while sleeping.
Ted would tell him stories about living in California, the people he met, the women he slept with. Harry wondered how many of them were true. Not many. Maybe some. Harry chuckled remembering when Ted had tried to claim that Elizabeth Taylor had propositioned him and invited him back to her place but he turned her down because he didn’t want Richard Burton’s leftovers.
That was Ted and his imagination. Maybe he was compensating for something, covering something up. Maybe he was just a bit off his rocker, just benignly crazy, a simpleton almost.
Harry drove into the gathering dusk, beacons of white light passing in his peripheral vision, red globes ahead. Driving the speed limit meant cars regularly passed him, going eighty in a seventy, in a big hurry to get somewhere. Cars, SUVs, minivans, trucks. Lots and lots of giant pickup trucks hauling nothing more than air, invading his space, his domain on the highway. Ted’s snoring mixed with the thrum of the engine. In a zen-like state, Harry sipped from the coffee cup and immediately regretted it. The room-temperature coffee tasted stale and acrid.
He passed a green and white sign that read: Rock Falls 15 Moline 65.
Harry leaned back in the seat, stretching his legs. He sat up straight and stretched his back then cracked his neck.
“Time to stop soon,” he said to himself.
A deer cantered into the road. The headlights illuminated the antlers, wide dark eyes, brown-gray fur. It seemed to realize its plight, to scramble, to flail in place, moving in slow motion.
Harry’s eyes went wide. He slammed his right foot down on the brake pedal. The distance between the front of the truck and the deer was closed in an instant.
A dull sickening thud. A flash of color.
Harry’s nose almost touched the steering wheel as the truck slowed, brakes wailing. A car blared its horn and whipped around Harry’s left. The wheels of the truck rumbled as he pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway.
Ted, having been thrown out of bed, grabbed Harry’s shoulder.
Ted’s voice was shaking. “What happened?”
“I think I hit a deer.”
Harry wasn’t sure why he said ‘I think.’ He knew what he had seen but it was one of those things that happens so fast you don’t quite have time to process it fully.
“You hit a deer?”
“Yeah. I gotta check out the truck.”
“The truck? You’re worried about the truck?”
“My job on wheels? Yeah, I’m worried about the truck.”
Harry turned off the engine then rummaged around next to the seat to grab a flashlight and got out. Ted followed.
The highway traffic disregarded their presence and continued to whiz by mere feet from the truck.
By the light of the headlights and the flashlight, Harry inspected the front of the truck. The grille had a large dent in it. Bits of fur glued by splashes of blood flaked the chrome. One headlight was cracked but still functioned.
“Could be worse,” Harry said. He looked around. “Ted?”
He found Ted on the shoulder of the highway fifty yards behind the truck. The passing cars and Harry’s flashlight illuminated the scene. Ted was bent over a figure lying motionless on the ground.
The deer’s neck was at an unnatural angle. Its shoulder had been skinned.
“I can’t close his eyes,” Ted said. “They won’t stay closed.”
“I don’t think you need to close them. It can’t see anymore anyways.”
“He’s just looking at me. Why’d you do it, Harry?”
“What?”
He rounded on Harry and wailed. “Why did you do it?”
Harry became indignant. “I didn’t do it on purpose. Why’d it walk out onto the highway?”
“So it’s his fault?”
“Well, yeah, I guess. He was dumb enough to get in front of the truck.”
Ted snorted. The light reflected from his wild eyes. “Dumb? An innocent animal is dumb?” His whole body trembled. He seemed about to speak but instead he stalked past Harry, his long blonde locks shaking.
Harry watched him get into the truck. He looked back at the deer on the ground. He did feel sorry for it but there was nothing he could do and nothing he could have done.
The cab door slammed behind him. Harry turned and lifted the flashlight.
Ted was walking toward him. Harry took in the scene and was hit with the distinct feeling of deja vu, as if it was the deer happening all over again and all he wanted to do was hit the brakes and make it stop.
There was Ted, blonde hair, t-shirt, ripped jeans, and Harry’s gun in his right hand.
Harry tried to keep his voice from shaking as Ted stopped a few yards away and pointed the gun at Harry.
“Ted, what are you doing?”
His voice was dead level. “Say you’re sorry.”
“Alright. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“How can I make you believe me?”
Ted ignored him. “Why’d you do it?”
“Ted, it was an accident. It happens all the time.”
He was getting agitated again. “That doesn’t make it okay.”
Harry felt his hands rising up to indicate he wasn’t a threat, felt it as if it was someone else’s body. “No, but it’s not my fault. It’s not the deer’s fault either.”
Ted poked the gun toward Harry. “You said it was.”
“Well, I guess I was wrong.”
“You’ll just say anything to live.”
Harry tried to keep calm. “People usually do, Ted. Most people don’t like being shot. Are you going to shoot me?”
“Yeah, I think I am.”
Harry inhaled sharply. Part of his brain watched Ted. He seemed to shimmer in front of him as if this all wasn’t real. Part of his brain watched the scene. The two of them standing there, Ted with the gun, Harry with the flashlight. He wondered what people driving by thought of it as they glimpsed this standoff on the side of the road.
They were probably glad they weren’t him, Harry thought.
Harry waited. He started to feel anger struggling with the fear. “Come on then, Ted. Do it. Shoot me. I killed that deer on accident but you get to kill me on purpose if you want. Let’s go. I don’t have all day.”
Surprise spread across Ted’s face as if he had just been slapped.
Harry couldn’t help himself now. “Go on. Murder me, Ted.”
Ted’s eyes narrowed. He chewed his bottom lip.
With a groan he dropped his arm to his side. Harry took the gun from his hand and removed the clip. He walked over to the truck, hoisted himself up the side of the cab and opened the door.
“Are you coming?” Harry said.
Ted was still standing where Harry had left him. A shiver seemed to go through his lanky body then he turned and walked back to the truck, eyes on the ground. Harry watched him. Ted approached the cab and then, without stopping or slowing or speeding up, kept walking.
“Ted?”
Harry watched the back of him grow smaller and smaller.
“Ted!
Harry sighed and got back in the cab. He started the engine and shifted to second and made his way along the shoulder. Even just going five miles per hour he quickly caught up to Ted.
He leaned out the window. “Ted, come on. Get in. You’re being ridiculous.”
Ted gave no indication that he had heard.
“What are we going to do, Ted, drive five miles an hour all the way to Omaha.”
Ted spoke without turning. “I’m not going to Omaha.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“What are you going to do, walk out into the corn fields?”
“Maybe.”
“Ted, you’re being ridiculous. Come on, get in. I won’t hold it against you that you pointed my gun at me.”
Ted stopped and turned around. Harry had to hit the brakes.
Ted stood staring up at Harry. He’d been crying and the light sparkled on his cheeks.
“Why do you even care?”
Harry paused for a moment and sat back. He stuck his head back out the window. A horn blared and a semi whirled by rocking Harry’s truck. He ignored it.
“I don’t know. What does it matter?”
Ted stared at him.
“I like having you around, okay? Jesus, just get in the truck,” Harry said.
“Fine.”
Ted climbed in the passenger side and slunk down in the seat sulking.
Harry decided to leave him alone. He found it hard to believe that it was just the deer that was bothering him but Harry didn’t feel like trying to play therapist to a man about whose past he knew nothing.
Harry sat down and removed the clip from the gun. He emptied the clip into his lap. He signaled, waited for a gap, and pulled out onto the highway. He got up to speed then opened the window and one by one flicked the bullets out the window.
It was black night now. Headlights and taillights alone breaking the darkness. He drove on for a few more hours then pulled over at a rest stop in Iowa. Ted was snoring. Harry tossed a blanket over him, locked the doors, and laid down in the back, gun and empty magazine tucked under the mattress.
Dim bulbs struggled to light the loading bay. Metallic clangs echoed around the enclosed concrete cavern. The loading dock manager was an overweight middle-aged balding man with a harelip. Harry watched him chug back and forth from the loading dock to the nearby office carrying a clipboard then make his way over to Harry and Ted.
“Fulton Trucking, right?”
Harry nodded. “Yep.”
“Oh, I forgot a pen.”
He waddled off to the office. Harry rolled his eyes.
The manager came back. “Whoops, wrong form.” He went back to the office.
“Jesus Christ, a grapefruit could do his job better,” Harry said.
“Why don’t you be nice?” Ted said.
“What?”
“Why don’t you be nice to people?”
“I am nice to people. But not everyone deserves it. Some people are kind of useless when it comes down to it.”
“He’s doing his best.”
Harry grinned. “Yeah, it’s just too bad it’s crap.”
“Am I useless?”
Harry looked at Ted. “If you were, I wouldn’t be nice to you.”
Ted folded his arms. “Wow, you’re a jerk.”
Harry shrugged. “Yeah, probably.” He thought for a moment. “No, you’re not useless. Besides, I don’t know much about you. You might have done something really important and useful before I met you.”
“Maybe,” Ted said. He looked pensive, as if there was some inner turmoil rolling about inside him. It played out on his features in the simple narrowing of his eyes.
The loading dock manager came back. “Sign here.”
Harry took the clipboard and signed the paper.
“Have a nice day, guys,” the manager said.
“You too,” Harry said.
Ted waited until he was out of earshot then said to Harry: “So you’re nice to his face but say stuff behind his back. That’s pretty passive aggressive.”
Harry shrugged. “It’s not worth the effort. I’m entitled to my opinion of everyone. Are you saying I should go around telling everyone what I think of them?”
“Honesty is really easy.”
“Hey, I’m an open book, I just don’t feel the need to go around pissing people off for no reason. If I got into it with that guy, well then I’d tell him what I think of him.”
“So nice of you.”
“It’s not, that’s why I didn’t say anything. Come on.”
The engine roared and Harry drove out of the enclosed loading bay and into the gloomy, cloud-covered Nebraska morning.
“Where to?” said Ted.
“I don’t have another job for a week. We can go anywhere. That’s the advantage of being an owner operator. Where to?”
Ted shrugged.
Harry looked at him. He was probably around forty but he looked older. Out of the corner of his eye he examined the fine lines around his eyes, the dark circles underneath, the laugh lines around his mouth though he didn’t laugh much. He’d get excited about things. He loved animals. A hawk sitting on a fence was enough to make his day. But he didn’t laugh much.
“Come on. Where would you go if you could go anywhere?” said Harry.
“Bermuda.”
“Somewhere we can drive.”
“Argentina.”
“Somewhere we can drive that isn’t a continent away.”
Ted sighed. “Well, I think I’m ready to see the Pacific Ocean again.”
“California then? It’s a big state. Anywhere in particular?”
“Huntington Beach.”
“Near L.A.?”
“Yeah.”
“80 to 76 to 70 to 15 to 10,” Harry said.
Ted looked at him.
“Highways. You get around in my line of work. I know a great spot in Colorado. You’ll love it. Breakfast first?”
Ted nodded.
Harry shrugged off his suspenders, poured cream and sugar in his coffee, and eyed the eggs, bacon, pancakes, and toast in front of him, wondering where to start.
Through a mouthful of pancakes Harry said, “That’s all you’re going to eat? It’s a long way to California.”
There were two pieces of white toast on Ted’s plate, plus some honeydew, and a cup of black coffee.
Ted shrugged. “I don’t need much.”
“Suit yourself,” Harry said and shoveled eggs into his mouth. “Waitress is cute.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“You didn’t notice? You’re not dead, are you?”
Ted smiled, a small, tentative smile. “Not the last time I checked.”
“Well that’s something.”
“You always get worked up over waitresses?”
“I’m young still.” Harry grinned. “I take what I can get. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s a lonely life.”
“Young? What’re you, sixty?”
“Fifty-eight, thank you very much,” said Harry, scratching the close-cropped hair on the back of his balding head.
“More coffee, gentlemen?”
Harry smiled at the waitress. “Please, thank you.”
She had curly brown hair pulled back in a sensible bun, kind brown eyes, and an ample bosom that Harry had noticed first and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. She might have been about fifty.
As she poured, Harry noticed Ted eyeing her.
“My friend thinks you’re cute,” said Ted.
Harry coughed, choking on a mixture of bacon and eggs.
“Ted!”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. He just says things like that sometimes.”
She smiled. “It’s alright. Did you mean it?”
“Huh?” Harry said.
“Did you mean it?”
Harry cleared his throat. “Yes—yes, I did.”
She nodded. “Well alright then.” She turned and walked away.
“Why’d you do that?” Harry said to Ted.
Ted almost giggled. “I wanted to see your reaction.”
“Jesus. She doesn’t want to be bothered. She’s just doing her job. And she certainly doesn’t want anything to do with an old truck driver like me.”
“I didn’t see a ring on her finger.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “And that’s a sign screaming ‘Hit on me’ is it?”
“It’s okay to say nice things to people.”
“Say nothing never is my policy.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Sure it does. Nothing and never.”
“That’s no way to go through life.”
“What would you know about that?”
Ted’s face crumpled. He shifted out of the booth and walked out of the diner. Through the window, Harry watched him walk over and lean against the truck.
The waitress came over smiling.
“Your friend okay?”
“Huh?” Harry said.
“I said, is your friend okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Friends are a good thing to have.”
“So I’ve been told.”
There was an awkward pause.
“You all done with your food?”
Harry eyed the mostly clean plate in front of him, appetite suddenly gone.
“Yeah, I’m done. Can I get the coffee to go?”
“Sure thing.”
The waitress came back with the coffee and the check. Harry gave her a twenty.
“That’s good. Thanks.”
“Thank you,” she said, holding out a folded piece of paper.
Harry took the paper. On it she’d written her name and number.
“Dawn?”
“That’s me.”
Something struggled inside Harry, somewhere between his belly and mouth, sticking at the back of his throat. He cleared his throat, trying to let it out.”
“That’s a pretty name. I’m Harry.”
“Thanks. Call me sometime, Harry.”
“I will. I mean, we’re heading out to California but I’ll be back this way in about a week. I’ll give you a call. I mean it.”
The corners of Dawn’s eyes crinkled at his earnestness.
“You’re cute,” she said. “Be nice to him,” she added, pointing out the window. “He got you that number.”
“I will. After what he did yesterday, I think we’re even.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“It’s kind of a long story,” Harry said.
“You’ll have to tell me some time.”
“I’d like that but I’m not sure how it ends. See you, Dawn.”
Ted was still propped against the front of the truck when Harry left the diner. He was standing with arms crossed, head thrown back, staring at the sky.
“You alright, Ted?” Harry said apprehensively.
Ted seemed not to hear.
“Silent treatment then?”
Still nothing.
“I’m sorry, alright. Jesus. Listen, I insulted you. You pointed a loaded gun at my face. I figure we’re even.”
A slow sheepish smile crept across Ted’s face. He grinned but as he met Harry’s gaze he became deadly serious.
“I know about life. I knew about it, once.” He trailed off.
Harry, growing uncomfortable, slapped him on the shoulder.
“Come on. Let’s go to California.”
“With an aching in my heart,” Ted said under his breath, just loud enough for Harry to hear.
The outskirts of the Denver suburbs were disappearing on either side of the highway, giving way to the foothills of the Rockies, dull brown hills topped with ragged blankets of evergreens beneath a blue, blue sky.
“Can I drive?” Ted said.
“What? No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not? I know how to drive stick.”
Harry shook his head. “A semi? It’s not driving a sports car. This thing has eighteen gears.”
“Just let me try.”
“No way. That’s a great way for us to end up on the side of the road in the mountains.”
“Come on,” Ted said. “How hard can it be?”
Harry stared at his co-pilot, who had no stake in his trucking business—of which the truck was its only asset—and couldn’t drive a Saturn with a manual transmission around a parking lot.
“Do you want to get to California or not?”
Ted huffed. “Fine. Have it your way.”
“When we get to California, we’ll find a nice quiet parking lot somewhere and I’ll let you drive a bit.”
“Alright.”
“We’re just getting out of Denver. I’ve got a surprise for you. I think you’ll like it.”
“Surprise? What am I eight?”
Hardly wishing to admit it, Harry was hurt, if only slightly. He didn’t do things for other people very often, not that there was anyone to do anything for before Ted came along, and the slight rejection stung.
“Listen asshole,” Harry said, grinning to cover up his disappointment. “I’ve got a surprise and I think you’ll like it.”
Ted waved a hand. “Fine, fine.”
Harry wound his way through the Rockies, taking in the mountains, the bare rocks, scrub grass, the sun, the grandeur of it, even the occasional blast of air when he would open the window which would always make Ted jump.
Harry eyed the mountains with suspicion. Back in the Midwest where he grew up, you could see for miles all around. There was nothing out there and nowhere to hide.
Mountains had always been special to Harry. The sublime size, scope, and scale of them. They were majestic, even beautiful, but they rose up, looming and ominous. You had to drive up them, which was hard work, and you had to drive through them, which could be dangerous, and you had to drive down them, which was when you hoped and prayed that there was nothing wrong with your brakes.
Danger was inherent. Rock falls, runaway trucks. They were something to see and then get away from, leaving them safely behind in the rearview mirror.
The semi roared down I-70, looming pines on the cliffs to the left and tumbling valleys on the right.
It was a happy roar and that made Harry happy. What was not to love about the open road, the thrum of a powerful diesel engine a few feet away, the self-contained home on wheels in which Harry could carry everything he owned, everything he wanted?
Ted stared out the window at the rolling foothills passing by. He was lost in thought, a state which contrasted sharply with his earlier rather obscene outburst. Not that it bothered Harry—he had found it funny after all and was no stranger to dirty jokes—it was just that the contrast made Ted seem a bit unhinged, not quite stable. He’d get quiet sometimes and would stare off at a point a thousand yards away and yet right in front of his nose and he was doing that now.
There was something eating at him, something being processed, but Harry had no idea what. And he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“That’s Vail,” Harry said, pointing out the window to the left where brown and tan stucco buildings squatted at the base of bare green ski slopes striping the mountainside.
Ted looked out the window past Harry. “Yeah, I know.” He turned back to his passenger side window.
Harry glanced at Ted, brows furrowed. “You’ve been?”
“Yeah, once.”
“What? It’s for rich people. You actually stayed there or were you just passing through?”
Ted didn’t answer, didn’t seem to hear. He was absorbed in the hills and trees out his window.
Harry didn’t have much time to puzzle over Ted’s answer. He swung right to take the exit for Highway 24. The cliff tumbled down on the left right into the Eagle River nestled in a valley between brown scrub-covered hills.
Highway 24 headed south, sometimes curving gracefully through the mountains, other times cutting a hard switchback path that kept Harry on his toes. The engine whined and revved higher every time he would brake by downshifting rather than using the brake pedal, something which all trucks know saves their brake pads from burning out in a couple thousand miles.
Harry made a hard right around a curve, slowing all the way down into the twenties, then sped up.
The road was cut out of the mountain and sheer cliffs of blasted granite and limestone, mottled orange and brown and studded with scrub grass, rose precipitously on Harry’s left. To the right, the mountainside fell at an alarming angle down into the valley below.
They rounded a long curving corner and Harry said: “There,” and pointed out the windshield as he signaled and pulled over onto the extra wide shoulder.
Ted looked.
The sheer cliff on the left, looking reddish orange in the bright sun, continued before ending suddenly at the edge of the valley through which ran the Eagle River. On the other side of the valley rose a lone mountain covered in a lush green carpet behind which loomed even taller mountains. To the right of the mountain was another valley down which ran the other fork of the Eagle River winding down out of sight between green and gold hillsides, the gold giving the first indication of autumn.
And crossing the first valley on the left at the foot of the cliff was a green steel arched bridge that stretched from the cliff to the lone mountain.
Harry and Ted got out of the truck.
“Pretty cool, huh? That’s Red Cliff Bridge,” Harry said, “though people call it the Green Bridge.”
Ted walked up to the steel guardrail at the edge of the lookout and stepped over onto the cliff’s edge. Harry followed but stopped short at the guardrail.
“Come on,” Ted said.
“I’m good here.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Be careful,” Harry said. “It’s nice to look at but it’s a long way down. That’s why I like the Midwest.” He chuckled. “There’s not much to see but you can’t fall off a mountain.”
“I’m fine.”
Harry watched Ted’s footing as he stepped from boulder to boulder to get to the cliff’s edge.
“It’s not even that steep.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Come on, let’s go to the bridge,” Ted said, bounding back over the guardrail and starting off down the shoulder toward the bridge.
“You’re going to walk?”
Ted shrugged.
Harry rushed back to the truck, locked it, then took off after Ted who was fifty yards down the road already, blonde surfer hair waving back and forth in time with his characteristic lanky walk.
Rolling down the highway inside a semi truck was Harry’s home. Walking next to them as they roared by was not his idea of a good time. There was nowhere to go, just three feet of shoulder, the guardrail, a foot of rock, and nothingness.
Ted walked hunched over with his hands in his jean pockets. Harry followed right behind. He could feel his heartbeat rising and the collar of his shirt getting warm just as they reached the bridge.
The road surface stretched across the valley toward the lone mountain. Just visible underneath were the green steel beams extending straight down from the road to meet the curving arch of the truss.
They stopped halfway across the bridge and looked back toward the truck, its gray body standing out against the dull rocks.
Harry peeked down over the railing. A road, itself requiring a smaller bridge across the valley far below, curved under the green bridge toward the town just to the south. Farther below still the river quietly babbled some two hundred feet from where they stood. A railroad ran parallel to the river and led the same way as the river and the road.
A strange sickly feeling swam up from his stomach and he held the railing at arm’s length, though always cognizant of the traffic rushing by behind him.
Next to him, Ted stepped up onto the concrete curb and stared down over the railing.
“What do you think it’s like to fall from this high?”
“I don’t really want to think about it or find out,” Harry said.
“I wonder if the ground comes at you too fast to even see it. It’s just not there and then it is and it’s all over.”
“Why—what are you saying?”
“It’d be pretty easy. Probably hit that road down there or the railroad though. Somebody’d have to clean it up. Not fair to them.”
Harry glanced up and down the road. He stretched out a hand toward Ted’s back. “Come on, bud. Let’s not do this.”
“It’s really easy. Just tip right over and close your eyes. Or keep them open. That’d be interesting, I think.”
Harry couldn’t see Ted’s face, just the wispy blonde hairs hanging down as he leaned over, slowly farther and farther out.
Harry’s voice was stern. “Ted get down.”
Ted’s limbs jerked and his body froze.
“Come on, Harry. Can’t I just—”
“No, get down or I’ll pull you down and we’ll both fall back and get hit by a truck and that’ll be the end of both of us.”
Ted’s shoulders slumped. “Too nice a spot to kill yourself anyway. Wouldn’t want to spoil it.”
“That’s the spirit. Come on. Let’s get back to the truck. Huntington Beach, huh?”
“Yeah, Huntington Beach.”
Harry swung himself up into the cab and watched Ted clamber in. Ted sighed and proceeded to stare out the window. Soon Harry heard only the sounds of gentle breathing coming from his friend.
Harry drove till late into the night, stopping just once to microwave dinner and eat, then pulled over at a rest stop. Ted was still sleeping in the front passenger seat. Harry used the restroom at the rest stop then locked the doors and went to sleep.
They drove all through the next day, stopping only for meals and gas. Harry tried to engage Ted in conversation a few times but gave up after receiving only one word answers each time. Harry was worried but didn’t know how to talk to Ted about it. The deer, the gun, the bridge. Ted was not a danger—at least not since Harry tossed the bullets—just careless of his own life and others’.
Maybe that was the definition of being a danger? Though Harry didn’t feel in danger, despite Ted pointing his gun at him.
What was it about the deer? He had said it was innocent. It had died violently and not because of its own fault. It wasn’t Harry’s fault either. He was just driving his truck and the deer was just walking where it happened to encounter a mass of metal it could never understand.
He liked animals but maybe it wasn’t about the deer itself. Maybe it was just about that kind of senseless death, one that was a complete coincidence.
Or not. No, Ted had blamed him directly, otherwise he would have been cursing the world that made humans and technology come into conflict with nature and the poor deer. He would have been pointing the gun at Henry Ford instead of Harry.
Reaching their destination might do him some good. The salt air, the sight of the ocean, the smell of the salt. Palm trees. Whatever else they had in California.
Harry hoped it would help.
They spent the night at a rest stop outside LA and the following morning, Friday, they left for Huntington Beach, just an hour away.
Harry did his best to avoid LA’s infamous traffic, skirting around the city and approaching Huntington Beach from the south.
He had passed through once years before when Huntington Beach had been just a small beachfront city with a small downtown and the beachfront boardwalk it was known for.
Now it was developed, not so much that it was unrecognizable, but taller buildings rose up from among the squat stucco shops and houses, new construction shining and glittering with steel and glass that contrasted sharply with the muted burnt sienna tones of the older buildings.
Palm trees towered over the Pacific Coast Highway. The ocean glittered far off to the left and row upon row of housing developments, condos, and hotels stretched as far as the eye could see to the right all the way to the hills beyond.
Harry curled his lip. Too much stuff, too many buildings, too many people.
“Take a right on Beach,” Ted said.
Harry jumped. “Didn’t know you were awake.”
“There’s a place, Carmella’s, a couple blocks up where we can get breakfast.”
“Mexican?”
“Yep.”
Harry pulled into the restaurant parking lot. It was a tiny squat cinder block building with tan shingles and an aging sign. Four tables with faded green and white umbrellas occupied the handicap parking space next to the building.
“Hola, Carmella,” Ted said to the woman behind the counter.
“Teddy! It’s been so long,” Carmella said. She was short with thick black hair and eyes that disappeared into her cheeks when she smiled.
She came around the counter and gave Ted a hug. He had to lean over to reach her which made him look like a young tree bending in the wind.
“How are you doing?” she said, giving Ted a penetrating look.
“Oh, fine, fine. Just traveling a bit.”
“You’ve lost weight, I think.”
“Yeah, traveling will do that.”
She gestured to me. “This is your friend?” she said.
Ted nodded. “This is Harry. Harry, Carmella.”
Carmella extended her hand. “Encantada.”
Harry cleared his throat. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Ted chuckled. “How’s Enrique?”
“He’s good. In the back. Enrique! Teddy’s here.”
A friendly-looking middle-aged man with salted temples stuck his head into view through the kitchen window.
“Hi, Ted! How are you?”
“Fine, how are you?”
“Still cooking! And still married. She won’t let me get away!” Enrique said with a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You want to go? Then go!” Carmella said, laughing.
“Never!” Enrique said.
Carmella turned back to Ted. “What would you like? Anything at all.”
Ted cast a questioning glance at Harry.
“Go ahead and order for both of us,” Harry said.
Ted mumbled to Harry. “I’m a little short.”
“I know. Go ahead.”
“Two huitlacoche quesadillas, fried. Two breakfast burritos with chorizo. Huevos rancheros. Rice and refried beans on the side. Two coffees.”
Harry paid.
“Coming right up,” Carmella said, passing the order back through the small window into the kitchen. “I’ll bring it to you outside,” she added with a smile.
“Thanks, Carmella.”
Harry followed Ted to one of the tables outside.
“Teddy?”
Ted grinned sheepishly. “Carmella gives everyone little nicknames.”
“So you’ve spent quite a bit of time in Huntington Beach then?”
“You could say that.”
“Did you grow up here?”
“No.”
Ted said nothing more and Harry let him be. They both watched the traffic passing on the street.
A silver car pulled into the parking lot and the parents got out with their two kids. The man and woman looked tired but happy steering the kids across the parking lot into the little restaurant. The older child, a girl, was begging her mom for a soda.
“Not for breakfast,” the mom said.
The little girl continued whining until the door shut behind them, cutting off the sound of her voice.
The steady flow of people into the restaurant continued.
A boy of about sixteen appeared carrying a tray with the food and the table was soon covered in plates of friend quesadilla, burritos, eggs, rice, beans, and coffee.
Ted started eating without needing any encouragement and he ate as if he hadn’t eaten in years wolfing down huge bites of steaming huitlacoche and cheese and forkfuls of rice mixed with refried beans.
Harry just stared.
“Hungry?”
“Mm.” He swallowed. “Suicide does that.”
Harry’s fork, poised in front of his mouth, dropped down to the plate.
“Don’t joke about that.”
Ted shrugged. “It’s my life to joke about.”
“Yeah, it’s your life. But there are other people that your life impacts. It’s cliche, I know, but what do you want? I could have kicked you out anytime but I kept you around because God knows why I like having you around and you make me pull you off that bridge—”
“Can we not do this now? I need breakfast and coffee before discussing my problems.”
“Discussing? What discussing? You don’t ever talk about anything.”
“Are you really going to ruin my breakfast at my favorite restaurant?”
Harry sighed. “Fine, fine. You’re right.” He paused. “What’s the black stuff in the quesadilla?”
“Huitlacoche.”
“Ahuh. What’s the black stuff in the quesadilla?”
“Huitlacoche is a corn fungus. It’s like mushrooms that grow on corn cobs. It’s delicious and practically a delicacy.”
“Oh, delicacy? I’ve never eaten a delicacy.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything. What a dumb saying, ‘there’s a first time for everything.’ No shit there’s a first time for everything. That’s why it’s called the first time.”
Harry crunched into the fried tortilla, cheese and huitlacoche filling his nostrils with an earthy aroma.
“Tastes like dirt.”
Ted grinned. “Eaten a lot of dirt in your time?”
“Yeah—no.”
Ted laughed. “Sure it tastes like dirt, but it’s good dirt.”
“Eh, not bad.”
The food and coffee gradually disappeared from the table.
“What do you want to do today?” Harry said.
“Go to the beach, of course.”
“I don’t have a swimsuit. I don’t even remember the last time I was at the beach.”
“Oh, they’ve got this thing called stores. They’re all over the place around here. I’m sure we can find a suit for you.”
“Haha, hilarious.”
“I need one too actually.”
Harry waited in the truck while Ted said goodbye to Carmella then they drove away toward the main drag on the Pacific Coast Highway. Harry found parking a few blocks away in what he hoped was a safe part of town and they headed to one of the many shops lining the street.
They emerged, swimsuits in hand, and crossed the busy street, entering the park on the other side. People thronged the curving sidewalks of the park shaded scantily by palm trees. A couple teenagers went racing through on skateboards. Three dogs on leashes met on their walk and sent up an almighty racket of delighted barking.
Harry eyed the crowd and frowned.
“Come on,” Ted said.
Harry followed and they weaved through the press of people to get to the beach. The sand stretched out before them, though it was dwarfed by the ocean in the distance rolling in continuously.
“Why’s there no one on the beach?”
“It’s cold for California.”
“Cold? It’s like seventy out here.”
“Yeah, that’s cold.”
Changed into their swimsuits, they sat down on the sand and watched the waves.
“Ugh, sand.” Harry said. “It gets into everything.”
“Don’t be such a baby.”
“You don’t get sand in your suit?”
“Of course I do. I just don’t mind.”
Ted pointed to a surfer clad in a black wetsuit out in the waves.
“I used to surf.”
“Any good?”
“Not bad.”
“Does everyone in California surf?”
Ted shrugged. “Yeah, probably. You?”
“Ha, that’s funny. Me? From the Midwest? No, I’ve never surfed. Too much water out there anyway.”
“The ocean is unforgiving. You’re a fish out of water out there. Just miles and miles of water and the smallest wave enough to push you down so you never come back up. Maybe that’s what I liked about surfing. The danger of it. There’s a thrill to being on the edge like that, on the edge in a way that draws you in and lulls you into a false sense of security. You’ve got a wetsuit and a surfboard, what’s the worst that could happen? It’s not like skydiving or base jumping, right? Just a bit of water, like paddling in a pool. And then one wave gets you and it doesn’t care if you can breathe or not. Or one invisible riptide and you’re gone. A mote in a storm trying to fight a primordial colossus, a force bigger than you can imagine.”
Harry looked at Ted. “That’s beautiful.”
“Shut up.” Ted got up and started walking toward the water.
“Hey, do I have to worry about you going out there?”
“No, I’m not going to kill myself today, Harry.”
“Okay, just checking.”
Harry watched Ted leap into the surf and paddle around, the waves gently rolling around him.
“Come on in, Harry,” Ted said. “The water’s freezing.”
Harry grinned. “Then why would I want to come in?”
“Come on. Don’t be a baby.”
“Dammit.”
Harry grunted and got up. The warm sand gave way underfoot. He reached the wet sand by the surf which cooled his toes and let the water wash over his feet.
“Gah, that’s cold!”
Ted laughed. “I told you. Come on. It feels great after a second.”
“No way. I’m not going in there.”
“I thought we Californians were all pathetic for thinking it’s cold out today, you big tough Midwest bastard?”
Harry grinned. “You son of a gun.”
“Come on.” Ted kicked the water, splashing Harry.
“Ah, dammit. Fine, fine. Ha!”
Harry ran and dove straight through the oncoming wave. He launched himself off the bottom and jumped up into the air.
“Cold. Cold, that’s cold.”
Ted cackled. “I told you.”
“You said it would feel great.” Harry splashed Ted.
Ted splashed him back.
They went back and forth like two boys frollicking in the surf, splashing, diving, rolling.
Something inside Harry unwound. His heart felt light and full at the same time, like he’d found something that had been missing.
Age and care seemed to be lifted from Ted’s face as he laughed and, to get away from Harry, bodysurfed on a wave into the surf and up the shore. Harry followed, sodden and exhausted. Slogging through the surf, he collapsed next to Ted.
“I’m done. Truce.”
“Haha, you’re weak.”
“I’m old.”
Harry heaved himself to his feet and walked back into the water grumbling about sand in his suit.
Harry caught Ted watching him and laughing as he struggled to rid his shorts of sand.
“Let’s go to the beach. It’s so much fun,” Harry said sarcastically.
“You had fun.”
“Maybe.” Harry passed Ted on his way out of the water, dripping water on him. “I gotta go dry off.”
Harry spread out the towel and laid down, watching the cloud-covered sky. Seagulls wheeled overhead, annoying him with their cries. Someone smoked a cigarette nearby. He breathed deep. He hadn’t smoked in a long time. It smelled good. Too good. Smoking had been one of his greatest joys, after reading mystery novels, and giving it up was one of his greatest regrets but without your health you don’t have much. Or that’s what his doctor had told him.
The sounds of the surf and the gulls and the inane chatter of beachgoers lulled Harry to sleep so quickly that he barely heard Ted sit down next to him and wasn’t awake enough to respond to his question.
The sun was low over the water when Harry awoke. Ted was not next to him. Harry sat up and looked around. He couldn’t see Ted anywhere.
He tried to ignore the panic rising in his belly. Ted had seemed okay today, but what if he had taken a turn? What if he had wandered off into the waves and just started swimming? Whatever was haunting him was unresolved. There was no doubt about that. Despite what he said Harry thought he might off himself at any time.
Harry scoffed. He wasn’t responsible for the man. They were both grown. If he wanted to kill himself, so what?
Well, he was his friend, that’s what.
He’d gotten attached to the lanky blonde surfer and wasn’t quite ready to give him up even though he snored and dirtied his pristine cab.
Harry jumped to his feet and ran down to the surf. The tide had come in and the ocean was grasping its way up the beach. Gray rolling clouds mirrored the ocean plain.
Up and down the beach was dotted with people, none of whom resembled Ted.
“Where the hell has he gotten to?” Harry said, looking far out to sea, searching for a blonde head in the waves.
“You’re awake.”
Harry spun around.
Ted was standing by their towels, hands out in front of him holding what looked like tacos.
Covering his relief with a gruff voice Harry said, “Where have you been?”
Ted lifted his hands. “Food. Remember?”
“No.”
“Fish tacos. The best anywhere on the beach. Hungry?”
“Yeah, actually I am.”
They sat devouring mouthfuls of fish taco washed down by two beers Ted had pulled from his pockets, beers which foamed when opened as they had been jostled while he walked.
Even behind the clouds it was clear the sun was beginning to dip over the ocean in the west.
“I went to the beach once as a kid,” Harry said. “My parents took us, me and my brother. I don’t even remember if it was the Atlantic. Could have been Lake Michigan for all I know. It was so hot, sand everywhere. My brother almost drowned but my parents didn’t notice. They were lying on the blanket with cigarettes and beer giggling about something, kept telling us to go away. Well, I didn’t know what they were doing then but I’m a little older now.” Harry grinned, then he shook his head. “Assholes. Never really wanted us around.”
“Where’s your brother now?”
“Dead, same as my parents.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, me too actually. I liked my brother. Come on. Let’s go.”
They used the outdoor showers to rinse off and changing rooms to get dressed and headed back across the busy road and through downtown to Harry’s truck.
They turned the corner into the alley and the truck was not where Harry distinctly remembered leaving it.
Harry spluttered and groaned. “Wha—wha—what the hell? What the hell? Where’s my truck?”
Ted shrank away from Harry. “Did it get towed?”
“I don’t see a no parking sign. Do you see a no parking sign? I sure as shit don’t.”
“I don’t know. It must have been stolen.”
“Uh, ya think? That’s all I have in this God-forsaken world.”
Harry started walking back and forth, starting a competition between the soles of his boots and the pavement to see which would wear out first.
“California. All because of a stupid trip to California.”
“Sorry.”
“Yeah, you’re sorry, I’m sorry, everybody’s sorry. Well, I guess we gotta go to the police. Can’t wait for that. Probably never see it again.”
“Don’t you have insurance?”
“Yeah, that’s not the point though, is it?” Harry shook his head. “You and California. Why did we come here?”
Ted sighed, turned, and started walking.
“Where are you going?”
“The police station, asshole.”
“Oh.”
Harry followed Ted out of the alley and into the night.
Stay tuned for the conclusion in Part 2, out next week.
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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, strictly a product of the author’s imagination. Any perceived resemblance or similarity to any actual events or persons, living or dead, and any perceived slights of people, places, or organizations are products of the reader’s imagination. This fiction is the result of a partnership between a human writer and the character(s) he accessed with his creative subconscious as he raced through the story with them. No generative AI was used in any way to write this story.