There Will Be a Highway There

Davey pulled into the parking lot at five minutes before four and slid out the door of his Nissan pickup boots crunching on the gravels. The light was on in his Grandfather’s room so that was a good sign. Walking down the hall one of the doors was open and he could see in the room. A skeletal looking old man lying on his back, nose pointed towards the ceiling with his mouth open was snoring. Davey knocked on John's door and heard him grunt, “Come in.” Davey slid in the door and John was in the bathroom. “We gotta go, Grampap. You about ready?” “Been trying to be. Done tied myself in a knot but no luck. Hate to get caught short in the woods.” John mumbled. Davey chuckled and said, “Lets get going. The Trumbo boys will have contusions if we're late.” John hauled himself into the bedroom and pulled on his coveralls. Davey helped him get his straps up over his shoulders right. John sat down on the side of his bed and struggled to pull on his boots. Using maximum effort to get around his gut left John winded. Davey knelt down and said, “Here, let me help you a little, Grampap, or we’ll never get going.” Davey tied John’s shoes for him and when he stood up he handed John his coat from the hook on the back of the door and smiling said, “Let’s go hunting Grampap!” When they headed down the hall toward the big EXIT sign, door after door opened as old women in hairnets and bathrobes from WalMart peeked out to witness the beginning of John's quest. They passed the front desk Mabelle leaned out of her door and whispered, “Good luck, John! Get a big one for us.” Then she turned and walked to Rennick’s door, kicked it with her foot, and said, “Lost your bet, you old Yankee fool.” When they got to the truck Davey realized they had a slight problem. John just barely fit in the front seat of his little truck with his coveralls and coat on. The bucket seats that wrapped almost around anyone else didn’t handle but about three quarters of his Grandfather. Finally managing to get the door shut he made no attempt at getting a seat belt around him and sliding into the driver’s seat he said, “When we get to the Trumbo’s place you can ride with Tim. He has a full size Dodge truck and you will fit in that one better. John’s head was against the ceiling and his knees were against the dashboard. He looked out of the corner of his eye at Davey and asked, “I think I growed since the picnic. You got my gun and shells?” “Sure do. Behind the seat but I can’t quite get to them now,” the young man answered. John said, “Let’s get the hell up the road then.” Davey said, “We are going over to the Trumbo’s trailer up at the Skunktown trailer park and meet them there.” Tim and Tom Trumbo were flaming red-head identical, inseparable twins. They were both twenty-five years old that year and top mechanics for a local trucking company. Neither had graduated from high school mostly because they couldn’t get past English 12 and meet the States requirements for graduation. In reality they were happy go lucky Southern Boys and just didn‘t give a damn. Theirs was a world revolving around hunting, fishing, and fixing anything broken. Artists with their hands. For their work they chose Craftsman, Dewalt, and Master Mechanic. For their play Remington, Winchester, Chrysler products and Cabela’s Catalog. Davey pulled into the back of the brown and white mobile home trailer at four fifteen AM and noticed Tom’s truck was already warming up with ghostly clouds of exhaust rising from the tailpipe. The aluminum dog box on the back of the truck fit behind the tool box next to the cab. They were ready at a minutes notice to run a bear or overhaul a transmission. Davey blew the horn and the brothers rolled out of the door rambling down the sagging back steps covered with frost. “Bout time you showed up!” Tim joked. “It’s almost lunchtime. Damn, Mr. John, you look like a big fat sardine in a Japanese tin can. Hey, Tom, look here. We got Little David hauling around Goliath in a Japanese sardine can” “Yeah, Tim, can Grampap ride with you? This ain’t working out so good. I done forgot how big a man he is with all his hunting clothes on. I was hoping Grampap could ride in your bigger truck.” Davey opened the passenger door and had to help John get his right foot past the door post and out on the ground. The old man slid his legs and butt out and the rest of him followed. “Sure, Mr. John. Come ride in a real truck. Skinny butt Tim can suffer in that little Nissan with Davey,” Tom chuckled. Tim responded with a vulgar insult as he loaded up his lower lip with his first dip of Copenhagen snuff of the day. John got in the Dodge and even though it was still tight it was much better. Tom looked over at Davey as they got in their trucks and yelled , “See yall at Speedy’s for breakfast.” Tom punched some buttons on the radio and a Ralph Stanley CD started playing. Ralph was singing a song about killing his girlfriend down in a willow garden and Jack Cook was harmonizing real keen. John liked the music and didn’t mind it being loud because he couldn’t hear so well ever since the mortar went off right behind him in Korea. He thought about that one a lot. He assigned to a demolition squad and his unit had spent most of the night sneaking a mile past enemy lines. Their mission required them to blow up a bridge cutting off a retreat route the North Koreans would have to use when the American boys launched a major offensive. John had served four years in World War II and then had stayed in long enough to get a dose of “Gone-ta-Korea” too, pulled his twenty and retired. He had seen the roughest of the rough many times. A G.I. he had known had gotten his ass cheeks shot off by German machine guns and couldn’t sit down ever again. Even after seeing the worst possible maiming and grinding of human bodies, that was the one thing he had feared the most. Getting his ass cheeks shot off scared him worse than dying. They had set their charges on the bridge and the Captain told them, “When we set this thing off it's every man for himself getting back across the line. Run straight down the hollow as fast and as far as you can. The Gooks gonna be some kind of pissed!” At daylight they blew the bridge to splinters and then took off running hard as they could. About a hundred yards down the trail the NK boys got over their shock and opened up with machine guns and mortars. John felt a huge concussion behind him and something hit him in the seat of his pants so hard it knocked him down. It stung like bees and John panicked knowing his ass cheeks were blown off. He was going to be just as bad off as his luckless friend. He laid still for what seemed an eternity. Finally, he forced his hand back there and he felt nothing but wet and slime. His worst fears had been realized. It took every bit of his will power to bring his fingers in front of his face. Expecting to see gore and blood he saw wet red clay. The damned mortar had gone off and blown a big chunk of red clay up against his ass so hard it had numbed him. He jumped up and could have beaten Jessee Owens down that hollow passing every man in the unit. His ear drums were damaged but his ass cheeks survived. Funny how stuff like that would pop into your mind at most any time when you hadn‘t thought about it in months. It was like all of that had happened to someone else and it was all a terrible dream. John had pulled his twenty and then worked as a stone mason and done alright. He liked fooling with rocks and putting random things in order. Kind of like Ben with his fences. Today was looking up. He was going hunting and for one day at least had escaped “Jesus’ Launching Pad”. Ralph and Curley were playing “Hard Times”and John was happy. Ralph’s banjo was ripping and Ricky Lee was wearing out the guitar! John made a mental note to get Ben and his band to play that one for him at the cabin sometime.