Cloudy
"Jake, where the hell are we? This isn't the way we came."
"Quit griping. We're almost there. I still can't believe you haven't even tried to enjoy this."
Alex wasn't convinced. All he wanted was to get back to the truck. He couldn't understand how anyone could love a place like this. They had been hiking all afternoon, just the two of them, with only sagebrush and rocks for company. Everything looked grey. There wasn't even anything alive to be seen, save a couple birds that they occasionally startled. No rabbits, no coyotes, not even any of the cows whose dry, whitened droppings Alex had trouble avoiding. The closest thing they found to a mammal was a skeleton or two, bleached by the oppressive summer sun. Only now, it was early October and starting to get cold. As far as Alex could tell, this was a dead expanse, a wasteland, not worth the trouble of driving to.
Jake had told him he'd love it, that it suited his morbid personality. Alex was hesitant, but he had eventually agreed to go on the hike because it was a sunny day, like a relapse of summer. He had to admit it was nice at first; the exercise and the sun on his face were refreshing. During the hike, though, some clouds moved in and the sun became patchy, along with the warmth it provided. It was then that Alex realized that there was absolutely nothing to see. He became chilled, and the sun was well on its way to setting by the time the two headed back to the truck after sitting on a cold volcanic rock, having a dinner of sunflower seeds. Jake had insisted that they take a different route back, that there was more to see, that he had been there before.
But Alex didn't see more. He only saw the same scraggly hills, the same streaks of St. Helens ash, the same dried-up bones, the same boot tracks in the brittle ground. It kept getting colder, too.
"There's the truck," said Jake, stepping over a pile of rusted metal. "I hope you're happy." Alex just grunted while Jake fumbled for the keys. The old grey and red truck was parked in a gravel circle. All around, the ground was littered with aluminum cans, shotgun shells, broken appliances, old tires, big concrete blocks, and a stop sign full of bullet holes. Jake climbed into the truck and Alex had a cigarette while they waited for it to warm up.
Jake had owned that truck for as long as Alex could remember. It was an old 1979 Datsun pickup, and ugly as death. It always took forever to heat up. Alex pulled up the seat cover made of rough woven cloth and sat down. There were holes burned in the cover and every time somebody sat on it, they ripped a little wider.
"When you gonna get a new one of these?" asked Alex, extinguishing the butt of his cigarette on the cloth, opening a new hole.
"Ah, whenever I have the spending money."
The truck had a manual transmission, which Jake always liked, even though reverse never worked too well. He said that he always wished they kept making stickshift trucks. Alex asked if they could turn on the heat. Jake flicked it on while Alex turned the radio knob, trying to find a good AM station.
They drove out the way they came in, on the dirt and gravel road by the irrigation canal, riddled by washboard stretches, past broken wooden fences that still managed to keep the cattle in, dodging the deep puddles that were fed by the sprinklers in the yard full of pigs and goats, turning left at the trailer house with a front yard full of relics from long-past demo derbys, straight past the slaughterhouse, and left again toward Stratford Road.
Just before they got to the main road, and just as they were starting to warm up, a little Geo hatchback flew out of the dirt driveway to their left. Alex only had time to shout, "Holy sh-" before he was drowned out by crumpling metal as the car hit thier truck, just behind the rear tire. The back end lost grip and Jake slammed on the brakes as they swerved toward the ditch on their right. They came to a crooked stop and both young men jumped out to see the damage. As it turned out, the truck did more to the little car than vice-versa. In the steaming, partly crumpled car was a scrawny teenaged kid with long hair and patchy clothes. Jake and Alex helped him out and tried to calm him down; he was shaking and kept repeating, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you. Nobody ever drives on this road. I didn't see you." Alex offered him a smoke.
The three of them sat on the now-crooked tailgate for a while, smoking Alex's cigarettes, eating seeds, and trying to figure out what to do. A few curious cows came by to see what had happened. The sun was going down, shooting its last red rays over the Stuart Range.
"That's pretty," muttered Jake.
A few seconds later, Alex replied, "Yeah, it actually is..."
The skinny kid had finally settled down, so he walked back to his house and brought his dad. There hadn't been much damage done to Jake's truck, so he agreed not to bother about the matter anymore in exchange for ten bucks and three pounds of hamburger. Nobody had gotten hurt and the kid and his dad had more cars anyway. Jake shook the father's hand and then drove off with Alex, but not before they spent a few more minutes, watching the sunset.
"Quit griping. We're almost there. I still can't believe you haven't even tried to enjoy this."
Alex wasn't convinced. All he wanted was to get back to the truck. He couldn't understand how anyone could love a place like this. They had been hiking all afternoon, just the two of them, with only sagebrush and rocks for company. Everything looked grey. There wasn't even anything alive to be seen, save a couple birds that they occasionally startled. No rabbits, no coyotes, not even any of the cows whose dry, whitened droppings Alex had trouble avoiding. The closest thing they found to a mammal was a skeleton or two, bleached by the oppressive summer sun. Only now, it was early October and starting to get cold. As far as Alex could tell, this was a dead expanse, a wasteland, not worth the trouble of driving to.
Jake had told him he'd love it, that it suited his morbid personality. Alex was hesitant, but he had eventually agreed to go on the hike because it was a sunny day, like a relapse of summer. He had to admit it was nice at first; the exercise and the sun on his face were refreshing. During the hike, though, some clouds moved in and the sun became patchy, along with the warmth it provided. It was then that Alex realized that there was absolutely nothing to see. He became chilled, and the sun was well on its way to setting by the time the two headed back to the truck after sitting on a cold volcanic rock, having a dinner of sunflower seeds. Jake had insisted that they take a different route back, that there was more to see, that he had been there before.
But Alex didn't see more. He only saw the same scraggly hills, the same streaks of St. Helens ash, the same dried-up bones, the same boot tracks in the brittle ground. It kept getting colder, too.
"There's the truck," said Jake, stepping over a pile of rusted metal. "I hope you're happy." Alex just grunted while Jake fumbled for the keys. The old grey and red truck was parked in a gravel circle. All around, the ground was littered with aluminum cans, shotgun shells, broken appliances, old tires, big concrete blocks, and a stop sign full of bullet holes. Jake climbed into the truck and Alex had a cigarette while they waited for it to warm up.
Jake had owned that truck for as long as Alex could remember. It was an old 1979 Datsun pickup, and ugly as death. It always took forever to heat up. Alex pulled up the seat cover made of rough woven cloth and sat down. There were holes burned in the cover and every time somebody sat on it, they ripped a little wider.
"When you gonna get a new one of these?" asked Alex, extinguishing the butt of his cigarette on the cloth, opening a new hole.
"Ah, whenever I have the spending money."
The truck had a manual transmission, which Jake always liked, even though reverse never worked too well. He said that he always wished they kept making stickshift trucks. Alex asked if they could turn on the heat. Jake flicked it on while Alex turned the radio knob, trying to find a good AM station.
They drove out the way they came in, on the dirt and gravel road by the irrigation canal, riddled by washboard stretches, past broken wooden fences that still managed to keep the cattle in, dodging the deep puddles that were fed by the sprinklers in the yard full of pigs and goats, turning left at the trailer house with a front yard full of relics from long-past demo derbys, straight past the slaughterhouse, and left again toward Stratford Road.
Just before they got to the main road, and just as they were starting to warm up, a little Geo hatchback flew out of the dirt driveway to their left. Alex only had time to shout, "Holy sh-" before he was drowned out by crumpling metal as the car hit thier truck, just behind the rear tire. The back end lost grip and Jake slammed on the brakes as they swerved toward the ditch on their right. They came to a crooked stop and both young men jumped out to see the damage. As it turned out, the truck did more to the little car than vice-versa. In the steaming, partly crumpled car was a scrawny teenaged kid with long hair and patchy clothes. Jake and Alex helped him out and tried to calm him down; he was shaking and kept repeating, "I'm sorry, I didn't see you. Nobody ever drives on this road. I didn't see you." Alex offered him a smoke.
The three of them sat on the now-crooked tailgate for a while, smoking Alex's cigarettes, eating seeds, and trying to figure out what to do. A few curious cows came by to see what had happened. The sun was going down, shooting its last red rays over the Stuart Range.
"That's pretty," muttered Jake.
A few seconds later, Alex replied, "Yeah, it actually is..."
The skinny kid had finally settled down, so he walked back to his house and brought his dad. There hadn't been much damage done to Jake's truck, so he agreed not to bother about the matter anymore in exchange for ten bucks and three pounds of hamburger. Nobody had gotten hurt and the kid and his dad had more cars anyway. Jake shook the father's hand and then drove off with Alex, but not before they spent a few more minutes, watching the sunset.
2 comments:
I'm e-mailing it to myself for a later read.
Wow, somebody's been living in Moses Lake most of their life, lol.
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