“Harry Truman, Doris Day
Red China, Johnny Ray
South Pacific, Walter Winchell
Joe Dimaggio”
Pop’s old F-150 pickup creaks and groans in harmony with Billy Joel, interspersed with the old man’s noisy nose-breaths. The sound is so incredibly nostalgic that I almost expect the green flatness all around us to become desaturated with age and memories. Pop himself wears a light smile as he glances at me, like he just had the exact same thought.
We should have done this more when we had the chance.
Route 36 through the endless nearly-nothing of Kansas rolls forever ahead and behind us. We’ll pass through Baileyville, Marysville, Belleville and so many other nearly-nothing places that aren’t a ville, but should be. Our annual roadtrip to Denver to visit Gram’s grave, brought back for… probably the last time. I can’t believe Tristan said he ‘couldn’t make it’.
“Joe McCarthy, Richard Nixon
Studebaker, television
North Korea, South Korea
Marilyn Monroe
A wet cough into a handkerchief breaks the rhythm of Pop’s mustache-breaths, and I try my best to keep the smile on my face.
“How you doin’ ov’there? You sure you don’wanna ride in the bed? You’n your brother use’ta love that…”
“Yeah, no thanks, Pop. I kinda can’t believe you let us do that.”
“Bah! It’s damn near th’straightest shot in America. Could fall asleep at th’wheel and be jus’fine… And th’truck wouldna let you down. The ol’boy always gets where he’s goin’.”
I let out a snort. “This thing’s gonna outlive all of us.”
“...You wan’it?”
“Rosenbergs, H-Bomb
Sugar Ray, Panmunjom
Brando, The King and I
And the Catcher in the Rye”
“...What?”
His eyes pass over me again. “After… y’know. You want it?”
“Pop, I… I don’t want to talk about this. Can we just… enjoy the trip? Like we used to?”
He looks out onto the endless fields, saying nothing, and I follow him. The sky is a pure and complete blue, and the green-and-yellow earth is split only by a thin strip of road. It almost doesn’t seem real.
“Eisenhower, vaccine
England’s got a new Queen
39 48 05
97 56 33”
What the fuck was that?
“You’rright, ‘m sorry.”
I momentarily forget what we were even talking about. “Pop, did… did you hear that?”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“Hear what?”
“Just now, on the radio. A bunch of numbers.” A twitch passes over his face so quickly that it feels like I imagined it.
“...No.”
It sounded like… coordinates. “Sorry, let me just check my phone for a second.”
“C’mon kid, this’supposed t’be our time.”
“I know, sorry. It’s just for a minute, I promise.” Quickly pulling up Google Earth, I type in the numbers just to see what comes up… and it’s about a quarter-mile in front of us and just a bit North.
Ok…
“Hey Pop, do you mind if we… take the next right and make a stop? Pull over to stretch our legs?”
“Kid I… I don’think tha’s a good idea.” His response catches me completely off-guard.
“What? Why not?”
“Listen, you were jus’ talkin’ bout how we should enjoy this time. Don’get distracted with that nonsense, ok?”
“...Distracted? I just wanted to take a break.”
“I… yeah, maybe, but..”
“Wait… you said you didn’t hear it.”
“Hear what?”
“The numbers! You clearly heard it too!”
“A’rright, fine, I heard it. But don’t worry about that stuff, let’s just keep on our trip like we always do, ok? Please?”
I’m sure my confusion shows clearly, but all I see on Pop is a slowly rising… guilt?
“...fuck. A-Alright kid. We’ll turn.”
“Einstein, James Dean
Brooklyn’s got a winning team
Davy Crockett, Peter Pan
Elvis Presley, Disneyland”
As we turn into a disused dirt path toward where the coordinates marked, I spot a figure ambling its way down the road. It’s-It’s a woman. Bent and.. and limping. And bloody.
“Oh my God! Pop, we-stop! We have to help her!”
The hand that grips my arm is not at all frail, and looking down it seems impossible that it would be attached to Pop. His gaze is burning, now, and he doesn’t slow down or look at the road as his eyes paralyze me.
“Just let it go, Anna. Forget this, just let it pass, and we can turn around and go back to our trip. We visit Gram, we eat dinner, we sleep at the motel, then you go back to work on Monday and life keeps on its course.”
“Wha-what the hell are you saying!? She’s hurt! She’s-” The glimpse I steal of her shows black skin, truly black, and she (she?) doesn’t seem to be wearing any clothes. Huh?
“Don’t look! Just look at me, ok? Look at your Pop, and let it go!”
“Wha-no, stop! Pop, STOP!”
His mustache wavers, tired and lined face staring into mine, and I distantly notice that his slurring has disappeared. He takes in a chest-filling breath… then pumps the brakes.
We’re thrown forward with the force, my head almost smashing into the dashboard if not for the seatbelt that pulls across my chest. After an endless second of screeching and motion, we stop—the front-right tire escaping the beaten path to drag through the grassy dirt.
“Bardot, Budapest
Alabama, Krushchev
Princess Grace, Peyton Place
Trouble in the Suez”
Pop exhales through his nose, a whole sentence within the sound—exasperated, scared… resigned.
There’s a knock at the window.
“H-hello? Can you help-” a gasp. “Are you… Are you Abraham Meade?”
Rubbing at my clavicle, I turn to the woman (whose pupils are diamonds in a field of pink and whose teeth are sharp canines all of them and-)
“Yeah. That’s me.”
My head snaps back to stare at Pop, who coughs into his silk handkerchief one last time before putting it away, back suddenly unbent by age.
“But… you were gone!” The woman shakes the thought away. “Y-you have to help me! They’re coming for my eyes! Please let me in!”
Bloody hands scrape across the pane of the passenger-side window, leaving long red streaks. Despite the desperation evident in her voice, she makes no move to open the door.
My hand drifts forward unconsciously before Pop’s grip on my other wrist tightens again. “Pop… what’s happening? Why does she know your name? What is this?”
“Anna-” he never calls me Anna “-you have a very important decision to make right now. I-I had hoped you’d never have to make it… but I won’t take it from you. If…” His sigh shakes the thick white bristles above his lip. “If you don’t open that door… she’ll die. I’m not gonna lie, kid. But if you do… you will never be able to close it again. Do you understand? This is the most important decision you will ever make.”
My mind is a roiling jumble.
How did we get here? From numbers on the radio to… My eyes drift back to the bleeding woman, the great gash across her stomach now easily visible.
Coal skin. Pink eyes. Pop’s name. What does any of this mean?
In the middle of this maze of questions… one thing bubbles to the top.
She’ll die. Whatever comes is worth doing if it saves a life, surely?
“We didn’t start the fire,
it was always burning since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire,
No, we didn’t light it, but we tried to fight it”
I open the door.