Captainkirk's Duster project

Chapter 16

……...Meanwhile, back at the ranch……..
School labored on, and we with it. The light at the end of the tunnel grew larger, and brighter. It looked as if I was actually gonna make it. By late August I was four classes from finishing. I was talking with some of the guys from school and one of them mentioned “doubling up”. I responded by asking him what the hell he was talking about. He explained, that in some cases, students with a B or better GPA were allowed to “double up”; to do one class on the day shift and one on the evening shift! This was terribly intriguing as, if they would allow me to do this for the next two months, I could be home by Christmas! I had enough in my bank account to live on for two months. My sweetie and I had talked often about getting married once I’'d finished school. Maybe, if I could pull this off, we wouldn'’t have to wait until spring…….
So, I sat down with my counselor, and gave him the scoop. He cautioned me that it would be extremely hard, and that if my grades dropped in either class below a B the deal was off; plus, he'’d have to get administrative approval. Well, for those of you younger readers who don'’t feel that grades matter much, here'’s an example to prove you wrong. I got the green light to start up in September, and so gave my notice at my job and excitedly called my girl and gave her the news; she was thrilled!
Was it easy? Hell no. But it was a challenge, and I loved challenges.
I dug into this one like I’'d dug into the Duster. And I pulled it off. I'’d planned my work, then worked my plan. My other classmates thought I was nuts. Why would I want to double the work load, quit my job (loss of income) and rush back home to get married, when I could kick back and skate?
Let’'s just say I had my reasons; one of which involved trying to get a job before most of the small airports were buried under a foot of Chicago snow and were sending people home instead of hiring.
So early that November, I proudly received my diploma, two months ahead of the rest of my class. My class photo was shot with a bunch of people I barely knew…; the guys I’'d worked and studied and hung out with for so long still had several months left to go. Including Matt. Now, one Saturday morning just after graduation, I was home packing while Matt was at work. I made myself a bowl of Cheerios and a cup of java and sat down at the kitchen table; a rarity in those times. Usually it was grab a Pop-Tart on the run and wedge it down your craw as you were driving to; a) work, or b) class (as in the last couple months.) There were plenty of Pop-Tart crumbs on the floor of my Duster, and no doubt there was filling and/or frosting on the Hurst T-handle. Anyway, here I was, relishing a rare quiet moment, when the morning sun, which had been lurking behind some morning clouds, popped forth like a jack-in-the-box; (Pop Goes the Weasel!) and shone forth in all it’s radiant glory, streaming in the kitchen window over the sink and warming my back; fall was a wonderful season in Okie land, and……...What the hell……..?
A quarter-sized sunbeam danced upon my bowl of Cheerios, like the spotlight in some Mousie Floor Show. I stared at it, watching it dance; mystified. I waited in vain for the little mousies to come out dancing with their little canes and hats, but no dice. The sunlight must be reflecting off a mirror outside, or something; you know how it does that with, say, a wristwatch. Many a cat I'’ve driven to the brink of insanity by simply flicking my wrist back and forth while they madly pursued the sunbeam across the carpeting, vainly trying to kill it with their paws, always (mystically) just out of reach. I looked around, like that cat, trying to locate the errant sunbeam and it’s reflective source, but couldn'’t find it. Then, slowly, I looked up. And as oft-times happens when you gaze at the heavens, things come into focus. But not usually like this……..
A quarter-sized hole in the roof let the sun shine in, right above the kitchen table. Perhaps this was why the kitchen light no longer worked, and not a bad bulb as I'’d first assumed? This was totally bizarre; how did a hole get there? How long had it been there? And how was this going to affect my security deposit?
Al came home from school in the early afternoon and was as baffled as I was. The mystery didn'’t get solved until that night when Matt got home from school. When we asked him about our Mousie Spotlight, his cheeks turned the color of my first Duster, and he spilled the beans…. He’'d bought himself a shotgun, unbeknownst to us, had been cleaning it at the kitchen table and forgot to remove one of the rifled slugs...…the one in the chamber.
Now, I must confess, at this point I seriously pondered which would be the most effective way to remove him from the gene pool; strangulation, blunt trauma to the head, or the simple, effective merciful placement of a steak knife. In the end, I just shook my head and went off to bed mumbling and shaking my head in disbelief, thanking the Lord that the muzzle had been pointing up, rather than left or right, towards either bedroom.

That was the last exchange of words I had with Matt; ever. The straw that broke the camel'’s back. I resumed packing the next day, as Dad was coming down one last time with the Jimmy to haul everything back home. I spent the next couple days unzipping the skirt of the trailer (it was OK to call it a trailer now; I was leaving) and hauling out all the Duster parts I'’d stashed under there. I hauled '‘em off to a boneyard and took what they gave me for them; I think fifteen bucks. I had no time and no leverage to bargain. Everything was packed and ready to go, just waiting for Dad to show. I said my Goodbyes to Al; despite all our troubles he was really a decent guy at heart and I wished him the best of luck. I never said jack **** to Matt; the weasel that he was.

After Dad arrived, we loaded all the stuff we could into the Jimmy and my Duster. We had a late lunch at the Pines restaurant and headed out. I left without saying anything to Broom Hilda and forfeiting my security deposit; I’'m sure the damage to the trailer roof and the kitchen wiring was more than the sum of my deposit. I left that for Matt to settle up with; after all, it was his fault. We got a late afternoon start on the road, heading for St. Louis and Uncle Jim’'s. It was dark by 5:00 pm and we drove on in darkness, a tiny wagon train heading for gold country. By darkness that evening I was already in trouble; it had been a very late night, followed by an early morning and I was driving behind Mario Andretti on a two-lane highway threading my way through the inky darkness trying to keep up with two tiny pinpricks of red when the first wave of exhaustion swept over me. The droning rumble of the engine thrumming through my body and soul didn'’t help matters; the heat was on defrost and the warm air swirled around my head, making matters worse.
Initially, it was OK; I shook off the first wave and pressed on. But the second wave sorta snuck up on me, and I jerked back to consciousness just as the front wheel touched the gravel on the shoulder. I could just pull over, but Mario would probably not even notice until I was twenty miles behind him. Feeling a twinge of alarm, I hunched forward and dropped the hammer. The Duster leapt forward, eager for a scuffle, and I took a bead on those tiny red dots and just rolled it on. Holy crap! I was pushing ninety and didn'’t seem to be catching up at all! How fast was he going, anyway? To make matters worse, my eyes were burning, watering, begging me to close them, if only for a second. I shut off the heat and rolled down the window, letting the cold night air blast my face. I popped in “"Frampton Comes Alive!"” and cranked the volume, hoping to fight off this invisible enemy. Still, my eyes screamed for sleep. And the cold air was making them water. Every time I blinked, they wanted to stay shut. This wasn'’t working. Now I was pushing one hundred and finally the dots began to grow a bit larger. I had to roll up the window to shut off the firehose in my eyes. I found them closing once again and I slapped myself on the cheeks and started pinching my leg like some lewd office pervert to keep from going out again. I felt like I was seconds away from “lights out, game over”. Then I got an idea. I began stomping on the bright switch, on, off, on, off, over and over, and finally I saw the brake lights come on like the appearing of angels or something; Mario Andretti slowed and pulled over. I got out and told Dad I was on the verge of being the next Oklahoma traffic fatality, and could he please find a restaurant, truck stop, fire hydrant, anything with coffee…; soon! Fortunately, there was one less than ten miles down the road.
Now normally, I drink my coffee black, but I was dumping in as much sugar as I could tolerate to get my energy level up. I think I had four steaming mugs of java within twenty minutes; I was so jacked by the time we left I was babbling like the village idiot. I also filled my empty Thermos, just in case. I didn'’t need it; I was wide awake all the way to East St. Louis, and for quite some time after we got there!