Jack (chapter 5)

Boise.  Somewhat desolate and kind of boring.  Sorry, Idahoans.  It has been my shift to drive the past five hours and we just dropped off Joseph and Mary at a ridiculously ornate house backed up to a small creek.  I think someone has some money and wants to show it off.  I have no problem with that except for the fact that so much of the world doesn’t even have clean drinking water and even closer to home, there are children born into houses without food all the time in every city in the U.S.  So I get the fact that you have money and I’m cool with you spending it on decorative rocks as long as you are spending the equivalent on the poor.  Thus ends my rant on that.

Valerie mumbled a short goodbye and Mr. Peter James said goodbye just long enough to make sure that all planes were still grounded.  He volunteered to take over driving just as dawn is breaking over the horizon.  We stop ever so briefly for breakfast at Sonic.  Mr. Peter James is irritated and the urgency in his demeanor is increasing with each hour that passes.  I wonder what could be so important in Miami that he can’t stand to miss it.  It can’t be business; there is a different kind of urgency when it comes to business.  That kind of urgency exposes itself in the forehead and the shoulders, with the occasional clenched fists and red ears.  His urgency is more deeply embedded in his body, behind the nose and under the eyes.  It creates a kind of breathing that is trying to recover from a great blow to the stomach while maintaining pride and dignity.  His foot steps with purpose and determination.  Hesitation causes pauses which slow the progress and creates shadow where only light is permitted.  This is why Mr. Peter James has zero tolerance for Valerie.  I wish my reasons for intolerance were as viable.  I just don’t care for her.  But here we go; the three of us for about three days’ worth of driving in this van.  Is it too late to go back to Portland?

I suppose it is.  I sit in the front next to Mr. Peter James and continue to conjecture what is in Miami for him.  I’m afraid to ask because then I would feel the obligation to reciprocate the information.  I would probably lie.

I could give you the details of the trip, but I’m sure you would be as bored as I am and would stop reading before things get interesting, so I’ll hit a few highlights for you and leave the rest to your imagination.  Please make that as exciting as you want because it would be far more enjoyable than what actually happened.

Hour #3: Valerie is complaining about how uncomfortable her seat is for the thousandth time this trip.  Mr. Peter James responds, “If you don’t like it you can walk for as long as you want and then your feet will hurt far worse than your rear-end ever will.” 

She stops complaining, but Mr. Peter James continues:

“There’s no way I’d ever let my daughter go on like you do about the blessings that you have in your life, which you see as curses.  You have the goodness of a friend to get you to your destination.  You have air conditioning and a cushion.  You have the opportunity to be college-educated, clean drinking water and indoor plumbing.  My word, darling, you have got to change your perspective on life or your sense of entitlement will completely undo you.  Life is hard and frustrating.  Get used to it and make the most of it.”  His nose is stern and hard.  I knew he was serious already but this makes it more intense.  I wonder if I can breathe.

“You complain to me when you have everything in the world a good family, a great job with the NFL making money like you will never see and then having everything stripped from you because you made a lousy decision.  One that you knew was wrong when you made.  And then finally getting back on your feet and asked to come and visit your kids because one of them is graduating from college.  You finally get to see them after ten years and the shit for brains take that away from you in the wink of an eye because they aren’t making enough money.  So we will make it to Miami by Saturday and you will be grateful for the things that you do have while you are in this van.  Damn it.”

Valerie was on the verge of tears, I knew not because I looked back to check but because I could hear the sniffs.  I didn’t venture to look at Mr. Peter James either.  I just continued looking out of the front window, praying that I don’t ever make him mad.  He picks up the speed of the van a little; I’m certain it is because he sees nothing but an image of his son in front of him.  At least now I know and I didn’t have to lie about my own destination.

Hour #6: The past three hours have been spent in almost absolute silence, which was compounded by the lack of interesting scenery.  We stop at a gas station.  I practically jump out of the van and run into the store.  The oppression in the van was getting close to unbearable and typically I revel in awkward situations.  They’re what makes life interesting and worth paying attention to.  But in this van the awkwardness and tension was confined and stifling.

Hour #12: I have been driving and I like the way the time passes when I drive. It gives me time to clear my head.  I try to contemplate the case, but remember that I have nothing new to ponder.  So then I just try to seem lost in thought so no one will talk to me.

Hour #14.5: We hit a prarie dog or two.

Hour #18: We decide to stop for the night.  We are about halfway to our destination and Mr. Peter James and I are struggling to stay awake on the road no matter how much we sleep in the van.  Valerie has mostly remained silent until now.  But as soon as Mr. Peter James has disappeared she tries to sway my view of him, “He didn’t have to get so mad at me.”

Has she really been stewing over that this whole time?  I completely forgot that he had said anything to her, although the resulting silence was much welcomed.

“Jack? Do you think he’s still mad?”

I shrug, “I dunno.  Ask him.”

“But I don’t know if I can.  He hasn’t said much to me all day since then.  And then he snapped at me when I said I had to stop to use the restroom.  I mean, I know he wants to get to his son’s graduation, but it isn’t my fault that the planes were grounded and that we are stuck in this van.  I’d rather be in Miami right now too.”  She pouts and looks on the verge of tears.  She has definitely been holding this in for many hours.

“I’m sure he’s not mad at you.”  Seeing that the tears are slowly subsiding, I continue, “Just let him be and it’ll be fine.  We all just need sleep.  Now go to your room.  We’ll get up and go early in the morning so we won’t keep him any longer than we need to.”

The tears have dissipated without rolling.  Victory.  She half smiles and then hugs me.  Fail.  I wait exactly three seconds before pushing her away and turning to my room.  I don’t care if she cries now.

Hour #25: We are back on the road.  Mr. Peter James and Valerie have apologized to each other.  She is chatty again.  Maybe I should have given her different advice.  At least Mr. Peter James looks less likely to kill somebody.

Hour #30:  Shoot me.

Hour #34:  Seriously, please shoot me.

Hour #39:  I consider desertion just as Valerie falls to sleep.

Hour #41: The adventure really begins.