Conspiracy of Firmaments, pt. 4
The first time I ever saw America, and I mean capital-'A'-quotation-italics concept America was when I was seven. I was in the back of my Dad's truck. It was covered, so the whole interior was dark with that window shining like a movie screen. Everything was dark inside, and hotter than hell. It just baked like an oven. When we'd stop somewhere every two or three hours, my dad would come along the back and he was so big he blocked out most the sun and he'd pull me out and I'd be dripping, my shirt and my socks and my pants, just soaked to the bone and smelling like a dead cat. I think after a day I rode naked, scrambling to throw on one of Mom's shirts whenever the car started to slow to a stop. I forget how many states we were out of California when we stopped seeing palm trees, only about 1 or 2. I thought we were on the other side of the world; China, Europe, the Sahara. In the back of a truck, the whole sky opens up to you and everything seems to be getting just smaller and smaller. From that point on it was nothin but clouds and cars and dirt and sand and the ass ends of billboards and we left em all behind.
I was headin back West. I hadn't since I left. When I was youbg I developed a real chip on my shoulder about California People. When I was younger I used to hitchhike all over North America, but I always stopped at Cali. My brother says he's got a job for me out in Colorado. "No Aspen fucks" he says. He says the word "fucks" for me, to put us on the same level. Maybe I'm being too hard on him. Maybe he says it for him, his wife hasn't allowed "sailor talk" since their daughters were born. When we talked on the phone, he didn't change the words "sailor talk" when he told me.
I'm worried about Jack. He's asleep in the back, with the luggage. My truck doesn't have a cover. I hate those damn things. He doesn't mind the road like some kids do. He likes going two days without a shower, until I tell him to scrub up in some diner bathroom. I down know how the kid gets so filthy in the back of a truck with a buncha damn luggage. He's a quiet kid, real content. He doesn't need to talk. Sometimes for days at a time. He stores in all those little kid questions about life and death and the sky being blue and whatnot and blasts me fullbore when he knows I'm ready. Mostly, we let the radio talk. News, and sports, and strippers and New York Jews, and Baptist Heaven and Hell. They let almost anyone talk. Sometimes we'll find a station with Jamaicans or Haitians talking and leave it on. We don't understand a damn thing they're saying, we just listen to the rhythm in their voice. My son and his friends, his old friends, they liked to talk to each other the way they thought Jamaicans sounded. In Brooklyn, me and my friends would do the same thing, only Korean. We'd pull the skin around our eyes back and nod alot.
When you're older, on the back of a truck, and everything is getting smaller, and things seem almost familiar for a couple of seconds you second guess yourself alot. Why not just stay here? Why not just jump out? Some people do, just breeze into towns like a cowboy and find work. At least they could used to. Some find cities and just let themselves get swallowed up. Sometimes, I slow down for no reason, just to give Jack a chance. He won't do it. He's too young, he doesn't know anything, but I want him to know I'm doing it. When we leave Colorado I'll want him to know, and the place after that.
Sometimes 'll pick up hitchers. Most of em don't stick their thumbs out. New ones all do, the rest just stand on the side of the road like ghosts. One time a guy in a beret talked to me about guns for two days straight. One time a girl with dreadlocks put her hand down my jeans while Jack slept. Most of the time we just listen to AM radio. Sometimes, they shake. Take em outta their element, these tough motherfucker kids and they're like fish out a bowl, just shaking. Rarely, they talk to Jack. The women do, even the dreadlock girl once he woke up. One time there was this chick who said she was a stripper and a school teacher,this was before Jack and she just teased me for two days and wrapped my mind in riddles. I asked her how she could do both, she said she was smart and she was young; she wanted to teach children, to do something good but she couldn't pay off all her bills teaching. I asked her how she could be a nurterer half the day and a slut the other and she tells me she's no slut, she doesn't have sex. I say okay, so you're not a whore, that don't mean you're not a slut and she says, 'No, I don't have sex,' and I ask her how long it's been and she tells me two years and's all like "Why, you wanna dust off some cobwebs an I say yeah and start noddin like a stupid puppy like she wanted me to an she goes off, "Well two bad I don't fuck, right?"
She was fuckin brilliant. A midwest girl. I asked her why she was leaving town an she tells me some parents found out about her other job. Thing is, all she was doin was goin off to another town to do the same damn thing. Maybe, maybe she wasn't that brilliant afterall, but she would've really liked Jack. She didn't have any kids of her own, at least she didn't say she did.
It's good to have him with me. He keeps me stationary. The road's a lonely place. Sometimes it's good, it sharpens the mind. Here I am thinkin about some hitcher I picked up a decade ago when last week in the city I couldn't remember if I'd eaten a proper lunch or not. The loneliness sharpens your mind alright, but it's still fuckin lonely, and I'm still sittin here gettin half-hard over some stripper from ten years ago.
The coffee is stale. Some of it might be a week old. I never finish it. I just keep pourin more in when we hit a rest area or a gas station. They don't mind. I but a couple sandwiches, and a pack of smokes an some candy. Jack uses their bathrooms. Thi one kid, one of those new hitchers shakin like a fish with his thumb out tried to give me fifty dollars, some runaway! I gave him thirty back, probably some pusher who doesn't knw how much money's worth. He was nice enough though and Jack took to him right away, asked to sit up front an started yammering like nobody's business. He told him jokes and rhymes that i don't think I've ever heard before. Maybe he made em up himself in the back of his truck. He'll probly end up smarter'n me one day, maybe he'll pull off school and they won't hold him back even though he's missed so much. I wonder if he looks like my nieces. I wonder what my nieces look like. We pass a rest stop we don't need and keep on driving. In a few hours, we'll be in Colorado.
I was headin back West. I hadn't since I left. When I was youbg I developed a real chip on my shoulder about California People. When I was younger I used to hitchhike all over North America, but I always stopped at Cali. My brother says he's got a job for me out in Colorado. "No Aspen fucks" he says. He says the word "fucks" for me, to put us on the same level. Maybe I'm being too hard on him. Maybe he says it for him, his wife hasn't allowed "sailor talk" since their daughters were born. When we talked on the phone, he didn't change the words "sailor talk" when he told me.
I'm worried about Jack. He's asleep in the back, with the luggage. My truck doesn't have a cover. I hate those damn things. He doesn't mind the road like some kids do. He likes going two days without a shower, until I tell him to scrub up in some diner bathroom. I down know how the kid gets so filthy in the back of a truck with a buncha damn luggage. He's a quiet kid, real content. He doesn't need to talk. Sometimes for days at a time. He stores in all those little kid questions about life and death and the sky being blue and whatnot and blasts me fullbore when he knows I'm ready. Mostly, we let the radio talk. News, and sports, and strippers and New York Jews, and Baptist Heaven and Hell. They let almost anyone talk. Sometimes we'll find a station with Jamaicans or Haitians talking and leave it on. We don't understand a damn thing they're saying, we just listen to the rhythm in their voice. My son and his friends, his old friends, they liked to talk to each other the way they thought Jamaicans sounded. In Brooklyn, me and my friends would do the same thing, only Korean. We'd pull the skin around our eyes back and nod alot.
When you're older, on the back of a truck, and everything is getting smaller, and things seem almost familiar for a couple of seconds you second guess yourself alot. Why not just stay here? Why not just jump out? Some people do, just breeze into towns like a cowboy and find work. At least they could used to. Some find cities and just let themselves get swallowed up. Sometimes, I slow down for no reason, just to give Jack a chance. He won't do it. He's too young, he doesn't know anything, but I want him to know I'm doing it. When we leave Colorado I'll want him to know, and the place after that.
Sometimes 'll pick up hitchers. Most of em don't stick their thumbs out. New ones all do, the rest just stand on the side of the road like ghosts. One time a guy in a beret talked to me about guns for two days straight. One time a girl with dreadlocks put her hand down my jeans while Jack slept. Most of the time we just listen to AM radio. Sometimes, they shake. Take em outta their element, these tough motherfucker kids and they're like fish out a bowl, just shaking. Rarely, they talk to Jack. The women do, even the dreadlock girl once he woke up. One time there was this chick who said she was a stripper and a school teacher,this was before Jack and she just teased me for two days and wrapped my mind in riddles. I asked her how she could do both, she said she was smart and she was young; she wanted to teach children, to do something good but she couldn't pay off all her bills teaching. I asked her how she could be a nurterer half the day and a slut the other and she tells me she's no slut, she doesn't have sex. I say okay, so you're not a whore, that don't mean you're not a slut and she says, 'No, I don't have sex,' and I ask her how long it's been and she tells me two years and's all like "Why, you wanna dust off some cobwebs an I say yeah and start noddin like a stupid puppy like she wanted me to an she goes off, "Well two bad I don't fuck, right?"
She was fuckin brilliant. A midwest girl. I asked her why she was leaving town an she tells me some parents found out about her other job. Thing is, all she was doin was goin off to another town to do the same damn thing. Maybe, maybe she wasn't that brilliant afterall, but she would've really liked Jack. She didn't have any kids of her own, at least she didn't say she did.
It's good to have him with me. He keeps me stationary. The road's a lonely place. Sometimes it's good, it sharpens the mind. Here I am thinkin about some hitcher I picked up a decade ago when last week in the city I couldn't remember if I'd eaten a proper lunch or not. The loneliness sharpens your mind alright, but it's still fuckin lonely, and I'm still sittin here gettin half-hard over some stripper from ten years ago.
The coffee is stale. Some of it might be a week old. I never finish it. I just keep pourin more in when we hit a rest area or a gas station. They don't mind. I but a couple sandwiches, and a pack of smokes an some candy. Jack uses their bathrooms. Thi one kid, one of those new hitchers shakin like a fish with his thumb out tried to give me fifty dollars, some runaway! I gave him thirty back, probably some pusher who doesn't knw how much money's worth. He was nice enough though and Jack took to him right away, asked to sit up front an started yammering like nobody's business. He told him jokes and rhymes that i don't think I've ever heard before. Maybe he made em up himself in the back of his truck. He'll probly end up smarter'n me one day, maybe he'll pull off school and they won't hold him back even though he's missed so much. I wonder if he looks like my nieces. I wonder what my nieces look like. We pass a rest stop we don't need and keep on driving. In a few hours, we'll be in Colorado.
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