by Nancy Cupp
8
SENTENCE
ARNOLD INSISTED THAT HE STAYED in the room with the rest of the guys from football camp that night. He said he’d had too much to drink. He had passed out on the couch in the hotel room early in the evening when the party was going on. He didn’t remember meeting anyone named Susan at the party. He claimed the scratches on his arm were from football practice.
Damon was laying on his bed in the dorm room the two of them shared at camp. Arnold was still dressed in his football gear when he came in.
“What’s going on? Why’d they haul you in?”
“Some damn woman from the party says I roughed her up.”
“Did you?”
“Hell, I was sitting on the couch all night. You guys all saw me, I was passed out—drank too much I guess.”
Damon laughed, “I was kind of busy in the other room, most of the other guys was in and out of the bedrooms too.”
“But you saw me on the couch alone—right?”
“Yeah, I guess I saw you sittin’ there.”
“Maybe you could remind the other guys about that too, okay?”
“Sure. Hell, it could be any of us guys gets a girl that decides she didn’t want to. We gots to all stick together.”
…
Ed was furious when he got the call from Clara. He was in California and had several loads lined up that would take him the rest of the week to finish. He didn’t have time for this foolishness from Arnold.
“Can’t you take care of it?”
“I’m doing the best I can, Ed. She’s pressing assault charges, the preliminary hearing is next week.”
“Damn him. I’ll try to get home for the hearing, but in the meantime he’s done with football camp. How are you doing?”
“I feel like hell, this chemo has me wiped out. I don’t know if I’ve got the energy to deal with him. Maybe it’s better if he’s off at camp.”
“I’ll deal with him. He’s going to work all summer if they don’t lock him up.”
…
Arnold sat on the hard bench of the court room waiting for his turn, dressed in a suit coat. Clara sat next to him, looking frail and small. He hated being next to her, she did her best to keep the coughing at a minimum, but he was repulsed by her anyway. He figured it didn’t hurt to have his ailing mother at his side, so he feigned concern for her.
The Judge called his case and read the information presented. “Mr. Lade your statement says that you had too much to drink on the night in question and passed out on the couch. Is that correct?”
“Yes sir, my teammates can vouch for me.”
“I’ve already interviewed them. The charges say you assaulted Ms. Anderson in an ally about a block from the hotel. Did you leave the hotel room before you and your roommates checked out?”
“No sir, I was in the hotel all night.”
“Since you are underage for drinking, I would release you in your mother’s custody. But I understand your mother is ill, and your father is a truck driver?”
“Yes sir, she has cancer.”
“Since she may be unable to assure the court that you won’t be out drinking, I am going to release you into your father’s custody.”
“But sir, he is gone on the road most of the time.”
“Yes, that should keep you out of trouble for the summer.”
“But…”
“Your case is closed, unless you’d rather face these assault charges.”
Arnold’s face was red, the anger welled up in him and he clenched his jaw. When he turned around to leave, he saw his father sitting in the back of the courtroom. Ed Lade had a smirk on his face when his eyes met his son’s.
Arnold helped his mother get into her old car, he went around to the driver’s side and looked up before getting in. His dad’s rig was parked in the lot of an abandoned store a block away. His father was walking in that direction.
Arnold slid behind the wheel. He pulled out into traffic, squealing the tires, fishtailing when he passed his father walking. Clara gripped the door handle. “Slow down Arnold, you’re making me ill.”
“I’m dropping you off at home. Don’t puke in my car.”
“Your car?”
“The car—whatever.” Arnold lit a cigarette.
“Give me one of those,” said Clara. “Your dad is going to want to leave right away. Slow down, dammit. So you be ready, get your clothes packed soon as we get home.” Clara braced herself for the exit ramp.
Arnold rolled through the red light at the end of the ramp, a car honked and swerved to the other lane to miss him as he turned the corner.
“You’re gonna get us in an accident. Slow down. You’re in enough trouble already.” Clara’s feet were firmly planted on the floorboard, her back pressed against the seat.
Arnold turned in and the car bounced into the driveway, gravel slid under the tires as he braked. Clara lurched back in the seat as the car settled. She sat for a moment breathing hard.
“Get out. Hurry up—go!” Arnold reached across her and opened the passenger door, his foot still on the brake.
Bruce was coming out the front door to help his mom to the house when Arnold put the car in reverse, spraying gravel as he backed out of the driveway. He hit the pavement, burning rubber the full length of the cul-de-sac.
At the end of the block he locked up the brakes, skidding as he turned the car to avoid a collision. He slammed his fist on the steering wheel, then jammed the car into park. He tossed his cigarette out the window, crossed his arms and waited defiantly in the car.
Ed pulled the air brakes on his rig, he leisurely climbed down and walked around to the other side. He’d parked to block the end of the street, the only way out.
He bent down and leaned in the window of the Malibu.
“Going somewhere Arnold?”
Arnold studied the upholstery on the seat between his legs. He refused to look at his father. “How the hell did you get that thing here so fast?”
Ed laughed like he’d just won the Indy 500. “Let me tell ya, boy. This old Kenworth ain’t just got pulling power, she’s got plenty of speed too. Twin sticks, and thirteen speeds, all designed for optimum speed along with the power to move mountains.”
Then his blue eyes went steely cold. Ed yanked open the door and hauled son out. He held him by the front of his shirt and spoke inches from his face. “Don’t mess with me boy. Get your ass back to the house and be ready to go when I get there.” He gave Arnold a shove in the direction of the house.
9
WOMEN ARE LIKE A TRUCK
ARNOLD PULLED THE RIG OUT of the rest area onto the highway. “You’re doing a fine job with your shifting, boy. I’ll make a trucker out of you yet.”
Arnold glared at his father. “I ain’t gonna be no trucker. Shit, I already know how to drive the rig, there ain’t nothing to it. I want to be something, I want to make big money.”
“You don’t know nothin’, boy. All you’ve done is pull an empty trailer on open freeway. What makes you think there ain’t money in trucking?”
Arnold set the cruise control. “None of us has ever seen you bringing home wads of cash. You work seventy or more hours a week, and you’re never home.”
“It takes a hell of a lot of cash to keep a family fed. Now with your mother sick, I’ve got medical bills that I’ll never get paid off.”
“Not my problem.”
The muscles in Ed’s jaw tightened repeatedly. “I ain’t so sure your mom’s gonna make it. The deductible’s bad enough, but if she maxes out the insurance, it’ll wipe me out.”
“Still not my problem.” Arnold glanced at his dad. “I’m going out for football in my senior year. I’m good enough to get recruited despite this lyin’ bitch that’s got me kicked out of camp.”
“You done that to yourself, boy. You got a lot to learn about how to get what you need from a woman.” Ed stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned his seat back as far as it would go. “It’s abo
ut seventy-five miles to Denver. Take exit 361 so you don’t have to go through the scales. I’ll take over there.”
“So you’re gonna sleep while I do your job. Is that how this works? When do I get paid?”
“If you’re lucky, I’ll feed you. Now shut-up and drive.”
…
Arnold hauled the last of the chains back to the flat-bed where his father was securing the heavy crane they’d be hauling to California. The load was massive, hanging over on both sides of the trailer.
“Bring me four sets of load binders, let’s get this thing on the road.” Ed dragged chains across the tracks of the machine with an ear-splitting racket.
Arnold jogged to the front of the fifty-three foot trailer and back with forty pounds of steel four times. He didn’t give a rip about getting the load on the road, but the workout would help keep him in shape after riding in the truck all day.
When the load was chained to his father’s satisfaction, Ed sent him to get the measuring stick. He carefully checked the height of the load on every high point, cussing when the top of the crane’s boom measured thirteen feet-eight inches.
“We’ve got to take the pass, this won’t fit through the tunnel.”
“But we’re done for today, right? We’ve been on the road for ten hours.” Arnold stretched his aching back, ready for a shower and some bunk time.
“Hell no, we ain’t got enough time to get this there on time even if we could take the tunnel. The by-pass will add at least another hour.”
Arnold cursed on his way to the cab, where Ed was already working on his log book. “How are you gonna explain how we got from Kansas to Denver and still have enough hours left to haul this thing tonight? Especially since I’m not legal to drive this rig.”
“That’s what two sets of log books are for.” Ed picked up the first log book and smacked Arnold on the arm with it. “Slide this under the mattress in the top bunk.”
Arnold reluctantly took the book and got up to put it away. Ed fired up the engine, but before he put it in gear, he popped a couple of pills in his mouth and washed them down with cold coffee.
Denver traffic was slow, as usual, but soon they were out of the city and climbing. Arnold was surprised at how much downshifting was required to keep the truck rolling as it wound up the steep grade. Just as the traffic thinned out on the wide freeway, Ed signaled to turn off on a small two lane highway.
“Now you’re going to see what it takes to drive this rig. Loveland Pass ain’t for pansy’s.”
Arnold harrumphed, and shrugged. “Whatever—I really don’t give a shit.”
Ed grinned as he expertly worked the gears to keep the truck climbing at thirty-five miles per hour. “This little stretch of road would have you filling your drawers, boy. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet. Even though it’s summer, there can be snow or frost up here. It don’t take much to get you sliding.”
Arnold tried to look uninterested, but the road narrowed and twisted in tight switchbacks. The trailer off-tracked on the turns enough to put the tandems right on the edge of the pavement. Shoulders were practically non-existent. Beyond that was a steep drop that Arnold didn’t want to look at. The twisting and swaying was making him queasy.
When they reached the summit, Ed looked over at Arnold, who was silent for once. “You still think it’s easy to be a trucker?” Ed laughed, “You look like you’re gonna piss your pants.”
“Just didn’t know there was such a drop-off.”
“Now’s when it gets critical, on the downgrade. The load will push us from behind. You have to keep it in low gear for control. The Jake-brake will help slow us down, you have to stay off the brakes or they’ll burn up and fail.”
“What if you get going too fast? Can you downshift again?”
“No, whatever you do, never shift on a downgrade. You’ll never get it back in gear and the truck will freewheel right over the side of the mountain.”
Arnold put a cigarette in his mouth, but he wasn’t willing to let go of the hand grip long enough to light it. He could feel the truck picking up speed.
“When you have to use the bakes, just stab-brake like this.” Ed firmly stepped on the bake, but then released it in a few seconds. “You can repeat it if you have too, but it don’t take much before you’ll smell the pads burning. It can actually start a fire, burn up your whole rig.”
“Shit, this is just fun all over the place,” said Arnold.
Ed grinned, “Told ya it was a challenge.”
“You ain’t convincing me to be a trucker.”
“It gets to be a game, to see how far you can push it. It gets in your blood.” Ed signaled his exit back to the main road.
Arnold relaxed enough to light his cigarette, and took a long drag. “I’m sticking to football. You ever gonna stop tonight?”
“Can’t now. There ain’t a spot to park for fifty miles, at least not with this load. I’ll stop when we get to the other side.”
Arnold stubbed out his cigarette. “Great, I’m gettin’ back in the bunk.”
…
Arnold woke when Ed pulled the air brakes to park. “We at a truck stop?”
“No, I had to park on an off ramp.”
“You mean I can’t even get a shower or take a piss?”
“You can take a piss here as good as anywhere. I’m gonna get a couple of hours of sleep, you take the top bunk.”
Arnold grumbled and went out to relieve himself. When he came back in Ed was already snoring. He climbed up and rolled into the bunk, wide awake from going outside. He lay there thinking about what a waste of time this whole thing was. Anger welled up at his dad, the court, and the damn woman that got him here.
It was only a few hours later when Ed woke him up, digging under his mattress for his log book. “Lets roll, time to switch books,” said Ed.
“Don’t you ever friggin’ sleep?”
“Sleep’s a waste of time, can’t make money when yer sleeping, boy.”
“We gonna at least get some breakfast?”
“I’m stopping for fuel and coffee in less than an hour. Let’s roll.”
Arnold snoozed in the passenger seat until they stopped for fuel. Ed insisted on fueling the truck and washing every damn window and headlight before he’d even think about getting something to eat. He was fussy about getting all the bugs off, even scrubbing at the ones stuck to the grille.
When they finally ordered breakfast, Arnold slid off the stool to go splash water on his face. Ed wasn’t about to spend any time getting a shower, but at least he could wash the grime off his face and neck. When he got back, Ed was on his second cup of coffee, dipping toast into the bright yellow yolks of his eggs. He was having an intense conversation with another trucker who was shoveling sticky sweet pancakes in-between philosophical bits of wisdom.
“So I says to her, how about you do it for half-price?”
“What’d she say to that?”
“She says, for that price I’m keep’n my clothes on.”
Arnold really couldn’t see the humor in it, but Ed and three other drivers laughed and snorted loudly. He tied into his sausage and gravy, eating without looking up from his plate, until the waitress stopped by to ask him if he’d like some more coffee.
She was about his age, with long dark hair, braided and hanging over her shoulder. Arnold’s eyes followed the braid to where it rested on breasts that threatened to bust out of her uniform.
“Looks like yer boy has a taste for more’n sausage and gravy,” said one of the drivers at the counter. He haw-hawed loudly, with the rest of them joining in at Arnold’s expense.
“His appetite’s what got him here,” said Ed, draining his third cup of coffee. “Come-on boy, before your eyes fall out of your head. We got a load to deliver.” Ed threw a generous tip next to his plate.
Arnold clenched his jaw, his face colored as he pushed away from the counter. He got out to the truck long before Ed, pacing in front of the locked doors. He lit a cigarette
while Ed unlocked his door and climbed in, flipping the button to let Arnold in the other side.
“You ain’t got to make fun of me old man. It’s bad enough I got to be out here.”
Ed regarded his son as he updated his log book. When he was done, he tossed it on the dash, took a swig of coffee from his to-go mug, and put the truck in gear. They were at cruising speed on the freeway before he spoke.
“Look here, boy,” he said evenly. “Certain women are for certain things. Waitresses you treat like your woman at home. She’s there to bring your food, clean up the mess. She’s off limits if you want good service.” Ed lit a smoke, and checked his mirrors before changing lanes to pass a slow moving car.
“We use other women to take the edge off. Those you pay for.”
“How the hell am I supposed to do that? You never stop this damn thing.”
“Shut-up and listen, maybe you’ll learn something. You see, that one you ran into trouble with? She needed a little more time. You give ‘em something before you take what you want.”
“She wasn’t no hooker.”
“They’s all hookers, boy. You treat ‘em like your truck. That’s why you keep your rig clean, change the oil, take care of her. You don’t go jamming gears.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Ed tossed the butt of his cigarette out the window. “Women like a complement, a trinket. They want to feel like you value them. Keep their windows clean, so to speak.”
“You’re full of shit.”
Ed smiled, and shrugged one shoulder. “You can learn it the hard way, or the easy way. Don’t come cryin’ to me when yer transmission’s blown.”
10
PUSHING THE LIMITS
HE WAS ON HIS THIRD trip around the parking lot in the hot summer sun. The truck was in the shop for service, the old man was in the lounge bullshitting with a bunch of fat, stinky drivers. The TV in the truck stop was tuned to endless re-runs of CSI Miami and Arnold felt like he was about to explode.
They were hundreds of miles from home with nothing to do. He never thought he’d be wishing to get back on the road, but this torture was endless. Arnold checked his pockets for cash, he barely had enough buy cigarettes, much less the bus ticket he’d need to get out of there. He’d go anywhere if he could figure out how to pay for it and still eat.
