“I’m not brainless, you dork,” Geoff shot back.
He pulled his straw from his glass and flicked it at Ted, the cold fluid momentarily shocking him.
“Knock it off you idiot,” Ted retorted, wiping the drops of soda from his face.
Instantly, Ted reached his arm around Geoff’s neck in headlock fashion, and began to playfully choke him. Geoff crossed his eyes and hung his tongue from the side of his mouth, feigning asphyxiation. As the other three laughed, their childish antics were quickly silenced.
“Ok you morons, that’ll be enough. Recess ended hours ago,” Carl said, standing menacingly at the edge of the teenager’s booth. He pretended to be angry for a moment, then smiled, “So are you guys ordering or do I have to put you to work?”
Ted quickly released his grip and they all straightened themselves within the booth.
Carl softened this posture and said, “You guys headed to the dance tonight?”
“Yes Sir. We’re just waiting for our other friend to show up,” Sam said, seated at the entrance of the booth. “He should be here shortly.”
“This friend you’re waiting for wouldn’t happen to be Hero Boy would it?” Carl said, eyeing the table suspiciously.
“No Sir. As I said before, we don’t even like him,” Geoff reiterated.
Carl stared out the window at the orange truck and shook his head. Looking back at the table of teenagers, he said, “Take a good look boys, that’s the true definition of someone going nowhere fast.” He shook his head in disgust once more, then added, “Ok, are you guys ordering or just waiting?”
“Just waiting Sir,” Bill said politely, seated next to Ted at the end.
“No problemo’… just give me a shout when you want to order something,” Carl responded. He smiled cordially, then turned and walked back toward the main counter, eyeing the orange truck through the window as he went.
“Dang, he really has it out for Arles, doesn’t he?” Geoff asked of no one in particular.
“Arles? Who’s Arles?” Greg asked, suspecting the answer.
“Hero Boy is Arles… that’s his real name: Arles Gideon Moore,” Geoff replied. He paused a moment, then added, “The seventh.”
“The seventh?” Greg laughed. “What gives… and how do you know so much about Hero Boy?”
“He’s in my gym class. I get to hear him brag about his great great-grandfather, ‘the Civil War hero’ all the time,” Geoff responded.
“Man, I must be living on another planet. I didn’t know his great grandfather was a Civil War hero,” Greg said, now curious.
“That’s because you haven’t lived here long enough to know him, brainless,” Ted shot back in teasing form.
Greg ignored the insult and replied, “Funny, I’ve seen him around. I just thought he was a loser. I didn’t know his great great grandfather was some kind of war hero… not that it makes him anything special. But it is kind of a cool history.”
“First of all, it’s great great grandfather… that’s two greats in there. Second, it’s really not that cool. The old man picked up a flag in the middle of a battle and held his ground or something, then got himself shot,” Ted responded.
“Doesn’t sound like much of a hero to me,” Greg replied.
“Hero Boy said it was his great great grandfather’s actions that were instrumental in turning the tide of a famous battle. He said that his great great grandfather held off the Yankees long enough so the Rebs could mount a counter attack and win or something like that. After the battle, he was recognized for his bravery and awarded some kind of medal and dubbed a war hero,” Geoff added.
“Huh, I never heard that story. It’s kind of interesting,” Greg replied.
“Not when you’ve heard Hero Boy brag about it a zillion freakin’ times,” Sam said.
“So, for over a hundred years, the name Arless Gideon Moore was passed down from generation to generation, keeping the hero image alive,” Bill said, then added, “And, from what we’ve all heard, the family has been trying to live off that glory ever since.”
Greg turned around in his seat and peered out the window. Even inside, the five teenagers could still hear the music blaring from the truck. Greg scanned the length of the vehicle, then focused on the artwork painted on the passenger’s door. A rebel flag had been hand-painted across it, with the word ‘HERO’ written above the flag and ‘GGG’ written below it.
Turning to the others, Greg said, “So, I’m guessing that GGG means great great grandfather?”
“You guessed it,” Geoff responded.
“Wow, how… obnoxious,” Greg said. He smirked and added, “And totally uncool.”
“And creepy,” Bill added.
“And weird,” Sam cut in.
“And brainless,” Ted finished.
All five turned again and stared at the pickup, each one finding humor painted in the artwork. Suddenly, the music stopped and the driver’s door flung opened. As the rains poured down, a skinny teenager darted from the truck to the entrance of the diner. Once inside, the five foot-ten, thin, darkly dressed young man stood in the reception area and stomped his heavy leather boots loudly, as he pretended to remove excess water. All eyes turned his way as he began to shout out about the rain.
“Damn rain. Gonna ruin my expensive combat boots,” he said loudly.
From inside the kitchen area, Carl looked out through a doorway window and noticed Arles standing just inside the diner. He could see his short cropped hair and the rebel flag tattooed to the side of this temple. Anger welled inside him as he thought about the young delinquent disrupting his diner once again. From inside the kitchen, he stormed out through the door and stood at the front counter.
“Look Hero Boy, I’ve told you before, if you want to come in here, you do it quietly, without disturbing my customers, otherwise… leave,” Carl shouted, pointed back toward the door.
“FINE! Where do I sit? And the name’s Arles Gideon Moore the Seventh, not Hero Boy,” he spat defiantly.
Carl bit his lip for a moment, trying to control his anger. Pointing to a lone corner booth away from the patrons, he said loudly, “Over there.”
Arles shot the far corner booth a quick glance, stared at the customers menacingly, then headed for the back of the restaurant. Carl stood behind the counter and watched the disruptive teen take his seat. He nodded apologetically to several customers, then made his way back into the kitchen.
“Nice… real nice,” Geoff said in a low sarcastic tone.
“And Hero Boy gets a time out once again,” Ted joked.
“I guess being the great great grandson of a war hero isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Greg joked.
With Arles seated alone at the back of the restaurant and the commotion of his antics forgotten, the five teens returned to their own casual conversation.
“What the heck, man? Where’s Bobby?” Greg asked, now staring at his watch.
“Must be the rain. He’ll be here shortly,” Geoff said confidently.
“If he’s not here in ten minutes, I’m leaving without him. He’ll just have to meet us there,” Bill said firmly.
“I think we should leave now. He’s a big boy. He doesn’t need us to hold his hand walking into the dance,” Ted said.
“Yeah. He knows where the school is. He can catch up,” Bill added.
“I’m not leaving my brother behind. You guys can go if you want, but I’m staying,” Geoff responded.
“We’ll give him a few more minutes,” Bill said, checking his watch.
“Don’t worry, he’ll be here,” Geoff reassured.
Sitting on the outside seat, Sam’s face began to contort slightly. He looked around and flared his nostrils as he took in short wifts of air through his nose. Turning back to the other four teens, he had a confused look on his face.
“What’s up with you?” Bill asked, seated directly across from him.
“You smell that?” Sam asked in return.
“What?”<
br />
“Cigarettes,” Sam replied simply.
With Sam’s simple statement, all five teens stopped talking. Each breathed in the air and confirmed his finding.
“Who that heck is smoking in here?” Ted asked rhetorically, now searching the nearby area.
Instantly, all eyes looked to the back of the restaurant.
“Arles!” the five said in unison.
As Carl exited the kitchen door, the stale odor of cigarette ash immediately struck him. Without a second thought, he knew who the offender was. He quickly rushed down the isle to the back of the restaurant and stood over Arles.
“What the HELL are you doing?” Carl shouted angrily.
“What? I thought this was a smoking section,” Arles shot back, indignantly.
“There’s no smoking in this restaurant and you know it,” Carl replied, now seething. “Get the HELL out of my restaurant and don’t come back… EVER!”
Arles looked up at Carl, stunned. His smoking was just another attempt to gain attention, but this time his antics backfired on him. In his twisted mind, he felt his punishment was unfair and sat defiantly in his seat, smoking his cigarette, testing the will of the restaurant owner.
Carl took a deep breath and exhaled.
“Look, you little worm, if you’re not out of here in three seconds, I’m going to…”
“What? Call the police?” Arles said, cutting Carl off in mid-sentence.
Carl stood for a moment and thought about his choices. Under normal circumstances, he would have made a calm, cool decision. This was not one of those times.
“I don’t need the police to handle a little runt like you,” he spat.
Instantly, he reached over, grabbed Arles by the shoulders and hauled him out of the booth. Humiliated, Arles began to flail against Carl, but he was no match for the size and strength of Carl’s six-foot-two-inch frame. With Arles tucked under his arm, he easily carried the insolent teen to the front door. As he opened it, he pushed Arles out into the pouring rain. Arles fell to the ground, the water and rain instantly saturating him to his skin. Immediately, he jumped to his feet.
“No one puts there hands on me,” Arles yelled over the rain. “You’ll be sorry.”
Carl stared back unconcerned.
“Don’t ever come back. Next time I will call the police,” he warned.
As he closed the door behind him, Arles stood for a moment in the rain and contemplated his options. Suddenly, he became aware of the patrons staring at him through the windows. Soaked and humiliated, anger raged inside him. Wiping the water from his brow, he turned and headed for his truck. He opened the door and got in. Before closing, he held his arm above the cab and extended his middle finger.
Moments later, he roared out of the parking lot, the rear end skidding on the wet road.
Back inside the restaurant:
“Wow man, that was awesome!” Greg said, watching the orange truck swerve out of the parking lot.
“Holy crap! Ole Carl put the smack down on Hero Boy’s ignorant ass,” Ted said, continuing with the humor. “And me without a camera.”
Suddenly, Geoff shouted, “Oh Shit! He’s going to …”
The crash was thunderous and violent. All heads turned and watched in disbelief as the bright orange truck skidded across the road and slammed into an oncoming car. Instantly, the vehicles deformed and became unrecognizable. Twisted metal exploded off the two crumpled heaps and littered the street with debris. Truck and car formed as one, spun around in opposite directions and came to rest on the road’s centerline. For a moment, all was quiet as the patrons of the Fifty-Nine diner stared in disbelief.
“Holy Shit!” Ted blurted.
Without another word, all five teens pushed and shoved their way out of the booth and ran toward the entrance. Reaching the door first, Sam hesitated at the sight of the pouring rain. Bill instinctively shoved his way past him and headed out the door. As the other three hurried on by him, Sam filed in behind them and rushed out into the driving rain.
The five teens raced between the parked cars and headed out into the open street. Cars had already stopped and by-standers milled around the twisted wreck, each on their cell phone to emergency services.
“I wonder if Arles is Ok,” Greg shouted as he ran.
“I’m betting he’s not,” Bill shouted back, now nearing the tragedy.
Although street lights shined down on the crash scene, evening darkness made identification difficult. Bill raced to the edge of the orange wreck and peered inside the cab. Shock and disbelief enveloped his thoughts as he stared at the crushed teen barely clinging to life.
The oncoming car had impacted the driver’s door on the truck, crushing Arles between it and the steering wheel. Without airbags or seatbelts, he absorbed the full force of the crash. Broken and bleeding, life was quickly fading from Arles.
As the five finally caught up with each other and collected around the window, they peered in at the ghastly sight. Moving away, they stared at each other, not saying a word, their eyes betraying their thoughts.
“Wow, poor Arles. Man, I think he’s going to die,” Greg said in grim tone.
The rains poured down on the five teens. Suddenly, Bill hurried around the truck to the other vehicle. As he neared, his heart stopped and his stomach churned. His mind struggled to register the site.
“Oh my God! It’s BOBBY!” Bill shouted loudly over the rains.
The four looked into each other’s eyes.
Instantly, disbelief was replaced with dread as the four heard Bill’s voice. Geoff immediately broke off from the four and raced around the truck. The front end of the tiny white car appeared unrecognizable. As he approached the driver’s door, he stopped abruptly and stared at a small yellow sticker affixed to the rear fender. It was the same sticker Geoff had placed on the fender as a joke weeks before. It was now clear: the mangled white car was in fact, Bobby’s Toyota.
“NO!” Geoff screamed in angst.
He rushed to the edge of the folded door.
“BOBBY!” he shouted into the cab, hoping for a response.
He could see his brother’s body, twisted amongst the metal and deflated airbags. With his body contorted unnaturally, Geoff knew the situation was grave.
He grabbed at the handle and desperately tried to open the door. Tears streamed down his cheeks and were lost in the droplets of rain. With one hand on the handle and the other inside the crushed door, he frantically rocked the car. Bill came up from behind and the two combined their efforts only to give up in defeat.
“Bobby, wake up!” Geoff continued to shout, his sense of denial preventing him from accepting the truth.
He raced around to the opposite side and tried to open the other door, only to find it in worse condition. Looking in at his brother’s lifeless body, anguish and desperation coursed through every fiber within him. He hyperventilated from his torment. He reached in through the door’s broken window and gently touched his brother’s hair, hoping his connection would somehow awaken him.
As he pulled his hand away, he realized the moisture. Looking down, his fingertips were coated in blood.
“Nooo! Oh my God, No!” he cried out in horror. Turning back to his brother, he shouted out to anyone who would listen, “Help… someone call for help. My brother’s in there.”
He stared at his brother’s lifeless body and streams of tears rolled down his face as he cried inconsolably. His guttural shrills of desperation and despair could be heard from far away and his four friends rushed to his side. Standing at the edge of the car, the four held him, trying to soothe his grief. No words, no touch of sympathy could lessen his pain. With each breath he inhaled, he exhaled a blood-curdling shriek that symbolized his heartache.
Overwhelmed with despair, Geoff felt his strength leave his body and he collapsed to the ground beside the crumpled white wreckage.
-----*-----*-----*-----
Off in the distance, the sound of sirens grew louder. Minutes lat
er, flashing lights surrounded the chaos as emergency personnel rushed to save lives. Separated into two teams, one worked to save Arles, the other, Bobby.
Reaching in through the broken window, EMT Gerry Franklin held his fingers to Arles’ neck, trying to locate the carotid artery. He shifted his fingers to various locations, then pulled himself from the vehicle. With a quick shake of his head, he confirmed what the team already knew: Arles was dead.
Prisoner in Time (Time travel) Page 4
