National Treasures

by Ryan McCord

CHAPTER 14 OBSTRUCTION OF VIEW

  With Iowa, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah and Idaho now behind them, the jaded hours of this cross-country hayride are just about through. Home in The Palouse has just become more of a reality, as the truck has just crossed the Idaho/Washington state boundary line by way of a two-lane state road numbered 195.

  Then the cruise control has to come off.

  “What’s this guy doing?” James said, stretching his neck with heightened senses, his eyes interspersing at each mirror. He then surveys up ahead for an appropriate spot to convene with the Washington State trooper who now wants him to pull over.

  “Were you speeding?” Gerry asks disconcertedly, peeking into his passenger side mirror.

  “Yeah like one or two over,” James responds sharply.

  “Where’s the grass?” Gerry quipped.

  “It’s outside in the cooler,” James said. “Thank God.”

  Soon enough, he will carefully pull the truck over and shift into park.

  “Hey,” James said almost at a whispering level, as if the cop can hear him now. “Put the radio on channel 78, will ya? Symphony music may give us the best chance of getting out of here without a scratch.”

  “I thought all cops loved Buffet?” Gerry said, as he slowly reaches up to dial in the numbers. “How about that channel?”

  “If we put it on Buffet,” James said gently. “He’ll know we’re carrying the goods.”

  “Couldn’t symphony music scream that we’re up to something, though?” Gerry suggests. “What if we get Savvy Dave The Trooper?”

  James nods, cursing himself for not bringing his rabbit’s foot for the trip and then turns the dial to a news station, which is right in the middle of a discussion detailing the pros and cons of teens watching television.

  The two then go on to start their own discussion about immediate changes they want to make in their life, as if the road trip had filled them with a spirit of accomplishment, even if it was made possible by life’s preferred color of injustice. The idea of watching less television came to the forefront. “It’s totally decaying the essence of our country,” James said. “Everyone wants one. Everyone already has two or more. Everyone wants to be on one. Everyone who is already on one, will pull all the stops to stay on it.”

  “And everyone believes in it,” Gerry said with a faraway look ahead. His mind couldn’t be any more divided at this moment. Before, all he could think about was getting that contract signed in time. Now he can’t erase the recent vivid image of a trooper vehicle that began to make a legal pass beside them before deciding its best to serve the state with an anomalous method of engagement by slowing right back down to get back behind the truck to throw his lights on.

  That television conversation took place four very long minutes ago. The trooper is just now making his way out of his vehicle.

  James’ initial wave of nerves were calmed quite substantially, when, from his rearview mirror he could see the trooper was going to approach the truck at the passenger side. Because soon after he received the signal to pull over, in a judicious, nonverbal effort to show empathy towards the trooper on this dangerous two-lane state road, James mindfully went on to drive a few seconds longer than most in this situation in order to reach this shoulder space in particular. He now begins to feel as if he put himself in the best position possible to handle the situation with continued grace.

  Then Gerry, who rolls the window down, and before the trooper could say anything, skeptically blurts out, “How old are you?”

  The freckle-faced trooper, who does sort of resemble Howdy Dudy in uniform, reacts naturally with a short, rapid full body flinch backwards. This is the first time the young law enforcer has never approached a vehicle only to have the civilian begin the dialogue, and the last person he expects to be doing any sort of talking is the vehicle’s passenger. Because of this quasi-awkward but also very human moment, everyone is sort of holding his respective breath before letting a smile go. James and Gerry are both wondering if this guy is taken aback, and it briefly crossed the trooper’s mind if he should be taken aback.

  “I’m 26,” the trooper says a little bashfully, but still looking Gerry straight in the eyes. “How old are you?”

  “I’m nearing 30,” Gerry shakes his head kindly in amazement.

  “Well let me see both of your licenses to make sure of that, okay?” The trooper said before leaning forward to focus his attention towards James (as well as get a whiff of the vehicle’s air).

  “And I’ll need your registration, please.”

  James accommodates. The trooper takes a quick look at everything and asks them to remain seated while he processes the information back in his vehicle.

  “Let’s talk about anything besides speculation,” James said softly. “Until Trooper Timmy comes back to tell me that I should have my headlights on.”

  “Well let’s cover the basics though,” Gerry said, gazing casually out into the landscape of sagebrush and rolling sand-colored hills.

  “What do we have, maybe two joints left? I know if this were Oregon he would just take it and write us a ticket.”

  “He’s not going to see or know about the joints,” James said confidently. “Focus on moving ahead. We got about four more hours until you have to get that contract back.”

  “I know,” Gerry said. “If I have to I’ll just use my one call in the joint to verbally tell the manager I’m in.”

  “So you ARE going to play?” James said in disbelief. “After all that driving, you’re saying it’s no longer a priority to deliver the word in person to your fam?”

  “I’m just saying I’m leaning in that direction,” Gerry shook his head back before looking in James’ direction. “I was born with athletic talents. And you know what, Big Game?”

  “What?”

  “I still love running out onto the field to play.”

  James is satisfied with Gerry’s response. The mood in the truck has lightened up a little bit, as the two both enjoy it in silence.

  “Are you going to do anything differently?” James said, now noticing the trooper is getting out of his vehicle once more.

  “Off the field watch less television,” Gerry smiled, as he now notices the trooper is making his way over.

  “Here comes your boy.”

  Gerry finishes, “And on the field…act like I belong.”

  James nods, looking impressed with an upside down smile, “What do you got to lose?”

  “I can do that now,” Gerry said with ease, before looking back at James with a smile, “No longer afraid to fail, you know?

  “Any revelations on your behalf that I should know about? Or status quo?”

  “Status quo.” James shrugged matter-of-factly, as he notices the trooper is at the window.

  Gerry then rolls the window back down. As he is handed back his license, he respectfully nods to the trooper then points his thumb back in James’ direction, “This guy is going to Big League his girlfriend!”

  At this point, the trooper can only muster a fake smile.

  “Mr. McEwing,” the trooper asks kindly. “Can I ask you to carefully step out of the vehicle please?”

  James nods as he makes eye contact and replies, “Yes, sir.”

  Upon meeting at about five feet behind the rear of the truck, the trooper goes on to explain that he pulled James over because of the large, bright neon orange parking tag that is hanging from the truck’s rearview mirror.

  “It poses as an obstruction to your view,” the trooper assured him. “Now that is not an infraction, as this only falls under the state’s warning guidelines. It is required by law on my part to ask you to take it down and put it away.”

  “I should have known better,” James said with his hands now on his waste, acting as if he were embarrassed. He then jests, “I wasted everyone’s time. You’ll have to forgive my lack of judgment. I grew up on state-college cafeteria food.”

  The trooper laughs a little bit, having
recalled James’s driver’s license listing him as a Pullman resident. He then looks back in the truck’s direction, and skeptically asks what James and Gerry were doing in Idaho. James is happy to go on explaining the irony behind that question; as the neon orange obstruction happens to be Gerry’s “Player’s Only” parking lot tag from spring training back in Florida.

  “So to answer your question,” James said smiling. “Just passing through.”

  “You’re going back to Pullman then, I take it?” The trooper said, lowering his eyebrows a little.

  “Yes, sir.” James said.

  The trooper then swiftly changes the subject.

  “I asked you to get out of the vehicle,” he said. “Because I happened to detect an odor in your truck. Are you in possession of marijuana?”

  James responds to the question with the very same flinch the trooper had just used when Gerry asked how old he was. Of course, James meant to act surprised, but in reality, he’s laughing inside at this rookie mistake. Because if the trooper was really convinced that there was marijuana in the vehicle, he would have gotten that particular line of the interrogation out of the way immediately, as opposed to throwing a civilian of above average intelligence off-guard. Or would he? See you can’t second-guess yourself in this kind of situation. Winners find a way to simply part ways here. Losers find themselves eating cheese slices and wonder bread for supper, while locked up in a cold cell.

  But even in knowing he now has the upper hand so to speak, James still has to answer the question: and answer it precisely and with good timing. Execution. Forget artsy Happy Meal rhetoric as if you were appearing on Oprah. This is Nathan, Washington State Trooper #107827, whose greatest fear is not being shot, but rather going back to work in the retail sector. On his days off, he’s proactively trying to build an honest resume before getting dismissed in four years from his current role in society, no thanks to an ongoing state budget crisis (which should be in phase 18 by then). If James can throw this one bowling ball quick and down the middle in a “strike or go to the slammer” scenario, he will enter the History of the World’s record book as, for this day, immortalized. Applying modes of affectation brilliant enough to trigger even his own guardian angel in standing for a golf clap is not in James’ arsenal. So he’ll have to buy some more cheap trust from the bonds of purgatory, by lying.

  But if he should fail, by glancing up to the sky or down at the ground, or trip over his words, you can bet the taxpayers’ own K-9 will be called for sniffing duties.

  “I’m almost speechless,” James said, showing a disembodied facial cue reminiscent of someone who just sneezed five times in a row.

  The trooper shakes his head a little while cracking a suspicious smile at one side of his mouth. He’s not sure if he has James backed in a corner or if the civilian is going to soon pull the proverbial rabbit out of his hat.

  “Why is that?”

  “I’m a journalist,” James said earnestly, with his hand to his chest. “He’s a professional baseball player. I was covering him down at spring training for my book about a season in the life of a player.

  “We can’t have anything to do with marijuana,” James continued. “That’s a career killer.”

  Had a real journalist been on the scene with a cameraman, after accepting apologies and letting the magnanimous trooper know he has respect for his efforts on this day, James would have spoken on record something like, “Today I do consider myself lucky. We’re only allotted so many timeouts in a life that continuously tries to flush us down the toilet. The truth is, Trish, I don’t know when or if luck will ever happen to me again…”

  Then in a customized form of doxology, he’ll pay his respects to the Man Upstairs, for letting him off the hook by finishing with, “…But for a few minutes anyways, life was fair right there. For once I owe God and feel good about it.”

  In five minutes, James and Gerry would be back on their way to Pullman. Trooper Nathan will soon be instructed by his commanding officer not to pull any more vehicles over for the rest of the shift unless “it happens to be moving too fast or is full of beaners.”