Indian Hill

by Mark Tufo

  “It looks like a tree that would be in the Lord of the Rings trilogy!” he yelled again.

  “You’re right,” Paul said as he turned from the tree to look at Dennis. And from then on that tree was and always would be known as the hobbit tree, even after its untimely demise just a few years later. But that part will be saved for a later entry. Today, well today was dedicated to a place that would truly become our home away from home. We would spend a great deal of time growing up in those woods and hills, exploring every nook and cranny. And inevitably when we all went our separate ways in life we would on occasion make a special journey back to those magical and mystical woods that would one day become the place where our fate as a planet would ultimately be decided. This initial visit did not last as long as we would have hoped. My foot was frozen, the sun was beginning its early ending for the day and the temperature was plummeting nearly as fast as the setting sun. Apparently the warm front had worn out its welcome, old man Winter was back and he was pissed off that someone had stepped in while he took a break. The wind picked up, the wind chill factor had to be somewhere in the neighborhood of minus ten, and we were roughly dressed in layers equivalent to the mid twenties. None of us looked forward to the long walk home but our steps were lightened with the knowledge of this new and wondrous land that we were going to explore when the weather allowed. Like the lunar mission, we didn’t stay very long but the impression was indelible. And unlike the lunar mission, we would be back and soon.

  “Where have you been?” my mother asked as she stared straight at me, and unless I was being paranoid she was looking closely at my eyes. Looking for some evidence of what I am sure she was suspecting. But it’s amazing what you can hide behind a bottle of Visine and a pack of Dentyne.

  “I was just hanging out with Paul and Dennis, Mom. No big deal,” I added.

  “Don’t you get flippant with me young man, if your father were here he’d have your hide for talking to me that way.”

  “First off, Mom, I didn’t talk to you ‘that way,’ and as far as worrying about what Dad would do if he were here, not necessarily something I’m too concerned about.” That shut her up faster than a roll of duct tape. To see my mom wordless was truly a rare occasion. Her mouth was moving but no sound was coming out. I’m sure she had a string of curses on her tongue, but as of yet had not unleashed them. That was fine with me, the longer I stood face to face with her, the more likely I might burp and she’d catch wind of my choice of afternoon beverages. I had turned and was going to seek refuge in the confines of my room when her brain engaged with her mouth.

  “Why is the house so clean?” she asked with an edge. I knew she was sniffing, but what did she smell? I had prepared myself for a lot of possible defenses; this was not on the list. Luckily I still had some wits about me.

  “Geez Mom,” I said in my best-exasperated tone. “I try to help out a little around here and you question my motives.” That should unsettle her a little bit.

  “It’s not that I’m questioning your motives, it’s that you never clean up around here and now all of a sudden… I just don’t know what to think.”

  Light bulbs lit up in my head; I’m a genius! I turned back around to face her. She braced herself as in preparation for battle. I knew that was what she wanted. I headed straight for her. She had not been ready for that; she began to shy away. I grabbed her and gave her a bear hug. I made sure to keep my head next to hers but my face opposite, so she wouldn’t smell my breath. I told her I just wanted to surprise her and clean up because I loved her. That made her quieter than my original quip; I disengaged myself from her and went into my room. I didn’t look back for fear of giving up the ruse, but I’m pretty sure she stood there for a full five minutes with the slack jaw and all. She had been so ready for a verbal scrape she had not prepared for my super secret stealth attack. I completely disarmed her, I wasn’t sure if this meant that I had to now keep helping out around the house. If that was the case, who truly did win this battle?

  CHAPTER 9 – Journal Entry 9

  Fast forward some. Sixteen and heading into junior year, all seemed right with the world, at least up until the point Paul and Dennis died. Okay, okay, I’ll ease up on the drama. ALMOST died. Paul was the first of our bunch to get his license and a car. Sure, I had a license but the only good it did me was for locked doors, if you catch my meaning. My parents barely wanted me in their car when we went somewhere, they sure as hell weren’t going to let me drive it. Dennis seemed less than interested in getting his license, he was pretty much in the same boat as me, no money and parents that were not going to hand him keys to the Mercedes, or in his case an Oldsmobile. So there we were pretty much leaving our lives on the line to a guy who would snort salt off a table on a fifty-cent bet.

  We had gone to probably the last show for the season at the local drive-in. It was a Cheech and Chong movie festival which in its own right would have been funny enough, but we upped the ante a little. Every time Cheech & Chong lit up, so did we, and until you actually do this you wouldn’t believe how many times they do it. I’m pretty sure we mowed through at least a half-ounce of some primo California goldies, and I know we single handedly sent the drive-in restaurant owner’s son through college. My gut ached from the cokes and fries and Raisinets and hot dogs and cheap imitation hamburgers on stale buns. There was cardboard pizza, which by the way when you are stoned is phenomenal. None of us was awake for the end of the third movie, it was an usher knocking on the window that finally got us rolling, no pun intended. Paul was lit up like a Christmas tree although so were Dennis and myself, with one huge difference - we weren’t driving. Well, inexperience and drugs rarely lead to good things and unfortunately this was no exception.

  “Dude, you okay to drive?” I mumbled as I tried to sit up straight. My gut ached and my eyes burned, but I didn’t want to leave Paul hanging. I figured as long as I talked he would be good to go.

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said as he mimicked my movements by rubbing his eyes. “Holy shit Talbot, I’m cooked.”

  “You and me both. Dennis still hasn’t woken up.”

  “Do you think we should shave his eyebrows?” Paul said with a near sinister sneer.

  “Bud, if I could muster enough strength, probably, but right now I just want to curl up in my bed and dream of Cathy McCabe’s breasts.”

  “I hear you man.” And with that Paul started the engine to his 1970 Buick Century. It roared to life in a way that only a 350 four barrel can. Paul peeled out, narrowly missing the speaker pole in front of us. He didn’t even notice. I sure as hell did though, and my feeling of unease began to grow. I had contemplated putting my seat belt on but that would have labeled me as a wuss and I had no desire to lower my status. So we just kept talking, smoking and joking as they say, that was of course until Stairway to Heaven came on, and then the music became decibels louder making it nearly impossible to talk but that was just fine. Music can be one of the best stimulants on the planet if you immerse yourself in it and let it take you for a ride. Unfortunately Paul decided to ride that wave a little further than he should have of, he literally became engulfed in the song. My memory became a little fragmentary, time seemed to come sliced into mini segments each of which I was able to analyze in full depth as it occurred but could barely remember upon attempted retrieval. As if off in the distance I heard what I thought were tires screeching but it made no sense cognitively, until the car was violently thrust to the left, pinning me against the passenger door. I turned in surprise to look at Paul whose expression was one of complete terror. I wasn’t sure why until I looked up and through the windshield to notice the rapidly approaching tree. We were in trouble, he knew it, and I knew it. And for better or worse Dennis still had no clue. The car slammed into the tree with all the fury a two-ton machine can muster, I vaguely remember Paul becoming pinned between the driver’s seat and the steering wheel as I flew by. Yes flew, my momentum was hurdling me out through the already smashed windshield on a c
ollision course with said tree. I thought for a moment that I must be back in my in-school suspension, for time had seemingly stopped. I played out that moment frame by frame, my mind was racing at such an extraordinary pace, I was instantaneously able to relive most of my high points and subsequent low points in my life as I hastily exited the vehicle. Halfway through the window, and I was five years old playing with our family dog futilely wrestling an Easter egg out of his mouth. Feet clearing the windshield, I was seven, my sister was dressing me up for our cousin’s wedding, and I was crying like a, well a seven year old I guess. Halfway across the hood, a starry night with Alice and my first foray into manhood. Three quarters past the hood, THE break-up. And countless other images raced by, the closer my ultimate fate became, the quicker my mind went into overdrive. And then contact, not the brain crushing mind-ending life stopping contact I had been expecting, but more of a glancing blow. I was amazed at the detail in the bark of the tree as I cruised on by; I even saw an ant hefting up what looked to be a cricket leg. My mind struggled to understand what was happening and then terror again rose up as I tried to remember what else was on this stretch of road. Was I going to be spared the tree only to go crashing into an even less yielding stone wall? At this point I even wanted my mother, I must be going to die. And then my upward arc ended, gravity took over and my descent began. Would I land on skin ripping pavement? Head first? My mind might have been racing but the speed at which I was traveling completely prevented me from doing anything about my predicament, and I’m not sure if anything I did then would have made a difference anyway. So I traveled through the air and through the years of my life. Castles made of sand eventually melt into the sea and so did my trip through memory lane. I landed with an audible thud and resounding crack, then I bounced at least another five feet in the air. It was the second landing that proved the most painful, with my now fractured arm pinned under me I cried in pain and anguish, but on this lonely stretch of road there was no one to hear me, not even my friends, Paul and Dennis. What happened to them? Panic nearly engulfed me. Vomit was quite literally on the tip of my tongue. I was somehow able to force down the shock that threatened to completely shut down my nervous system. I had to help my friends. And then I saw it, a tiny spark under the car; the fuel line caught and I knew what would happen from there. Did they get ejected too? No, I knew Paul was still in the car, the steering wheel made sure of that. What about Dennis, did he ever wake up from his slumber? Maybe he was better off.

  “Help,” I heard weakly, to be honest I wasn’t sure if I had muttered it or I had heard it.

  “Help,” I heard again. I was sure this time that I hadn’t said it but honestly I wasn’t 100% sure.

  “Dude. I’m coming,” I rasped out just in case it had been Paul. I knew he didn’t hear me because I barely heard it and he was at least twenty-five feet away. Flames began to lick up the doors of the car; even from this distance I saw the horror in Paul’s eyes as he turned his head and looked toward me. I stood up slowly, fearful that I had broken my leg, back or neck for that matter, and I would have to sit here helpless as my friend or friends cooked alive, and then I puked, but I did it as I was moving. I couldn’t waste time worrying about the muscle cramps, but my arm, that was another crippling matter. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that there was no way I was going to be able to use it when I got to the car. My forearm was bent, was the only thought that ran through my head at the time. I would later learn that this type of break was called a compound fracture worsened by the effect of the bone poking through my skin. Would I be able to do what needed to be done with one arm? Fear raced through me and adrenaline surged. I lurched forward dizzingly slow; my mind was still in hyper drive making my movements seem even more excruciatingly slow. My friend(s) was/were going to slow roast while I shuffled over. But in reality little more than twenty seconds passed from the moment I stood up until I reached the car. I could feel the heat of the flames a full ten feet before I got to the door. Paul was frantically trying to pry the steering wheel off of his chest, as it had effectively pinned him in like a vise. And to add to my horror I could see Dennis’ leg sticking up from the back seat. I had no idea if the force of the crash had killed him instantly or merely stunned him, but either way it didn’t appear to me that he would be making an exit on his own volition anytime soon. I stared at Paul in panic, searching in my mind for some way to help; with one good arm I didn’t like the odds. And then without thinking I opened up the passenger door, which was in surprisingly good shape considering the front end of Paul’s car was now shaped like an inverted ‘v’ to make way for the new oak exterior. One good arm might not do the trick but with two good legs I should be all right, I figured.

  “Paulie, you all right?”

  “Yah, except for the broken ribs and potential barbecuing I’m doing dandy,” he wheezed.

  “Paul, I’m going to get Dennis out first.” Paul understood the equation. Dennis wasn’t pinned against anything, so if the car blew at least somebody would survive.

  “Just hurry, Barb’s gonna be pissed if I ruin this new shirt she bought me.” He grunted a little with what could have passed for laughter.

  “Dude, save your strength, I’m gonna need your help when I get to that steering wheel,” as I showed him my broken wing.

  “I didn’t know you were double jointed?” Paul said. I wasn’t sure if it was an attempt at humor or if he had slammed his head too hard on the steering wheel. I was trying my best to stave off shock but Paul was rapidly succumbing, maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad state to be in considering we could be fire fuel real soon. Sirens were wailing in the distance but I knew they were too far off to be of any assistance to us now. It was going to be up to me, but I wasn’t feeling up to the challenge. I reached down thanking all the gods I could think of when I felt a belt around Dennis’ waist; I jerked with all my strength wincing as my broken arm was pushed against my body and the seat. Dennis huffed as I tugged on his belt. Thank you God, I thought to myself, he’s alive, but the blood flowing from his head completely convinced me that he was going to be of no assistance once I released him from our fiery prison. Halfway up the seat and I almost dropped him back down as my protruding bone had now broken skin on my rib cage. The pain was excruciating, my vision began to blur, my peripheral vision shrank to pinpoints. If I blacked out we were all toast, pun intended. So I braced my legs up against the seat and pulled for all I was worth, Dennis rolled over the top of the head rest and square onto my broken arm. I screamed like a girl, a deep throated loud girl, and for a moment I did pass out.

  “MIKE! Wake up! MIKE! Help!!” I could hear it in the distance, it sounded vaguely familiar but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why my alarm clock would be saying my name. Man it’s hot in here, my parents were too friggen cheap to even get air conditioning. Fans in the summer time don’t do squat except move hot air around.

  “TALBOT! Get up!” There it was again. And the heat and the smell, what is that smell? Even after a night of heavy beer drinking my farts never smelled like that. It smells like burnt plastic and rubber and what’s that other smell, oh yeah, hair. Burnt hair? Burnt hair. Burnt hair! I jolted awake, pain flooding my every sense. Confusion was the norm. Dennis was in my lap, Paul was on fire. Huh?! I swept through the cobwebs as quickly as I could, shoving Dennis off of me and turned to look at Paul, his eyes pleading with me to not leave him there.

  “Paul, I just want to get him clear.” So I bent down once again, grabbing Dennis’ belt and dragging him about twenty feet from the car. I took off his jacket before I ran back. I hopped back into the car and threw Dennis’ jacket over the flame that had started on Paul’s left sleeve. I braced my back against Paul’s seat and once again thanked anyone that was listening that Paul’s car had a bench seat. With the heels of my feet I pushed for all I was worth on the top part of the steering wheel. At first nothing happened, I began to wonder what burning alive would be like, because I knew in my heart of hearts there was
no way I was leaving him there alone.

  “Paul, I’m going need your help.”

  “Mike, I don’t have much left.”

  “Bud, whatever you got, because we either both get out of here or we’re both going to be on the school lunch menu.”

  “Fuck that,” he croaked.

  “When I say three.” But there was no time for a countdown. “Three!”

  Paul gripped the bottom part of the wheel and pushed up while I continued my assault from the top. At first nothing happened, and then above the sizzling of the polyvinyl there was an audible creak, something was giving and hopefully it wasn’t Paul’s ribs. The steering column moved a fraction of an inch at a time at a painstakingly slow pace. To make matters worse, as it moved so did Paul’s semi-collapsed chest, giving the illusion that the damn thing wasn’t going to yield its prize. Like some macabre woman holding onto her dead baby, the Buick did not want to die alone. With a renewed second effort Paul and I pushed with one final exhaustive burst of strength and there it was, daylight, well not quite, more like fire light, but I could see light between Paul and the steering column.

  “Dude, this isn’t going to feel good.”

  Paul barely had time to mutter “What?” as I grabbed the material on his shoulder and unceremoniously hauled him out of the car. His butt slammed off the ground sending sparks of pain to his neural center, now it was Paul’s turn to scream like a girl. ‘Well, at least now he couldn’t use that against me,’ I thought as I dragged him further away from the wreckage.

  The police and the fire rescue squad arrived as Paul’s car popped and shattered through its death throes; there was no Hollywood theatrical blasts, just more of a slow melt down. Besides a few broken bones and some burnt up pot we were no less for the wear. Dennis awoke three hours later at Norwood Memorial Hospital with one hell of a headache, the result of a fairly serious concussion. He missed the entire event, not being able to recall one single detail for the police. They thought he was covering for Paul, but he had been passed out and then knocked out. Waking up in the hospital had been a complete surprise for him, and after he had the tale retold to him, he said he was glad he wasn’t around for it. Paul was a little worse off than my broken arm. The doctors assured me I would only have to wear the constricting itching device for a mere six months. Damn casts. Paul had broken two of his ribs, scraped his lung and bruised his liver. Nothing deadly but extremely painful and with the smoke inhalation he had suffered, the coughing fits were making his life a living hell. Even Barb at her best, or worst, couldn’t touch this pain he was feeling. I ended up receiving an award for my bravery, but I didn’t see it that way. Would I have done it for strangers, I don’t know. I did it for the love of my friends and the cowardice of knowing that had they died it would have been because I didn’t try to do anything. I guess the outcome was the same but I was approaching it from a different angle. The more I look at this story as I write it the more believable the tale of the butterfly in Japan setting off a hurricane in Florida becomes. Little events seem to ripple out and cause greater change as they go. I will never forget that night, except mainly for the details.