On the Road Again

I was skeptical Ace would turn up early. In fact, I didn't think he'd turn up at all. But I still rolled out of bed at 7 am and patiently waited for him on my front steps. I was nervous about who I might meet that day but had to find my photos. They were all I had left of my family, and it was my responsibility to keep them safe.

My ears soon caught the distinctive sound of a V8 rumbling down the street. The rumble grew louder until a patchy-gray '49 Ford Custom convertible bullishly pulled into my driveway.

"Who do you lo-ove? Who do you love?" Ace sang over top of the Bo Diddley song that was blaring on the radio. He braked sharply right beside the steps where I sat and then turned the music down a fraction before taking a long drag on his cigarette.

"Wow, you actually came. And on time," I said.

Ace took one last puff and then flicked the smoking butt into my pretty rose garden. "Just get in the car."

I clunked the heavy door open and slipped into the gray leather interior. It had a faint smell that reminded me of the aftermath of a drunken party - one where everyone drinks too much, someone vomits in the car on the way home, and nobody does a great job of scrubbing it clean the next day. I cringed at the thought. But the purr under the hood made up for it. As we drove through the streets of Castle Rock, I couldn't help but lay back and feel the growls move through me every time his foot touched the gas.

As soon as we hit the main highway out of town, Ace sunk his pedal to the floor. We flew past the 'You are leaving Castle Rock' sign at 75mph, and then he suddenly lifted his lead foot and turned down a long gravel driveway. A hard yank on the handbrake brought the car to a snakey stop outside a small, sad-looking house. The white weatherboards were dirty with dust and road grime, and the rusted tin roof sagged as it hung over the low front porch which was so full of holes and gaps it could easily claim an ankle. The lawns had free reign over the yard, growing as high as the wild scrub that bordered the property. Away to the right, hidden amongst creepers and vines, sat a large, wooden garage, and back some to my left lazed the stripped-down body of a 1940 Willys Coupe on blocks.

"Wait here," he said. He left the door ajar and then disappeared inside.

I waited in the secluded basin. It felt nice sitting out there, way out in the country air, feeling the warm morning sun on my cheeks with the V8 humming around me.

Ace finally returned and tossed a couple of six-packs onto the bench seat between us.

"What are you doing? You're driving..."

"So?" he shrugged. "I could drink all of these and still drive. You just sit there and watch me." He cracked open a can, chugged half of it back and then let out a belch so deep it scraped the gravel.

"Wow... that was from the heart..."

"They only get better," he said and then took another greedy mouthful.

We headed out again along the rural road which had been void of traffic since we got on it.

"Is this the road they picked me up on?" I asked, scanning the area.

"Yep."

"Why is it always so empty?"

"'Cause it don't go anywhere, that's why. Not since the 30's. They built a new highway that's faster to Chamberlain. Out that way," he pointed east.

"Do you know where the farmhouse is?"

"It's not for a few miles yet." Ace looked at me. "You're lucky he picked you up, you know. You should be grateful."

"I know. I am. Just don't tell him that, OK?"

Ace snickered as he looked at the road ahead.

I had been trudging along the deserted highway for what must have been hours. Not one car had gone by. The mid-winter chill in the air went straight through the old knitted cardigan I'd taken from the farmhouse, and the insides of my jeans felt icy against my legs. The miles I'd covered had burned through any sustenance I had gained from breakfast, leaving me hungry and dehydrated. I would have grabbed some supplies before leaving, but the owners arrived home suddenly, and I had to split.

I didn't know how much further I would have to walk or where I would end up when I got there. All I could do was keep up the rhythm of putting one foot in front of the other.

The Studebaker raced up behind me, seemingly out of nowhere. I barely had time to put my thumb out. A few derogatory jeers were thrown out the window as it screamed past within a whisker of knocking me down. I stood in the swirling gusts of dust and raised two middle fingers to signal exactly what I thought of them.

The brakes came on, bringing the car to a sliding stop in a cloud of dust and smoke. The guy threw the car into reverse and began backing wildly towards me. At first, I didn't really think he'd run me over... but as he headed straight for me at speed and showed no signs of slowing, I believed it wholeheartedly. I jumped into the shallow ditch on the side of the road just as he slammed on the brakes and slid into the dirt.

I stood frozen as I gaped at the rear bumper that rested just touching my left leg. The driver climbed out of the car with a cocky smirk.

"How long you been walkin' for?" he asked, strutting forward with his thumbs jammed into the front pockets of his jeans.

"Not long."

"Whatever," he snickered. "You look like you're gonna collapse."

"OK, maybe I've been walking a while..."

His eyebrows lowered as he put an ape-like sarcastic expression on his face. "So then, why would you treat someone who might be able to help you, with so little respect?"

I growled inside. Honestly, I despised that guy from the minute I met him, but I had to submit. "Are you offering me a ride?"

"Sure, I'll give you a ride. On one condition."

"What?"

"That you get on your knees and beg for it," he smiled.

How I wanted to slap him.

"I'm serious. On your knees."

I felt my cheeks heat up with humiliation against the cold air as I looked down at the gravel and dirt.

The passenger's side door opened and a guy with a jet-black ducktail stuck his head out. "Come on Vince, stop fucking around! If she don't wanna ride, just leave her here!"

As Vince turned to yell back at his buddy, I took the brief moment of his distraction as an opportunity to make a dash for the open driver's door. He tried to grab my arm to stop me, but I slipped out of his grip, ducked into the car and scrambled into the back of it. The passenger sniggered as he watched Vince brush the dusty shoe-prints off the driver's seat.

"What are you laughing at, Billy?"

The car veered sharply to the left, jolting me out of a light slumber.

"Wakey wakey," Ace said before taking another swig from his can.

"Are we there yet?"

"Does it look like we're there?"

"Then why did you wake me up?"

"I'm bored." Ace tilted his head to motion behind him. "Grab that in the back."

Curious, I twisted around and searched the back seat. "Grab what? There's nothing here but a baseball bat."

"Yeah. Get it."

I lugged the chipped and dented hunk of wood over to the front and stared at it dumbly, wondering what on earth he'd want it for.

"See these mailboxes coming up along here?" he pointed, beer in hand. "See how many you can knock off."

"What... are you out of your mind?"

"Ten swings is all you get. And don't smash any. Get more than me, and I'll let you off on buying me that six-pack."

I looked ahead at the mailboxes in the distance and then at the bat in my hands. "That's someone's property..."

"It's a piece of tin on a post - they can nail it back on. Jesus, you sound like my grandmother having an anxiety attack. You're always so uptight."

"I am not!"

"Then lean over the side and take a swing. I thought you said you're competitive."

"Yeah, but..." I was about to go off on more of a rant about my moral standing on this, but then I began to imagine the satisfaction I'd feel at beating him at his own game. "OK, how about this? If you win, I'll buy you two six-packs. If I win, you buy me a bottle of Jack Daniels."

"Ooh, you like the hard stuff, huh? Not that it matters, 'cos you ain't gonna win."

"We'll see, won't we?" I steadied myself as I knelt on the seat and held the bat over the side of the car.

"Here they come, get ready," he said, the excitement building up in his voice.

I drew the bat back and then swung powerfully at an upward angle... a little too powerfully. Bat met tin and the mailbox flew some way high into the air before coming crashing down hard on the road far behind us.

"Woohoo! That'a girl," he roared, leaning over to slap me hard on the backside.

I nearly dropped the bat.

Ace slurped up the last mouthful of his can and carelessly tossed it over the side of the car before reaching for another. "Keep goin'."

I took three more swings and easily knocked each mailbox of their wooden posts but couldn't help apologizing out to the owners for each one. For my fifth shot, just as I drew the bat back to make the swing, Ace playfully veered the car away making me slouch over the side and droop the bat low.

"Hey! That's cheating!"

"My game, my rules," he smirked to himself.

"Except you wouldn't have done it if you didn't find me a threat!"

"Look, if you want me to go easy on you-"

"Just keep driving," I grumbled.

I got the next two, and then for my eighth, just as I was pulling back to swing, he floored it. The force of the momentum made me lose my balance, and I nearly lost the bat over the side of the car.

"Missed," he said.

"You can't count that! I didn't even swing!"

"Two left."

"You..." The range of nouns that fitted onto the end of that statement was too vast to choose from.

Now I was fired up and more determined than ever. I swung again with all the power I could without even thinking about what he'd said earlier. Don't smash any. Well, I smashed it alright. Chips of wood flew high among papers and pamphlets before scattering and littering the side of the road.

"Sorry!" I yelled out. There'd be no gluing that one back together.

I felt the car slowing down and glanced over my shoulder at Ace to see why. He stopped right there on the highway and then got out to walk around to the passenger's side.

"Can't you count? I've still got one left!" I protested.

"I said don't smash any. That's it, end of your innings, girl." He snatched the bat off me and clunked the door open. "Six, I'm sure I can beat a pathetic six."

"I wouldn't be so sure. I've never driven a car in my life," I muttered.

"Then it's about time you learned. Shove over, I'll show you."

As I scooted across the seat, I thought about how James told me he would teach me. This moment used to be reserved for him. Having Ace as my driving teacher was a bizarre experience. He lost the arrogant attitude and explained everything patiently, becoming more enthusiastic when he diverged onto a 'how the engine works' tangent. It seemed obvious to me that cars were his passion, and when I felt that pussycat purr under my foot I thought they'd just become mine.

Once Ace finished his lessons, it was his turn to take the bat in his hands, and I had every intention of playing by 'his' rules. But no matter how much I tried to swerve, brake or speed up just before he took a swing, he still managed to get his ten and gloated about it the rest of the way. Luckily for me, we didn't have much further to drive before arriving at our destination. It was the kind of mansion you'd ever only see in the magazines.