This job is road time, nothing but, two hours on the highway each day, four to six hours in Enid, always on the move. In town, there's no time to notice much of anything other than where you are and where you need to be going, but on the highway it's a different story. I have my radio, and that helps (though it can't pick up any really 'good' radio stations) but the middle stretch of the highway is out of range of anything. Even with the music, driving the same winding path twice a day five days a week for months leaves little of interest. That leaves the other vehicles to entertain me.

To this point, there's been close to nothing worth mentioning, but I did see a vehicle the other day that I had seen once before. I only know this because of a strange bumper sticker it had. "Someone I Love Was Murdered." It struck me as odd the first time I saw it, and the second time was no different. It was the only sticker the vehicle had, compared to some idiots who have over ten, but it was a strange statement. Each time I saw the vehicle I basically blew by it which is impressive because the truck I drive isn't fast by any means, so they had to be driving at least ten miles under the speed limit. It made me wonder, was the person they loved killed in a wreck, say by a drunk driver?

There were a lot of strange possibilities on that one, but they were forgotten when an old, beat up El Camino flew by me. I don't suppose there's any such thing as a classy El Camino, but this one was as far down the scale as they could get. It was probably once an ugly green, but someone had gone to the trouble to get some spray paint and camouflage it, poorly. There were three people crammed into the front and it also had only one bumper sticker, "Semper Fi."

Joe sat on the little hump between his two cousins, Billy and Bobby. His freckled face was twisted in concentration as he tried to hunker down so know one would see him, and keep from touching either one of his "kin." Joe was sure he wasn't really related, he couldn't be, he was a thin redheaded kid, and they were two...well, idiots. Joe would be entering his senior year in high school in the fall, and the brothers never completed tenth grade. Billy was the oldest, by a year, and was obsessed with the Marines. He quit school to join, but was rejected. Having spent enough time with him, Joe suspected that it wasn't because of Billy's knee, as he had claimed, but because he was just plain stupid. Bobby wasn't any better.

Billy crushed a beer can and threw it out the window, "Gimme 'nother," then he loosed a ferocious belch. Bobby high-fived him as he gave him another brew.

"Joey?" Bobby asked.

"No thanks," he replied. The cousins always drank. Every time his parents visited, he had to go out with them because of the close ages, and all they ever did was drink and do stupid things. Stupid things that would cause jail time if they ever got caught. Joe hated every second. He was an honor student, looking forward to going to college, and the last thing he needed was a criminal record.

Billy cranked the wheel to the right and the vehicle careened down a dirt road. He yelled, "Bat time!"

Bobby let out a whoop as he reached behind the seat and pulled out a battered aluminum bat. He leaned out the window and started smacking mailboxes as they drove by. After five or six, Bobby climbed back in the cab and reached for another beer, "We're almost out."

"Let Joey get 'im some, then we'll get more."

Billy pulled the El Camino over and Bobby hopped out. Joe just looked at him. "Come on!" Bobby said. "We've let the beer thing slide so far, but ya gotta whack a few boxes." He got what might have been called a sly look, "Besides after ya get a couple under yer belt, I know you'll want a beer to celebrate."

Joe just looked back and forth at his cousins, they had up until this point not been very adamant that he joined their "fun." He didn't know what to do, until Billy pushed him out of the cab. He picked himself up off the ground, and started dusting himself off when Bobby handed him the bat.

Joe just looked at the "weapon," imagining that some kid somewhere was being deprived of childhood memories by not being able to play with his dad, or his neighborhood buddies, because these two dumb-asses took the last bat in the store.

"Get in! Let's go!" Billy shouted.

Joe looked at his two cousins, the glazed looked in there eyes (that was there regardless if they had been drinking or not) and the demented grins on their face, and shook his head, "No."

Bobby looked shocked, Billy snickered, "You ain't got no choice, we're out in the middle a nowhere."

Joe tossed the bat back in the cab, "I always have a choice."

"Fool!" Bobby shouted at his back as Joe headed back towards the highway.

"To hell with 'im," he heard Billy say. "It's my turn. Then more beer!"

As the cousins sped off, Joe was sprinkled with dirt, and a couple of rocks kicked up by the tires, but he didn't care. He'd rather walk back to town than spend another second with those imbeciles. His only concern was explaining what happened to his parents. He always told them he didn't like spending time with his cousins, but for some reason his parents never seemed to catch on. They had an over bearing sense of family, and were blind to the nature of the relatives that lived here. But he had always been a good kid and he hoped that they would take that into consideration.

It had been about an hour and Joe had finally reached Highway 412. He stepped on the pavement and started heading west. Not a single car had passed him on the dirt road, but he had gained a traveling companion of sorts. A medium sized black dog had joined him once the cousins were gone. The dog had white patches on it's nose, chest, paws, and on the tip of it's tail. Joe was startled when the dog appeared, seemingly out of no where, but he had been working on his story for his parents, and it could have been following him for awhile, either way he felt better with the dog there.

As he walked along the shoulder of the road, the dog stayed to his right. Joe had thought about crossing over to walk on the westbound side of the highway, but there had been too many vehicles. And oddly enough, the dog had stood in front of him almost not allowing him to cross.

Joe walked another thirty minutes without seeing a highway patrolman, and was getting discouraged when the dog barked. He looked at the dog, then looked up as a car screeched to a halt in front of him. He reached down and scratched the dog behind the ears, "It's all good pooch, they're my parents."

A woman jumped out of the passenger side and ran towards him. "Joseph! Honey! You're safe!"

Joe withstood the bear hug for a moment; he was completely caught off guard by the reaction, "Mom, Dad, listen, I was riding with-"

His mother squeezed him tighter, if that was possible, "I know Dear, I know."

Joe broke free of his mother then felt the dog nuzzle his hand. He absently reached down and petted it, "What is going on?!"

"Son," his father stepped up. "Billy and Bobby had an accident..." He looked at his son in a way Joe had never seen. "Billy is dead. Bobby is in a bad way." Was it pride? Joe had always been sure that his dad was disappointed that he had no athletic ability. "When we got the call, we were terrified." Was that a tear in his eye? Joe put both hands on the dog and rubbed furiously. "We went to where the accident happened, and there was no sign of you." His father wiped at his face, "We've been driving around trying to find you..."

Joe couldn't take it any more. He ran to his dad and embraced him with all his strength. His dad reciprocated, and Joe had never been happier in his life. Arms crushed him, he could barely breathe, but he didn't care.

When you're driving a big box down the road, everything affects you. The wind tries to push you off the pavement. And as you fight to keep the mammoth bitch under control, birds fly in front of you, occasionally hitting your truck. You duck, like it might help when your windshield gets shattered. Still, you drive, fighting Mother Nature and nature, because it's your job.

Still, dodging birds, or having them smash into your windshield does keep you awake…

© 2009 Ravenai