California Part 5
I bought another éclair. It was just sitting on my passenger seat while the butterflies of anticipation slowly tickled the inside of my stomach and mocked the hunger that was there minutes earlier. Why does this keep happening? I thought, staring at the éclair. I knew it would be delicious, that's why I always bought them, but now it was just sitting in its plastic wrapper, all content with itself. It knew I couldn't eat it. Not yet, that is. Soon enough, my hunger would return and my mind would create a tiny, fake scream as I bit into it with pride and success. But just that moment it sat in the front seat. The sun would heat the Bavarian cream and melt the chocolate coating, but it would still be my éclair. That smug little bastard.
My mind kept floating back and forth from my destination and the impending doom of the pastry. Interstate 17 was interesting enough, but I was excited. I would be in San Diego by the end of the day, presumably sitting on a beach and drinking a craft beer. I had created an image of what my brother's house looked like and was deadest on daydreaming it into reality.
He would have somehow swindled an actual beach house off of someone. I would arrive in the driveway and he would walk out in confidence saying, "Surprise!" He'd walk me into the guest bathroom where he'd have a brewery set up, complete with tasting center. The still, or whatever beer is made in, would consume the entirety of the guest bathtub, and the fumes would be hanging in a low cloud at eye level. The smell would be faint inducing, but altogether wonderful. He'd smile with pride and give me some clever name he'd concocted for his home-brew. His beer would be heavenly. We would sit on the beach in low chairs and watch the waves tumble over one another like rambunctious puppies while drinking ourselves into oblivion. It was a bit excessive, but it was my daydream. I convinced myself that if I kept picturing that image that it would inevitably become reality.
I laughed aloud at myself. Reality quickly swam into my vision as the desert was beginning to appear. It had been about an hour since I left Flagstaff and I was having a hard time forcing myself into Phase 2 of this journey.
The skies were open. There wasn't a cloud in it as I began my descent from atop the northern portion of Arizona into the flat desert that would summarize the entirety of the southern half of the state. This is the Arizona I remember, I thought. The trees had all but faded into my short-term memory and what little grass existed in Flagstaff had long since died away. The far distant mountains that New Mexico was proud of were In-Your-Face mountains in Arizona. The highways were built for you to see the natural beauty in the landscape, and they were not failing in their duty.
Soon enough, even cities were far and in between, but that was expected of the Mars-like terrain of the area. Natural resources must be difficult to come by and creating civilization out of rocks could be costly.
Eff this, my brain sang in my head, get a picture. I pulled my car onto a bluff overlooking a flat patch of land between three mountains. The bluff sat on the western side of my own mountain, curving slowly to the left with the highway, and always losing altitude one foot at a time. The ramp looked like an old runaway truck ramp that the state converted into look-out for tourists. I wasn't complaining, the view was amazing. I stopped and took in the air and atmosphere for a second before I snapped a picture of the view. It was around noon and the air was warm and dry, but nowhere near uncomfortable. The view itself was incredible. It appeared that the desert stretched on for days with random up-shoots of land creating the mountains. It was like viewing a moving painting. This was too good - straight from a movie.
I took in the view for what I deemed an appropriate amount of time, but soon become antsy with the thought of that beer and the ocean. My lungs filled with fresh air and eyes full of wonder, I sat back in my car and started up the engine. The entrance ramp to the highway was a slow one, but that meant I got to build up the appropriate amount of speed for merging back with the other drivers. Who was I kidding? I had been the only driver for miles.
I accelerated on the ramp, and merged quickly with the highway.
Then there was a loud, metallic crunch. Then another. Then a slow grinding of metal. And quite a bit of panic.
That feeling of panic and helplessness. The car was dying and there was nothing I could do. Too many lights and sounds were happening for my mind to process it all at once. I pressed the gas and nothing happened but a louder, faster grinding. My dashboard was alive with blinking lights, all of them red.
BREATHE, you fuck. My brain was kicking in. Pump the brakes.
"Brakes still work," I said aloud, responding to my internal monologue, now turned dialogue.
Steering?
I turned left and right while involuntarily decelerating. "Still good," I said aloud again.
Are we over heating?
I glanced at the dash. All of the lights were lit, but my gauge was showing a normal temperature. "No," I responded weakly.
Then you know it isn't your serpentine belt. It's much worse. Pull the fuck over NOW.
Well shit. I always hate it when my brain is right, but now was not the time to have an argument with that asshole.
I pulled my car to the shoulder and turned on my caution lights. I sat staring incredulously at the steering wheel and expecting it to come to life and answer for the car's transgressions. No surprise: it didn't move. My heart was racing. What the fuck?! Now, universe?! Now?! REALLY?! My brain was furious and my face matched my thoughts. I could feel my mouth and eyes twisted into an angry disgust with life and the universe.
It took every ounce of concentration available for me to unbuckle, pop the hood, and get out of the car. I could feel my muscles tensing and relaxing in slow waves that were draining my energy. I walked along the vacant highway to the front of my car and inspected the damage. I'm no professional, but having that much reddish-brown fluid splattered across your engine compartment is never a good thing.
"Fuck me, god dammit," came pouring out of my mouth. "This is not good. That's transmission fluid," I said again aloud, and to no one but myself.
Okay shit stain, get yourself out of here first then worry about the car. My brain always has a way of being right AND condescending. You thought I was ever-so-happy on the outside? This is how I talk to myself. You people get off easy.
I sent my hand flying into the front pocket of my blue jeans and pulled my cell phone from my pocket with a sigh of relief that quickly turned into despair. The battery was showing 3% charge. You stupid fucker, my brain almost laughed, you bought that god damned éclair and forgot to buy a car charger! Now we're stuck here in the middle of fucking nowhere.
"Shit."
No, wait. I can call emergency services! I had read somewhere that it didn't matter if the phone worked or which country you were in, but if you dialed 112 on any phone that it would redirect you to whatever the local emergency service was. It was worth a shot, at least.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" The sweet, sweet sounds of the male operator's voice came through the phone and rang through my head. The relief I felt was almost instant and warm, like laying in a bathtub.
"My car just died and I need-"
*BEEPBEEP*
"-the fuck?!" I looked at the phone in disbelief. I knew that particular tone.
I had just dropped a call to 911. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" is what managed to escape my throat.
Well we're boned.
"No. This isn't happening." I started walking and scanning. I could see antennas on tops of the mountains, so I knew I could get service if I got within range. Despite my brain's warning, I hopped the guardrail of the highway and began climbing down the side of the mountain. The rocks were softball sized obstacles that looked loose, but the ground never gave way as I made my way down. There were a few trees to steady myself, but altogether, the climb was easy. At the bottom of the hill I look back up and could barely see the guardrail, much less my car. I don't think that was wise, bro, my brain chimed in. (Yes, my brain is a douchebag).
Fuck it, I'd gone too far. I hit redial on the phone and started power walking toward the distant mountain equipped with the phone tower. It took several attempts and about three hundred yards for my phone to finally grab a signal, and I stopped dead in my tracks as soon as I heard the half ring.
I was met with a female voice this time, but it was garbled. "9-1-1, what is your emergency?"
"My car broke down. I need some assistance." I was trying to keep the panic out of my voice, but I could hear myself go an octave higher as I spoke to the operator.
"Okay sir, can you tell me where you are?"
"Yes ma'am, I'm on-"
*BEEPBEEP*
"NO YOU STUPID FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS NOT THE FUCKING TIME!" I was holding the phone a few inches from my face and screaming every bit of air in my lungs at the it.
*ALERT. 1% BATTERY REMAINING*
Dude, I don't even know what to say.
"Shut the fuck up!" I yelled at my brain. I don't know if it was the intensity of my voice or the situation, by my brain obliged.
I started panicking again. Maybe 911 could get a location on my cell phone. No, they'd need a subpoena, and how in the hell do I get a subpoena when I'm in the middle of the desert?
"Oh shit," I said as I looked around. I was standing in a basin in between three mountains. Cacti were dotting the land between myself and the three mountains, but other than the rocks, I was alone in a desert landscape. All alone.
Very alone.
The realization just struck and a new form of panic was setting in. Wildlife. You need to make this quick, my brained chimed.
"I know, god damnit, shut up," I quipped aloud.
Maybe I could call a landline. That'd make sense, right? Fuck it. I dialed the only landline I knew by heart.
"Do the math and you'll choose Aaron's, this is Gabe, how can I assist you?" The sound of my friend's voice sent rays of hope shining through me. I suppose hearing a familiar voice was enough to calm my nerves, because I could feel my entire back relax.
"Gabe, it's Casey. I need you to listen very closely."
Gabe and I had been working together for five years. We sat within five feet of each other for four of those five years, so I hoped that he knew when I was being urgent.
"I have a pen," he responded calmly, "go ahead, man."
He had understood from my tone how serious this was. I breathed hard for a second in relief.
"Interstate 17, southbound, about 40 miles from Flagstaff. I need a trooper and a tow truck now."
The phone didn't even make a sound so much as it started vibrating. "Gabe? GABE?!" I stared at the phone. It was a black screen. It had died.
Yeah bro, we're boned hard.
"MOTHERFUCKING STUPID COCK CUNT PIECE OF SHIT FUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
Shoulders slumped. Devoid of profanity, at least for the time being, I began walking back to the car. I could only hope that Gabe had heard me ramble the information off and was able to get the job done. I needed him to contact the Highway Patrol and get some one out ASAP, but there was nothing I could do but walk back to the car and wait.
The upside was that the scenery was beautiful. The downside was that it was a desert, and I was quickly becoming aware of the hazards that come with it. The sun, that earlier had been keeping me just the right amount of warm, was now slow cooking my skin. The dry air was causing my lips to chap, and the landscape itself was reflecting the sun into my eyes in a painful, slow burn. I was only a few hundred yards from the highway, but with the view of it obstructed, I felt alone in a western film.
"This is ridiculous. Only you, man," I said aloud while trying to climb back up to my car. My brain was being quite silent as I berated myself aloud. I imagined a miniature version of myself sitting in a folding chair and laughing quietly while my body vocalized its own stupidity. Rocks were slipping out from under my footing as I began my climb, but the small trees were providing hand-holds. The cascading rocks broke into smaller rocks and caused smaller landslides. I froze at one point, picturing the smallest of falling rocks as large as a boulder and destroying a village of Who-People. I allowed myself the smallest of smiles at the disdain that the Who-People would feel, but continued my climb soon enough.
I was soon pulling myself the last leg of the climb. The highway was still quiet, and seeing my car like this was like seeing a relative in a casket. A small stream of smoke was emitting from under the hood, and I groaned while I approached. Lifting the hood provided me with a nostrils-first experience in heated transmission fluid. The engine had run hot under the sun and was quickly evaporating the fluid into a smokey doom.
I left the hood up and sat in the driver's seat. If this was going to take a while, if it happened at all, then I wanted to be comfortable for it. I turned the key in my ignition far enough to start the air conditioner and checked the time. Noon? Well that's why it's so damned hot. It seemed my brain had decided to break its temporary silence and rejoin the action.
I turned on the radio, reclined the seat, and wished my brain into quiet so I could pass the time. My stomach was turning and my nerves were shot, but I needed to rest or I would just keep worrying at an exponential pace. Images of my kids passed across the back of my eyelids. Max was playing with his infant sister and begging me to play Xbox. His sandy blond was hair a mess, just like his dad. Daisy, my little toothless wonder, sits in her high-chair and destroys one piece of food at a time.
*CRACKCRACKCRACK*
I jolted up in my seat, banging my knees on the steering wheel and staring at the radio like it had pulled a horrific prank on me. The sun had begun to creep over the middle point in the sky and cast shadows into my car. The cold air was still flowing, but the sun had cooked my hand.
"Hey Mic-"
"WHATTHEFUCK?!" I jumped halfway into the passenger seat. At the driver window stood an amused State Trooper. He had one hand on the fender of my car and the other on his stomach as he laughed at the ground.
He composed himself after a few good chuckles and looked up at me again. "Are you Michael Wilcox?"
I nodded nervously, the shock still sending my nerves on edge.
"You wanna step outside for a second?"
I nodded again. He took a few steps to get out of the highway and allow me to get my head together. It took a few hard shakes for me to get my wits about me. "How long have I been-" I glanced at the clock. 1:10. Had to shake my head again.
I reached over for my keys and killed the car. Reaching for the handle I thought aloud, "Here we fucking go," and stepped out of the car.
The trooper walked to the back of my car, where he was parked, and motioned me to follow. "So you're the kid we got a call from Texas about?" He turned in front of his car and removed his sunglasses, placing his hands on his hips and looking at me still amused.
"I'm gonna kiss you Gabe," I mumbled before answering, "Yes sir. I didn't know if I'd have to start walking soon, or if I was doomed." I leaned back against the trunk of my car in an attempt to seem casual and realized how hot black paint will get in the Arizona sun. "Shit!" is what came out.
The trooper chuckled again. "Why don't you come sit in the car while we wait for a tow truck? It's going to take a little bit, but we'll have you out of here pretty quick." He walked to the driver door and opened it, but saw the hesitation in my face. He looked from me to my car and asked, "You have something you want to tell me?"
"Nothing in particular."
Yeah, that's not suspiscious, my brain chimed.
The trooped's face sank. "I'm not going to regret running your license or plate, am I?" He raised an eyebrow at me. He was well versed in parent faces.
"No sir, not that I know of." I know I didn't sound convincing, but I was hoping that he was having a long day, and maybe his sympathy would outweigh his need to do a search.
He chewed on the thought of it for a second. I could see his eyes going back and forth from my license plate to my face, then to his on-board computer. "Get in, kid," he said, cocking his head a little toward the car before dipping into the driver seat.
I didn't hesitate this time. No need to go pissing off an officer. It wasn't that I had done anything wrong, it's just that I'm already catching the worst luck, and it would be my luck for the day to escalate.
I sat on the hard plastic back seat and closed the door. This. Blows. Hard. My brain was not lying. This back seat was borderline cruel and unusual punishment. The seats had no give to them and were already sending pains through my ass cheeks. The inside of the door looked like an X-ray of a normal car door, but without anything that would allow anyone to escape. There was a plastic divider between the front cabin and the rear with small slits near the headrests to accommodate speaking and breathing. Just under the slits were metal rings welded to a steel plate that protected the backs of the driver and passenger seats. "What're these for?" I asked, nodding down to the back of the seat and giving the rings a tap with my knuckles.
He caught my gaze in the rear-view mirror and responded, "Oh, those are great! I can handcuff someone to the rings so they don't hurt their wrists on the seats back there."
The trooper began punching in a series of code on his computer that I didn't understand. In the middle of code was my license plate number followed by the word Indiana and Mike. He looked into the mirror again inquisitively and asked, "Hey Michael, what's your full name?" I gave it to him, correcting his spelling errors, then gave out my driver's license number and birthdate. We both sat quietly while staring at the monitor. Within a few minutes the word CLEAR scrolled across the screen in all Caps, much to both of our relief. "Looks like you're clear," he said smiling weakly and raising his eyebrows.
"Looks like it.." I trailed off.
It took me a few seconds, but I made up my mind about something. I couldn't just sit there and wait; this was already killing me, so I did what I do best. I improvised. I began asking the officer about his extra curriculars he did with the department, his hobbies, his wife, kids, whatever would take the conversation off the constant nag of worry. We talked forever. He was a hunter, a rifle instructor for the local arms training facility, divorced, re-married, four kids (all girls), and was looking forward to retiring in a few years. Unlike most Arizona citizens, he didn't mind the Navajo population. In fact, he had a small hair up his ass about clarifying how they weren't a bad people, he just felt it was un-just that he had no jurisdiction on their property. "They could go on a murder spree and the moment they cross the border onto their land I can't touch them."
He would fit in well in Texas. His knowledge of guns and hunting was very impressive, and I knew just enough to appease his taste and keep a decent conversation while we waited. I let him do most of the talking while I admired the inside of the car. I'd been in police cars before, but usually it was in a different mind frame. I don't think many people get to be inside one of these cars in a clear mindframe, actually. The computer sat above a series of switches, undoubtedly the controls to the lights and siren. There was a handheld radio microphone like you'd expect from an officer. The way he was sitting in his seat gave off the impression that the utilities on his belt were digging into his side and making him uncomfortable. Every few minutes he would fidget and reposition his back against the items.
The ringing of his phone broke my gaze. He looked back over his shoulder and whispered, "Looks like your ride is here," before returning to the phone call. A tow truck had pulled in front of my car and was backing its forks under my front tires. Thankful for the release, I scrambled for the door handle.
What is this black magic?! Oh yeah. Cop car. Well we're dumb. There was no denying that.
The trooper didn't make a sound or look in my direction, he just got out of the car and opened the back door for me. He shook my hand firmly and excused himself. He was polite and quick.
I waved him off as he pulled quickly back onto the highway and began walking toward the tow truck driver. He had just finished hooking up my car and was lifting the front end off the ground. My Hyundai looked tiny compared to the diesel fueled monster that was about to tow her. His truck was colored in Army stardard green and brown camouflage, but otherwise was your standard tow truck.
The driver shook my hand and introduced himself as Ernesto before encouraging me to make myself comfortable in the front seat of his truck. He climbed in after securing all of the necessary hooks, and we began our journey back to Flagstaff.
My mind kept floating back and forth from my destination and the impending doom of the pastry. Interstate 17 was interesting enough, but I was excited. I would be in San Diego by the end of the day, presumably sitting on a beach and drinking a craft beer. I had created an image of what my brother's house looked like and was deadest on daydreaming it into reality.
He would have somehow swindled an actual beach house off of someone. I would arrive in the driveway and he would walk out in confidence saying, "Surprise!" He'd walk me into the guest bathroom where he'd have a brewery set up, complete with tasting center. The still, or whatever beer is made in, would consume the entirety of the guest bathtub, and the fumes would be hanging in a low cloud at eye level. The smell would be faint inducing, but altogether wonderful. He'd smile with pride and give me some clever name he'd concocted for his home-brew. His beer would be heavenly. We would sit on the beach in low chairs and watch the waves tumble over one another like rambunctious puppies while drinking ourselves into oblivion. It was a bit excessive, but it was my daydream. I convinced myself that if I kept picturing that image that it would inevitably become reality.
I laughed aloud at myself. Reality quickly swam into my vision as the desert was beginning to appear. It had been about an hour since I left Flagstaff and I was having a hard time forcing myself into Phase 2 of this journey.
The skies were open. There wasn't a cloud in it as I began my descent from atop the northern portion of Arizona into the flat desert that would summarize the entirety of the southern half of the state. This is the Arizona I remember, I thought. The trees had all but faded into my short-term memory and what little grass existed in Flagstaff had long since died away. The far distant mountains that New Mexico was proud of were In-Your-Face mountains in Arizona. The highways were built for you to see the natural beauty in the landscape, and they were not failing in their duty.
Soon enough, even cities were far and in between, but that was expected of the Mars-like terrain of the area. Natural resources must be difficult to come by and creating civilization out of rocks could be costly.
Eff this, my brain sang in my head, get a picture. I pulled my car onto a bluff overlooking a flat patch of land between three mountains. The bluff sat on the western side of my own mountain, curving slowly to the left with the highway, and always losing altitude one foot at a time. The ramp looked like an old runaway truck ramp that the state converted into look-out for tourists. I wasn't complaining, the view was amazing. I stopped and took in the air and atmosphere for a second before I snapped a picture of the view. It was around noon and the air was warm and dry, but nowhere near uncomfortable. The view itself was incredible. It appeared that the desert stretched on for days with random up-shoots of land creating the mountains. It was like viewing a moving painting. This was too good - straight from a movie.
I took in the view for what I deemed an appropriate amount of time, but soon become antsy with the thought of that beer and the ocean. My lungs filled with fresh air and eyes full of wonder, I sat back in my car and started up the engine. The entrance ramp to the highway was a slow one, but that meant I got to build up the appropriate amount of speed for merging back with the other drivers. Who was I kidding? I had been the only driver for miles.
I accelerated on the ramp, and merged quickly with the highway.
Then there was a loud, metallic crunch. Then another. Then a slow grinding of metal. And quite a bit of panic.
That feeling of panic and helplessness. The car was dying and there was nothing I could do. Too many lights and sounds were happening for my mind to process it all at once. I pressed the gas and nothing happened but a louder, faster grinding. My dashboard was alive with blinking lights, all of them red.
BREATHE, you fuck. My brain was kicking in. Pump the brakes.
"Brakes still work," I said aloud, responding to my internal monologue, now turned dialogue.
Steering?
I turned left and right while involuntarily decelerating. "Still good," I said aloud again.
Are we over heating?
I glanced at the dash. All of the lights were lit, but my gauge was showing a normal temperature. "No," I responded weakly.
Then you know it isn't your serpentine belt. It's much worse. Pull the fuck over NOW.
Well shit. I always hate it when my brain is right, but now was not the time to have an argument with that asshole.
I pulled my car to the shoulder and turned on my caution lights. I sat staring incredulously at the steering wheel and expecting it to come to life and answer for the car's transgressions. No surprise: it didn't move. My heart was racing. What the fuck?! Now, universe?! Now?! REALLY?! My brain was furious and my face matched my thoughts. I could feel my mouth and eyes twisted into an angry disgust with life and the universe.
It took every ounce of concentration available for me to unbuckle, pop the hood, and get out of the car. I could feel my muscles tensing and relaxing in slow waves that were draining my energy. I walked along the vacant highway to the front of my car and inspected the damage. I'm no professional, but having that much reddish-brown fluid splattered across your engine compartment is never a good thing.
"Fuck me, god dammit," came pouring out of my mouth. "This is not good. That's transmission fluid," I said again aloud, and to no one but myself.
Okay shit stain, get yourself out of here first then worry about the car. My brain always has a way of being right AND condescending. You thought I was ever-so-happy on the outside? This is how I talk to myself. You people get off easy.
I sent my hand flying into the front pocket of my blue jeans and pulled my cell phone from my pocket with a sigh of relief that quickly turned into despair. The battery was showing 3% charge. You stupid fucker, my brain almost laughed, you bought that god damned éclair and forgot to buy a car charger! Now we're stuck here in the middle of fucking nowhere.
"Shit."
No, wait. I can call emergency services! I had read somewhere that it didn't matter if the phone worked or which country you were in, but if you dialed 112 on any phone that it would redirect you to whatever the local emergency service was. It was worth a shot, at least.
"9-1-1, what is your emergency?" The sweet, sweet sounds of the male operator's voice came through the phone and rang through my head. The relief I felt was almost instant and warm, like laying in a bathtub.
"My car just died and I need-"
*BEEPBEEP*
"-the fuck?!" I looked at the phone in disbelief. I knew that particular tone.
I had just dropped a call to 911. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" is what managed to escape my throat.
Well we're boned.
"No. This isn't happening." I started walking and scanning. I could see antennas on tops of the mountains, so I knew I could get service if I got within range. Despite my brain's warning, I hopped the guardrail of the highway and began climbing down the side of the mountain. The rocks were softball sized obstacles that looked loose, but the ground never gave way as I made my way down. There were a few trees to steady myself, but altogether, the climb was easy. At the bottom of the hill I look back up and could barely see the guardrail, much less my car. I don't think that was wise, bro, my brain chimed in. (Yes, my brain is a douchebag).
Fuck it, I'd gone too far. I hit redial on the phone and started power walking toward the distant mountain equipped with the phone tower. It took several attempts and about three hundred yards for my phone to finally grab a signal, and I stopped dead in my tracks as soon as I heard the half ring.
I was met with a female voice this time, but it was garbled. "9-1-1, what is your emergency?"
"My car broke down. I need some assistance." I was trying to keep the panic out of my voice, but I could hear myself go an octave higher as I spoke to the operator.
"Okay sir, can you tell me where you are?"
"Yes ma'am, I'm on-"
*BEEPBEEP*
"NO YOU STUPID FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! THIS IS NOT THE FUCKING TIME!" I was holding the phone a few inches from my face and screaming every bit of air in my lungs at the it.
*ALERT. 1% BATTERY REMAINING*
Dude, I don't even know what to say.
"Shut the fuck up!" I yelled at my brain. I don't know if it was the intensity of my voice or the situation, by my brain obliged.
I started panicking again. Maybe 911 could get a location on my cell phone. No, they'd need a subpoena, and how in the hell do I get a subpoena when I'm in the middle of the desert?
"Oh shit," I said as I looked around. I was standing in a basin in between three mountains. Cacti were dotting the land between myself and the three mountains, but other than the rocks, I was alone in a desert landscape. All alone.
Very alone.
The realization just struck and a new form of panic was setting in. Wildlife. You need to make this quick, my brained chimed.
"I know, god damnit, shut up," I quipped aloud.
Maybe I could call a landline. That'd make sense, right? Fuck it. I dialed the only landline I knew by heart.
"Do the math and you'll choose Aaron's, this is Gabe, how can I assist you?" The sound of my friend's voice sent rays of hope shining through me. I suppose hearing a familiar voice was enough to calm my nerves, because I could feel my entire back relax.
"Gabe, it's Casey. I need you to listen very closely."
Gabe and I had been working together for five years. We sat within five feet of each other for four of those five years, so I hoped that he knew when I was being urgent.
"I have a pen," he responded calmly, "go ahead, man."
He had understood from my tone how serious this was. I breathed hard for a second in relief.
"Interstate 17, southbound, about 40 miles from Flagstaff. I need a trooper and a tow truck now."
The phone didn't even make a sound so much as it started vibrating. "Gabe? GABE?!" I stared at the phone. It was a black screen. It had died.
Yeah bro, we're boned hard.
"MOTHERFUCKING STUPID COCK CUNT PIECE OF SHIT FUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
Shoulders slumped. Devoid of profanity, at least for the time being, I began walking back to the car. I could only hope that Gabe had heard me ramble the information off and was able to get the job done. I needed him to contact the Highway Patrol and get some one out ASAP, but there was nothing I could do but walk back to the car and wait.
The upside was that the scenery was beautiful. The downside was that it was a desert, and I was quickly becoming aware of the hazards that come with it. The sun, that earlier had been keeping me just the right amount of warm, was now slow cooking my skin. The dry air was causing my lips to chap, and the landscape itself was reflecting the sun into my eyes in a painful, slow burn. I was only a few hundred yards from the highway, but with the view of it obstructed, I felt alone in a western film.
"This is ridiculous. Only you, man," I said aloud while trying to climb back up to my car. My brain was being quite silent as I berated myself aloud. I imagined a miniature version of myself sitting in a folding chair and laughing quietly while my body vocalized its own stupidity. Rocks were slipping out from under my footing as I began my climb, but the small trees were providing hand-holds. The cascading rocks broke into smaller rocks and caused smaller landslides. I froze at one point, picturing the smallest of falling rocks as large as a boulder and destroying a village of Who-People. I allowed myself the smallest of smiles at the disdain that the Who-People would feel, but continued my climb soon enough.
I was soon pulling myself the last leg of the climb. The highway was still quiet, and seeing my car like this was like seeing a relative in a casket. A small stream of smoke was emitting from under the hood, and I groaned while I approached. Lifting the hood provided me with a nostrils-first experience in heated transmission fluid. The engine had run hot under the sun and was quickly evaporating the fluid into a smokey doom.
I left the hood up and sat in the driver's seat. If this was going to take a while, if it happened at all, then I wanted to be comfortable for it. I turned the key in my ignition far enough to start the air conditioner and checked the time. Noon? Well that's why it's so damned hot. It seemed my brain had decided to break its temporary silence and rejoin the action.
I turned on the radio, reclined the seat, and wished my brain into quiet so I could pass the time. My stomach was turning and my nerves were shot, but I needed to rest or I would just keep worrying at an exponential pace. Images of my kids passed across the back of my eyelids. Max was playing with his infant sister and begging me to play Xbox. His sandy blond was hair a mess, just like his dad. Daisy, my little toothless wonder, sits in her high-chair and destroys one piece of food at a time.
*CRACKCRACKCRACK*
I jolted up in my seat, banging my knees on the steering wheel and staring at the radio like it had pulled a horrific prank on me. The sun had begun to creep over the middle point in the sky and cast shadows into my car. The cold air was still flowing, but the sun had cooked my hand.
"Hey Mic-"
"WHATTHEFUCK?!" I jumped halfway into the passenger seat. At the driver window stood an amused State Trooper. He had one hand on the fender of my car and the other on his stomach as he laughed at the ground.
He composed himself after a few good chuckles and looked up at me again. "Are you Michael Wilcox?"
I nodded nervously, the shock still sending my nerves on edge.
"You wanna step outside for a second?"
I nodded again. He took a few steps to get out of the highway and allow me to get my head together. It took a few hard shakes for me to get my wits about me. "How long have I been-" I glanced at the clock. 1:10. Had to shake my head again.
I reached over for my keys and killed the car. Reaching for the handle I thought aloud, "Here we fucking go," and stepped out of the car.
The trooper walked to the back of my car, where he was parked, and motioned me to follow. "So you're the kid we got a call from Texas about?" He turned in front of his car and removed his sunglasses, placing his hands on his hips and looking at me still amused.
"I'm gonna kiss you Gabe," I mumbled before answering, "Yes sir. I didn't know if I'd have to start walking soon, or if I was doomed." I leaned back against the trunk of my car in an attempt to seem casual and realized how hot black paint will get in the Arizona sun. "Shit!" is what came out.
The trooper chuckled again. "Why don't you come sit in the car while we wait for a tow truck? It's going to take a little bit, but we'll have you out of here pretty quick." He walked to the driver door and opened it, but saw the hesitation in my face. He looked from me to my car and asked, "You have something you want to tell me?"
"Nothing in particular."
Yeah, that's not suspiscious, my brain chimed.
The trooped's face sank. "I'm not going to regret running your license or plate, am I?" He raised an eyebrow at me. He was well versed in parent faces.
"No sir, not that I know of." I know I didn't sound convincing, but I was hoping that he was having a long day, and maybe his sympathy would outweigh his need to do a search.
He chewed on the thought of it for a second. I could see his eyes going back and forth from my license plate to my face, then to his on-board computer. "Get in, kid," he said, cocking his head a little toward the car before dipping into the driver seat.
I didn't hesitate this time. No need to go pissing off an officer. It wasn't that I had done anything wrong, it's just that I'm already catching the worst luck, and it would be my luck for the day to escalate.
I sat on the hard plastic back seat and closed the door. This. Blows. Hard. My brain was not lying. This back seat was borderline cruel and unusual punishment. The seats had no give to them and were already sending pains through my ass cheeks. The inside of the door looked like an X-ray of a normal car door, but without anything that would allow anyone to escape. There was a plastic divider between the front cabin and the rear with small slits near the headrests to accommodate speaking and breathing. Just under the slits were metal rings welded to a steel plate that protected the backs of the driver and passenger seats. "What're these for?" I asked, nodding down to the back of the seat and giving the rings a tap with my knuckles.
He caught my gaze in the rear-view mirror and responded, "Oh, those are great! I can handcuff someone to the rings so they don't hurt their wrists on the seats back there."
The trooper began punching in a series of code on his computer that I didn't understand. In the middle of code was my license plate number followed by the word Indiana and Mike. He looked into the mirror again inquisitively and asked, "Hey Michael, what's your full name?" I gave it to him, correcting his spelling errors, then gave out my driver's license number and birthdate. We both sat quietly while staring at the monitor. Within a few minutes the word CLEAR scrolled across the screen in all Caps, much to both of our relief. "Looks like you're clear," he said smiling weakly and raising his eyebrows.
"Looks like it.." I trailed off.
It took me a few seconds, but I made up my mind about something. I couldn't just sit there and wait; this was already killing me, so I did what I do best. I improvised. I began asking the officer about his extra curriculars he did with the department, his hobbies, his wife, kids, whatever would take the conversation off the constant nag of worry. We talked forever. He was a hunter, a rifle instructor for the local arms training facility, divorced, re-married, four kids (all girls), and was looking forward to retiring in a few years. Unlike most Arizona citizens, he didn't mind the Navajo population. In fact, he had a small hair up his ass about clarifying how they weren't a bad people, he just felt it was un-just that he had no jurisdiction on their property. "They could go on a murder spree and the moment they cross the border onto their land I can't touch them."
He would fit in well in Texas. His knowledge of guns and hunting was very impressive, and I knew just enough to appease his taste and keep a decent conversation while we waited. I let him do most of the talking while I admired the inside of the car. I'd been in police cars before, but usually it was in a different mind frame. I don't think many people get to be inside one of these cars in a clear mindframe, actually. The computer sat above a series of switches, undoubtedly the controls to the lights and siren. There was a handheld radio microphone like you'd expect from an officer. The way he was sitting in his seat gave off the impression that the utilities on his belt were digging into his side and making him uncomfortable. Every few minutes he would fidget and reposition his back against the items.
The ringing of his phone broke my gaze. He looked back over his shoulder and whispered, "Looks like your ride is here," before returning to the phone call. A tow truck had pulled in front of my car and was backing its forks under my front tires. Thankful for the release, I scrambled for the door handle.
What is this black magic?! Oh yeah. Cop car. Well we're dumb. There was no denying that.
The trooper didn't make a sound or look in my direction, he just got out of the car and opened the back door for me. He shook my hand firmly and excused himself. He was polite and quick.
I waved him off as he pulled quickly back onto the highway and began walking toward the tow truck driver. He had just finished hooking up my car and was lifting the front end off the ground. My Hyundai looked tiny compared to the diesel fueled monster that was about to tow her. His truck was colored in Army stardard green and brown camouflage, but otherwise was your standard tow truck.
The driver shook my hand and introduced himself as Ernesto before encouraging me to make myself comfortable in the front seat of his truck. He climbed in after securing all of the necessary hooks, and we began our journey back to Flagstaff.