-Update -

i haven't really had much of a will to write lately. but i will have chapter four written sooner or later. the important thing is that it will be.

Chapter Three

We got into a town whose name I don’t remember. Just like everyone else we were looking for work, but first and foremost we were looking for food. There is always the big box corporation store to go to, but that’s not a viable option for us. If I were to shop there I’d be no better than those who ran it and rob the common person of their decent job. Frank and I tried to explain it to Bobby. “You see kid, when you buy something from there you are supporting them, sure it may be cheap but as long as people keep thinking that they’re gonna keep enslaving desperate workers with minimum wage. We always buy local.” I have always liked the way Frank set things out, this is what happens and why. “Every empire must fall.” I chimed in quietly quoting an old magazine article from my youth.

Pulling into an old mom and pop looking grocery store we see the familiar signs of poverty. An old blind man sits in a rocking chair in front of the store welcoming everyone he hears walk onto the old weathered wooden porch, while young children play simple games with whatever they could find, kicking up the dry dirt. A young girl runs up to Bobby who is holding Shakespeare close to his chest. She’s screaming over this cat like a mother probably would after losing her child. Frank and I walk into the store leaving the boy outside to deal with the enthused children. I hate kids. “You think he’ll give the cat to em?” I asked frank. “Maybe, Maybe not. Now should he give it to em is the real question.” We idly discussed the pros and cons of giving a little girl a living, breathing animal to take care of as we shopped around for foodstuffs.

At the register a tired looking middle-aged woman rang us up. It was the only checkout aisle but we didn’t have to wait because we were the only ones there. She gave a smile and I could see the many lines in her face that were the toll of raising children. I immediately felt sorry for this woman. Filling in the blanks in my head. I bet her husband had left her to raise the kids by herself, Taking care of her blind father. What a horrible thing to have to go through. Or perhaps her husband is in the back. And that is simply some bored old man out there passing the time. I don’t know.

We paid for our groceries and walked outside where we found Bobby watching the kids playing with the cat. Bobby watched them like a father may watch his kid playing tee ball. Putting the bags in the car we asked bobby if he was going to give away his new friend to these kids. He said he may or may not. “I’m gonna ask their mother if it would be alright.” Just as he started walking towards the grocery store, the first girl who had initially ran up to bobby started stomping an anthill as if she was it’s god smiting them for no reason other than amusement. Bobby gave the child a disgusted look and picked up the cat, walking back towards the car and us. Half of the kids groaned in disappointment, the other half didn’t even notice.

“He deserves better than that.” bobby declared. “She obviously hasn’t learned what love truly is.” Just as I placed the key in the ignition Frank chimed in with his ten cents, “and do you claim to know what love truly is Bobby?” the car was now idling in this dirt parking lot, I just hoped an argument didn’t pursue. “Love is giving when you don’t receive. It’s giving your all when you know you might have even more taken from you.” And with that he sat back holding Shakespeare close to his chest and making tsking noises. “Well we have to learn how to do that somehow, you’re not just born into being a grassroots hippy. Maybe that cat was just what she needed,” retorted frank. They were both silent for what seemed hours. I threw the car into drive and took off, breaking the silence. “It’s a fucking cat guys. Chill.” It got quiet and all eyes turned to the road.

We saw signs for a local park, and we decided we could go park the car there, eat, and do some exploring on foot. Somewhere in our brief spat, a fly had gotten into the car. The insistent buzzing was enough to drive me mad. We kept trying to shoo it out of the window but where we wanted it to go it went the opposite. Finally we arrived at the park that was a beacon of green in the middle of a sea of weeds and dirt. Finally we rolled down the window and tried to coax it outside. Finally I got too fed up with these trivialities, “God damnit I don’t even care. It cans stay in one place if it wants.” I retreated to a bench with bread, some jerky, and a bottle of water. I don’t know why but it seems like the only thing that can really piss me off are the small things. I never did understand that.

The other guys shortly joined me there on that bench. It was inscribed with all sorts of things with different sorts of edges. Names, dates, proof of existence. I took out my knife I’ve always carried since I turned 18 and carved something of my own. We ate and discussed our plan of action. We were going to walk about the town, see if we could find some work and possibly some cheap housing depending on how long our stay here lasted. We made sure the car was locked; Bobby took the cat with so he didn’t die of heat exhaustion. We grabbed the little money we had and walked towards the downtown. I don’t know if my mark is still in that table but I know that I was there.

We knew by now that the roots of any town reside in the bars. People from across town will come down and have a drink and talk with the folks from the other side of town. They are the central nervous system of any small community; if there is work open they will know about it. They’ll also know who’s cheating on who, what the weathers supposed to be like tomorrow, and why they aren’t a lot richer. The trick is learning to sift through all the bullshit presented to you. We found a small non descript bar that could have been in any town in the United States. Opening the door we noticed it seemed it was overly crowded for five O’clock.

Chapter Two

The next day after we up and left that town, leaving the shared sorrow behind us. We're on the road not ten minutes when we started to hear some unexplainable noise coming from the engine. None of us knew cars and suddenly had the fear of god in us. A breakdown would leave us stranded for god knows how long. We were barely making enough money for food and gas; no way we could afford to fix the car. The fact that we had not shaken the sleep from our heads yet only added to our paranoia. Bobby, decided to pipe up,”maybe its just the sound of the brakes squeaking? You know like friction.” None of had any idea if it was the brakes or just the seats creaking along with the bumps in the road. I was driving first that day and was looking for some kind of instruction as to what to do. I kept shooting frank these panicked looks every time we heard that noise. “What we’re gonna do is pull over the next chance we get and have a look under the hood. Until then we’re not gonna do any speculating or nothing of the sort. No point in getting ourselves worked up, OK?” frank’s words were comforting even though none of us knew what a car’s innards should look like.

A mile down the road there was a gravel lot that I pulled into. I made sure that I turned the car around to face the road before shutting the engine off just in case we had to push it. Even after turning the engine off the sound persisted. We knew that couldn’t be right and just looked at each other trying not to look too worried. Popping the hood open and propping it open the noise only grew louder and then at that point grew confusing. For this sound is not one normally found in automobiles or machinery at all for that matter. Our looks of worry grew to looks of confusion. Frank looked at me and mouthed “ what the fuck?” while Bobby began to grow a smile. I had never seen him really smile before, and it showed on his face that he had not done it in a while. Without hesitation Bobby reached into the car and pulled out a small kitten and held it up. At that point a motorist was passing our parked display of nonsense, looking at us to see what the matter was when he saw a small cat pulled from the engine area of our car. Holding the cat, bobby erupted into laughter while looking at us and smiling. When something special happens, it is wise to truly appreciate it. You never know how long it will be until it happens again.

Back on the road with a much better demeanor we discussed our new feline companion. “The way I see it is he must’ve climbed up into the car last night for warmth, then when we started driving this morning he held on and yelled like hell. Probably scared him real good.” Frank’s theory was the most feasible one so we just regarded it as truth. Keeping my eyes on the road, “Well I’m glad that the cat is ok, but what are going to do with it? Keeping it wouldn’t be to practical.” Still holding the cat close to his chest and now feeding it pieces of bread bobby, proclaimed with the most forceful sounding voice I’d ever heard him use, “I’m going to take care of him until I can find someone better off who would want him. His name’s Shakespeare by the way.” And that was that. Everyone needs something to love or take care of to help forget about their own problems.

With my eyes back on the road and my heart out of my stomach we journeyed onward to the next town that we hoped would receive us. Shakespeare had quit his meowing, which was good because I am one who is easily irritated. Frank and I were enthusiastically discussing politics when we hit a bump in the road causing the car's cup holder to pop out of the dash. This happens every time you hit a bump, pound on the steering wheel, etc. And every time it happened Frank would mutter something under his breath about his old cantankerous car. He loved that car like Bobby learned to love Shakespeare. Every knick in the paint, every cough of the engine, every fault of the car was another chip out of Frank’s soul. I casually leaned over and pushed the cup holders back into the dash, also muttering something under my breath. “Only hold one size of cups. fuckin things.”

But everyone needs someone or something to worry about. It helps them keep their thoughts away from themselves. When there are troubles to think about other than your own it’s somehow oddly comforting. More people would see their own personal problems in their life disappear if they just took time to help others out. I used to have someone to care about. I used to have somebody whose problems I had made my own. I used to have somebody I would crawl through broken glass for and still would if I saw her today. But that isn’t the case any longer; all I have now is Bobby, Frank, this old car beneath me, and the road ahead of me.

Chapter One

Those days were simpler. There was very little money to be had, so very little problems to also be had. Back when we were on the road there was nothing to worry about but the next turn coming up, where or what we were going to eat, or what the clouds in the sky were up to. I was traveling with two other men in the same situation that I was in. Most men were in this situation. College graduates have become the high school dropouts of our time. Traveling the lonesome crowded roads back then was bobby, frank, and myself. Bobby was the youngest of us all, still only a teenager he had the most dreams and hopes out of anyone I knew. He never found out that Frank and I knew he had nightmares every time he slept, waking up sweating and gasping or just whimpering in his sleep. He was running from something. Frank was the eldest of us of all. Nearly in his thirties, he was practically a hardened old man. Hard times make hard people. He almost never did anything out of emotion back in those days, always carefully analyzing every situation. We would have starved if it weren’t for him.

We had met from working odd jobs, and worked well together. I had met frank working unloading big rigs back in Salem. He had a car and I had some money saved up in my pocket. After some time we learned to trust each other, which is something most people take for granted. Trust is worth something when everything worldly is so out of reach. Unloading semi trucks is boring repetitive work that doesn’t pay well at all. You start to think of these things you are unloading; hats, TVs, food, as your own. You are responsible for their well being for a short period of time. It’s only a matter of time before you start feeling entitled to them. That’s when the stealing started. Frank and I were never taking anything for profit, just for ourselves. “Hey mike how do you think this flat screen would look in the apartment?” Frank would ask me. Out of place I thought to myself. We had moved in together in this shitty apartment complex to split the rent. It worked well with out similar schedules and it was cheap. It was cheap because places like that are meant for people on drugs or selling drugs. We were the only level headed folks on the block. Sometimes our landlord would be so fucked up he’d forget to collect rent or in such a bind he would try collecting it early. It got easier to just ignore him and slip the rent under his door.

After a few months of working at unloading the trucks, the bosses were noticing things were going missing. Everyone was doing it, and it was no secret. The difference was that the others were doing it for profit, taking more than they needed. Their greed got the better of them and they ruined it for us all. We started to notice more people on the loading docks, People with ties and clipboards. They would randomly ask you your name and then make a check on their sheets of paper. No one knew for certain what it was they were writing down but everyone had a good idea of what it was. One week the familiar faces of the docks started to disappear one by one to be replaced by scared looking kids just out of high school. Frank and I knew our time was almost up and decided if we were going to leave, it should be on our own terms. So on that last Friday everything that could be placed into our pockets we took whenever the men in ties and hard hats were not looking. After picking up our final checks from the trucking company frank and I hopped in the car, picked up the few things we needed or could sell from the apartment, and skipped out on the rent. I wonder if the dealers just ended up killing the landlord? Oh well, nothing to dwell upon.

Frank was always making plans, “I’m telling you mike we’ll just drive to the city, go down town, and start talking to folks who look like tourists. Those people love buying cheap shit off the streets. It’s part of the whole city experience.” He was right. “Frank, I figure you’re right.” And he was. We sold all of our stolen merchandise for very reasonable prices, for ourselves and for the customers. It was a win win situation. Not for the company of course missing their goods, but they aren’t worrying about what their next meal is going to be.

We decided to drive to the coast on search of any kind of jobs we could find. That is when we met Bobby. Just a starving kid sleeping on a bus stop bench, trying to gather change for a bus ticket or hitch a ride any where. We had enough to help ourselves, but decided that we needed another person to drive. I don’t know why we were in such a hurry. I guess we imagined paradise just being around the next corner. We were right and wrong in a way I suppose. Bobby never said where he was from, what his parents were like, or what his favorite food was. But we knew he was smart. When you talked, he listened. That’s rare these days, most young people just want to get in what they have to say and shut out everything else. How the hell are you supposed to learn like that?

Every few cities or so we would stop and look for some temporary work as janitors, dishwashers, or such. The world will always need someone to hand them food through a window. At least that is what my Shakespeare teacher once told me. He is right. Nobody wants to the grunt work. Nobody wants to clean up after themselves. Fine by me as long I’m paid to do so. Janitorial work is by far one of the easiest of jobs of all the menial tasks, but it is extremely humiliating. Frank, Bobby, and myself would get into work at about six in the evening, everyone is mostly cleared out by then. We would do about an hour or so of cleaning and then just dick around or sleep until two in the morning then clock out and go sleep in the car. We would keep jobs like this for about a week or so and move on.

One of these particular nights, in some sleepy town on the west coast, we found ourselves sitting side by side on the floor, leaning up against a wall. Some large map was rolled out at our feet, we had just decided upon our next plan of action. Or rather Frank had and we agreed that it was the best option. None of us said anything, but just sat there enjoying the silent understanding. “I ran away from home.” Said Bobby ever so timidly. “We know kid”, Frank said, “you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” But we all knew that he wanted to. Some things you can’t just keep to yourself forever. “My father skipped out on my mother and I when I was born. I was never meant to be. It was my fault that my mother had to work two jobs and raise a son. If it hadn’t been for me she’d still be happily married. It got to the point where she couldn’t provide for her and I both, so I figured the best thing to do was just leave so she didn’t have to worry anymore. She’ll never have to worry anymore.” By this point his sobs were shaking his body violently. Frank and I looked at each other, knowing that there was nothing we could say to make him feel any better. I just wrapped my arm around his shoulder and held onto him. None of us said anything, but just sat there understanding the silence.