forward motion
by Jonson Miller
did it! gave my notice today. i leave in ONE week. such relief. can’t believe i'm actually doing it. i’m not letting ANYthing screw this up. slc here i come. later, S. [Send]
*
Sam leaned back into his office chair and pushed away from his desk with his feet. Fingers locked behind his head, his smile broadened as his eyes closed and a loud breath pushed through the corners of his mouth.
It’s finally happening. I should’ve done this a year ago.
He did the calculations in his head for the umpteenth time. One fifteen-hour day, then just eight more hours. The route was fixed in his mind. He could see the yellow highway lines with their blue or white route shields crossing one state border after another on the map. He could even get there without the GPS. So close.
“Sam.”
Sam grimaced.
His manager leaned on the doorframe of the gray cubicle and fingered the thumbtacks that held up Sam’s photos and postcards of Salt Lake City and Emily. Sam’s eyes followed every motion of those greasy fingers violating his personal space and dreams. The rest of his face betrayed none of his resentment. He just nodded occasionally as his manager’s mouth moved without any of the words reaching Sam’s ears.
He realized this week would be harder than the whole last year. So close.
*
Sam smiled again as he pulled out of the parking lot of the office park where his office was hidden among the uniform buildings containing dentists, tax preparers, a dance studio, and dozens of other businesses that no one just happened to walk by. Close bank account, return library books, change of address form, put stuff in storage, cut off utilities, … It was a lot to tie up in one week. Some was trivial, some tedious, but doing it would at least produce the sensation of forward motion. And that he hadn’t felt in years.
*
No, don’t go over to their house. Why do that to myself? I know exactly what they’ll say. Just call. Just get it out of the way, he thought, then dialed the number.
“Just like that?” His mother’s voice always set his teeth to grinding. “No warning? Not asking what we think?”
“No warning? C’mon, I’ve been talking about this for a year.”
“But we need you here. How much longer do you think your father will last?”
“You always say that. He’s fine. He’s always fine.”
“His heart isn’t so good. I didn’t want to say anything, but there it is. And then what will I do all alone?”
“He’s not going anywhere. You’re the only one saying that. Anyway, what about Ron?” Shit. Why’d I mention him?
“Ron?” she asked, nearly crying. “Ron? What good is he? Oh, you know he has troubles. He needs you too. He looks up to you.”
Yeah, right. “Maybe it’s time he straightened himself out.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You had it easy. Good grades, a computer science degree…”
“And if you’ll remember, I had wanted to get an anthropology degree.”
“And what would you have done with that? This is much more practical. You have me to thank for your great job.”
Great. Thanks a lot.
“See, you had it easy.”
“I worked hard for all of that. What has Ron worked for?”
“But you could do it. You know Ron has troubles. He can’t do what you do.”
“He never tried.”
“That’s not fair. You know he had that fever when he was a baby. He’s had trouble ever since.”
“Oh, please.”
“And his teachers never gave him a chance.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“How can you be so selfish? Don’t you care about your baby brother? Don’t you want to help him?”
“He doesn’t want help! He’s perfectly happy living at your house rent-free and having you feed him.”
“Sam! That’s not fair. You know he has troubles. He’s not like you. You had it easy.”
“Had it easy? Don’t you remember how I worked and paid for college myself? And all that when I could’ve had a full scholarship at Purdue. But you got me to stay here for school instead. So, I worked. No, I change my mind. I will help him. How’s this: Kick - Him - Out. That’s what he needs. Christ, he’s twenty five!”
“That’s not fair. You know, he may just need some stimulation. He may just need a change of environment.”
No. No. No. Don’t say it.
“If you’re going to abandon us anyway, the least you can do is take him along. Just get him away for a week or two. It’ll be good for him. It’s the least you could do. It’s only fair.”
“No. I’ve carried him his whole life and I’ve gotten nothing but grief for it. Remember how his drinking got me that underage drinking charge?”
“Oh, that was nothing. It’s off your record. But it could’ve been real trouble for him. It would’ve really held him back if he’d been charged instead. Give him a chance. A trip would stimulate him. It’s only fair.”
“No.” Nothing is going to screw this up.
*
slight change of plans. still leaving on time. but taking slacker brother along for the road trip. no big deal. it'll be good to have some company and share the driving. it'll be good for him. just five days from now. later, S. [Send]
*
“Ron, we’re not going to make any detours, ’kay? Two days. Fifteen hours the first day, eight hours the next.”
“That’s cool.” Ron kept his eyes on the TV. It gave the only light in their parents’ windowless basement. Pot smoke gave a fuzziness to the unnatural yellow cast over everything.
Sam picked up the bong and looked through the filthy water at the light of the TV. “Do you even bother to hide this from Mom and Dad anymore?”
“They’re cool.”
“Well don’t bring any along. I don’t want to get pulled over and have you get busted. I don’t want any delays.”
“Dude, you think I’m stupid?”
Oh my god, yes. Yes, I do.
“Would it be cool if we left on Sunday instead?”
Sam’s teeth began to grind.
“Government Mule is playing on Saturday. I got tickets yesterday.”
“Yesterday?!” Sam slammed the bong on the coffee table. “You already knew we were leaving Saturday morning.”
“I forgot. It’s no big deal. Come with me. It’ll be awesome.”
“No. Leave with me on Saturday or stay here.”
“C’mon, the ticket cost me forty bucks.”
“That’s your fault.”
“Hey, that’s not fair. That’s a lot of money to me. I’m not like you. I don’t have some fancy, high-paying job with my own cubicle.”
“And why not? Maybe you should try it.”
“That’s not fair. It’s just one more day. What’s the difference?”
“Not a chance. You’re just along for the ride. You go when I go and I’m sending you back by bus after one week. Got it?” Nothing is going to screw this up. Forward motion only.
*
it's only one more day. no big deal. one day doesn’t matter. besides, it’ll give me a full day of rest after my last day of work. seriously, it’s no big deal. i'm still going. that's what matters. later, S. [Send]
*
Forward motion. Finally, it was noon on Sunday, but they were moving. Maybe just eight hours today and then do fifteen tomorrow instead. Or ten today and thirteen tomorrow. At least I’m moving. Tomorrow tonight I’ll be there. Relax.
“Dude, relax.” Ron slid off his shoes and pushed the seat back. “You’re making me nervous.”
*
“It’s Mom.” Ron tapped his phone. “Hey Mom.”
Sam’s teeth ground together. Christ, we’ve been gone just six hours.
“Yeah, that’s cool.”
No. No, it’s not. I’m sure it’s not.
“Mom says we should stop by Aunt Cris and Uncle Ted’s house. Dad says it’s just an hour detour.”
“No. No fucking way.”
“It’s cool. They already said we can crash there. It’ll actually save us time.”
“No it won’t. I know exactly where they live. It’s at least a two-hour detour — each way. We’re not going.”
“Dude, I think Mom already told them we’re coming.”
“That’s her problem. I didn’t say we were going.”
Ron tapped his phone again. “Hey Mom. Sam says no.”
“Mom says she already told them.”
“Too bad. She can tell them she was wrong.”
“She says we haven’t seen them in over a year…and to remember that Uncle Ted’s dad just died…So we should go…They need us to go…They don’t have any other family there…Dude, why don’t you just talk to her?”
“We’re not going. And I’m driving, so you talk to her. How about nobody talks to me. And, anyway, didn’t Uncle Ted’s dad die a year ago? It was at his funeral when we saw them last.”
*
“Thanks for letting us stay here Uncle Ted.”
“My pleasure Ron. It was great to see you two. Though I can’t imagine why you’d go so far out of your way. If I was you, I’d a been over halfway to Utah by now.”
At least we’re getting started early, Sam thought as he backed the car out of the driveway. Can I do seventeen hours today? Shit. How about ten or twelve today and the rest tomorrow? Or maybe I can send the car off a cliff with Ron in it.
*
“Check this out.” Ron folded the map to expose a small square.
“No.” Sam grabbed the map and pitched it into the back seat. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Dude, what’s wrong with you?”
“No more detours. I’m already going to be two days late.”
“We need to stay somewhere anyway. So why not? It’ll be awesome.”
“No.”
“C’mon, this is my trip too. Why should you decide everything?”
“It’s my trip. Just mine. You’re just along for the ride.”
“I saved you a hundred bucks yesterday. Show some gratitude.”
“Gratitude? How do you figure you saved me anything?”
“You would’ve had to get a motel room last night if I hadn’t said we should stay with Aunt Cris and Uncle Ted. And they fed us.”
“And now we’re behind and will have to get a room anyway.”
“Yeah, but it’ll be awesome.”
“No.”
“You’re such a prick. When will I ever get here again? We need to stay somewhere anyway. It’ll just be an extra hour or two driving. It’s my trip too.”
No. No way. This ends.
“Fine. Tell me where to turn off.”
*
Sam, standing next to the passenger door, sneered and, with exaggerated motion, dropped Ron’s duffle bag onto the cracked pavement of the gas station’s parking lot. Plop.
Sam jumped back into the car. The doors’ locks clicked. The engine started. Sam fixed his eyes on the station’s bathroom door.
Ron nearly tripped for no good reason as he came out the door. Sam rolled down the passenger window a crack as Ron approached the car. Ron’s eyes slowly bounced back-and-forth between his bag and Sam.
Christ, the simple bastard just might figure it out himself.
“What’s up? What are you doing with my bag?” Ron bent to pick it up.
“I put a hundred and fifty bucks in your bag. Think you can get a bus ticket before you blow it all?”
Ron grabbed at the handle of the door behind Sam. “What the fuck?” He pulled at it twice more. “Don’t fuck around. Let me in.”
“See ya Ron. I’m leaving now.”
Ron pounded on the windows and grabbed at the car as it rolled away.
Mom and Dad are going to disown me. Good.
*
There were no cars in the side mirror. Sam slid onto the highway without opposition. Forward motion.
Shit. Sam pulled over, turned off the car, took the registration and insurance from the glove box, pulled out his license, and wound down the window.
“In a hurry?” The cop, standing slightly back of the window, leaned in.
“Sorry, I guess I was excited to get on the road. I didn’t realize how fast I was going.” Sam handed him the documents.
The cop glanced quickly through the windows. “Step out of the car please.”
No, no, no…
“What’s wrong?”
“Please sir, step out of the car.”
Sam undid his seatbelt and slowly stepped out. The cop guided Sam against the car and frisked him. Another police car pulled in front of Sam’s and another cop approached them while keeping his eyes firmly on Sam and his right hand on the grip of his holstered gun.
“Sir, we’re going to search your car.”
“No. What for?”
The new arrival cuffed Sam. The first cop went around to the passenger’s side and opened the door. Sam, eyes fixed on the cop, watched him pull something from out of the pocket on the door.
No. No. No. Ron, you bastard.
The cop held up a rolled-up Ziploc bag. In it was stems and seeds and buds.
“It’s not mine.”
“It never is.”
Jonson Miller grew up in Johnstown, Pennsylvania and now lives in Bucks County with his partner Jo. His poems have appeared in Blue Collar Review, Ninnau, and Schuylkill Valley Journal. He is a historian by profession.