Marisi
Ornstein
On his way from the parking lot to The White Thunder Travel Center diner, Will spots the Dragon that nearly blew him off the road and it’s parked and tethered to an unsanctioned Charger.
There is a lone figure in Carhartt coveralls asleep in the cab with his boots on the wheel.
Will figures this must be the diesel driver, and strolls through the blizzard to inspect the Dragon.
He can’t find any information whatsoever on the vehicle, so he ditches the effort and heads to the store where he buys a can of butane, before going into the diner.
He opens the door to the flurry of a packed house filled with travelers and drivers in varying degrees of exhaustion.
Everyone is camped out from the storm, staring into their mobile devices or fast asleep. Some drivers are using the old-school telephones mounted at their booths alongside the flip jukeboxes.
Will takes a booth by the window facing the door and notices a table of six men wearing khakis and matching polo shirts with insignias.
They’re sporting Patagonia, so he figures they’re monitors.
As he watches them, he realizes that these guys want no part of the road, its traditions or its history. They’re a different breed entirely, with no connection to those who work the road or to the road itself.
They don’t give a shit.
Therefore, Will declares them fair game.
Suddenly, a boy about four years old with long brown ringlets falling into his eyes, in little striped Round House overalls and green cowboy boots whips around and sits in Will’s booth opposite him.
The boy turns to his left as if there’s someone sitting there and places a Spiderman doll on the table.
Will laughs, “This for me?”
He points to the empty space on his left, “For him”.
Will looks, “For who?”
The boy’s mom picks him up, “Sorry, been a long day.”
Will hands her the doll, “You driving on tonight?”
“Have to. We got work in the morning.”
“The storm’s getting worse in both directions.”
Will watches her as she takes in all the wayward drivers and travelers waiting out the weather.
“Highway Patrol is requiring chains.”
She tilts her head, “Chains for what?”
“For your tires.”
“Oh, we don’t have chains.”
He sips his coffee, “Might consider a motel if there’s still one to be had.”
“Wish I had the choice. I’m a nurse. My team’s working forty-eight hour shifts, sleeping on cots in a storage room.”
She kisses her son’s cheek and brushes his long ringlets from his eyes, “It’s not okay, I’ve got to get back.”
“Take it slow. Drive safe.”
“Thank you.”
She goes back to sit with her family.
A server in a blue uniform pours fresh coffee for Will, “Hey, stranger.”
“Morning Dottie.”
“Tulsa’s been waiting for you.”
Dottie moves on, and Will closes his eyes and breathes.
When he opens his eyes, there is a tall man sitting in the exact spot where the little boy placed his Spiderman doll, grinning from under a beat-up hat and overcoat.
“Howdy, Willie.”
“Howdy, Chris.”
Saint Christopher takes his hat off, “You seeing all them ghost ships on the road? I see more every day.”
Will averts his eyes.
Chris jostles snow from his long hair, “Open your eyes, Will, there’s one right outside the window.”
“I see it.”
“Ghost ships don’t sleep.”
Christopher scratches at his beard, “They don’t eat, piss, or watch Kung Fu movies. They’ll put us all outta purpose.”
“They won’t. Progress is good. As long as we own it.”
Will watches Dottie deliver the bill to the family in the next booth. The father counts cash onto the table, and they get their coats and hats on.
Chris knocks on the table, “The war with Leo you been sidestepping all your life has run outta patience.”
Will drops his eyes to the table.
“Leo’s planting the charging stations. He’s got a fleet of ghost trucks already rolling nationwide.”
“I know all that, Christopher.”
Chris puts his finger on the table, “A father who ain’t a father ain’t a father no more.”
He sneezes into a red handkerchief, “It ain’t a sin to destroy a considerable opponent.”
Will stares.
Chris leans in, “A friend of mine conquered a giant with a pebble once. Time for you to do the same. Come dawn.”
Will opens his mouth to speak, but Christopher juts his chin, “Be simple and discover the world.”
Christopher winks, “You taught me that, Billy.”
“I did?”
“You did.” Chris puts his hat on, “Down the Road, William.”
“Down the Road, Chris.”
Will turns to look out the window for a split second and when he turns back, Chris is gone.
He watches the family walking to their car, then sees Chris, tagging along.
Dottie pours fresh coffee, “Who you smiling at, Will?”
“Wasn’t smiling.”
“You were smiling like a loon.”
Dottie moves on and Will spots Tulsa at the door.
Tulsa’s sporting an impeccably blocked and perfectly cocked mulberry Stetson with a red feather and an ultramarine blue band.
He’s wearing a dark purple Western suit with yellow hand-embroidered stitching and baby blue Stacy Adams lace-ups, heels clicking as he strides to Will and slides into the booth, “How do you do?”
“I do fine.”
“Yeah, but you look awful.”
He removes his Stetson with a well-adorned hand and places it beside him, “Where you been?”
“Working.”
Tulsa knocks on the table, “Get you some sleep.”
“Ain’t tired.”
“Lose your meds?”
“Ran out.”
“Get more.”
“Yep.”
“Price to pay, soldier.”
Will sips his coffee.
Tulsa places a solid gold toothpick between his teeth, “Been waiting for that tester you found. She finally turned up a few days ago.”
He juts his toothpick to the Dragon resting by the Chargers, “You saw it?”
“I did.”
The Dragon’s diesel driver is now awake and outside the truck checking the connections, “Driver’s name is Kennol.”
Will studies Kennol as he works.
“He’s got thirty-two years on the road with a clean record. We did a quick search. Let me know if you wanna go deeper.”
“The rig?”
“Next generation. This ship is hyper-current.”
“Told you.”
“I gather you want it.”
“This ship is already mine.”
Tulsa grins, “They ain’t going nowhere. They had an issue with a broken tire sensor or something, they think they’re waiting on the part. We told them it’s been delayed by the storm, but we’ve been holding it. Been waiting for you to come around.”
“Well, I been working.”
Tulsa motions to the monitors, “They got open-ended rooms, bar’s open all night, and the mermaids are working overtime, charging double, food and drinks, all included.”
Tulsa knocks on the table, “Eat something, Willie.”
He rises and heads to a big round table filled with his pals.
Dottie comes over pouring coffee, “That kid two booths down has been sitting there for three days. Been trying to feed him, but all he’ll eat is crackers with ketchup and Tabasco.”
She moves on.
Will studies the young man looking lost, staring into space.
He waits a bit, then gets up walks to the kid’s booth.
“Gonna sit”
He slides into the booth opposite the kid and the kid freaks out, “Whoa. No. Fuck. No.”
“Already sat.”
The kid sneezes four times in a row.
Will hands him a napkin and signals Dottie over, “Please, some food. Extra broccoli.”
“Got it.”
“And hot water with fresh ginger, fresh mint. Thanks.”
Dottie moves along.
The kid looks to the blizzard, “I don’t wanna be talking to you right now, man. Do you not get that?”
“I get it.”
“Go away.”
“Where are you from?”
“If I answer will you go away?”
“Eventually.”
The kid chills out, “I’m from Avery.”
“That’s twenty miles away from here.”
“I know.”
“Why are you sitting in a diner for three days twenty miles away from home?”
“I ended up here and stayed put.”
“You running?”
The kid laughs, “Ain’t you?”
“I never ran from anything in my whole life.”
The kid looks to the table.
Will spins his ring as Dottie delivers his tea and leaves.
“You go to school?”
“Dropped it.”
“Why?”
The kid shrugs, “I like to learn what I like to learn how I like to learn it.”
Will takes a bite of mint and a sip of tea.
“You looking for work?”
“Been told I ain’t fit to be hired.”
“Who told you that?”
“My father.”
“He’s a fuckin liar.”
He takes a bite of ginger and juts his thumb to a driver eating a full meal, “See that driver?”
“Yeah.”
“He always eats.”
“Lucky.”
“He ain’t lucky, he works his ass off.”
Will checks the blizzard out the window.
“All these people hauling and earning. Fighting the weight, the numbers, the distance, the expiration, delivering fresh and on time.”
“It’s all math.” Will stirs his tea, “You like math?”
The kid brightens, “I fucking love math.”
“Look around. What do you see?”
The kid scans the room, “I don’t know.”
Will takes a bite of mint, “I see drivers from all over the world, all walks of life existing together. That ain’t easy to find in today’s world, but we got our own world, and we run it our way. Independent.”
The kid nods.
“You got a driver’s license?”
“Sure.”
“How’s your record?”
Dottie delivers the turkey dinner and puts it in front of the kid, who recoils.
“Is this for me?”
“Yes.”
“No, man.”
He pushes the plate away, “I don’t eat birds. Matter of principle.”
“I get that.”
The kid tries not to look at the plate.
Dottie readies her pencil, “What would you like?”
The kids eyes widen. “Anything?”
“Anything. We got everything.”
Out of pure excitement, he inhales too fast and chokes on air, “Can I please have a chili cheese dog deluxe with brown gravy for the fries, and no cheese.”
Dottie writes, “Chili cheese dog deluxe. No cheese. Got it.”
He checks with Will, “Can I have a Cherry Coke?”
“Ask Dottie.”
“May I please have a Cherry Coke?”
“Sure.”
“Thank you.”
“Coming right up.”
On her way to the kitchen Dottie slides the turkey dinner in front of a sleepy driver, “Eat hearty, Laura.”
Will watches the kid neatly lay a napkin on his lap.
“What’s your name?”
“Culver.”
Will sips his tea, “Got a record Culver?”
“Not yet.”
Will laughs.
“Got a plan?”
“Gonna be a hobo.”
Will glances out the window, “Hobos travel, work and earn. You ain’t no hobo. You’re sitting on your ass eating free crackers.”
Culver puts his eyes down.
Will points to Tulsa who is on his feet telling an animated story to all his pals, “See that man over there?”
Culver studies Tulsa, “He looks rich.”
“He’s better than rich. He’s honest.”
Will miraculously catches Tulsa’s eye and waves him over.
“You ever consider driving a truck?”
“Got no idea how to work a truck.”
“Ain’t a skill you’re born with. They got school for it.”
“My uncle was a driver. Feels good being here.”
“Why?”
“He used to take me here all the time when I was a kid.”
He readies the salt, “He died on Angel’s Pass, rolled clear down the mountain.”
Will turns To the blizzard, “What’s your last name?”
“Thompson.”
Will is silent.
Dottie delivers the chili dog and Coke float and Culver doesn’t even look at it, “Did you know my Uncle? His name was Green Thomson.”
Tulsa arrives and slides in next to Will.
“Culver, this is Tulsa.” He juts his thumb to Culver, “Tulsa, this is Culver Thompson. Green’s nephew.”
Tulsa extends his hand, “Sorry for your loss.”
Culver shakes Tulsa’s hand, “Thank you. You knew my uncle?”
“Everybody knew your uncle, especially around here.”
Culver wells up.
Tulsa hands him a napkin, “You interested in driving?”
“Maybe”.
Tulsa laughs, “Maybe? That what you said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Driving ninety miles an hour inside an eighty thousand pound monster six inches from cars, bikes, and cliffs in weather that would make you shit your pants ain’t a maybe kinda deal, my friend.”
Tulsa shifts his toothpick, “You afraid of hard work?”
“No.”
Tulsa stares.
“Drivers work so hard and long, sometimes we can’t keep our hands on the wheel, but we got to find the strength to keep us awake. Got to fall in love with exhaustion, refine it, use it as fuel. We got control of our lives as long as we keep our hands on the wheel, stay awake and keep moving forward.”
Culver nods.
“Do you think maybe that kinda life might interest you?”
Culver shrugs, “I don’t know.”
“Maybe you’re the kind of man when the heat gets too hot, you run on home and live off your family till you can’t look in a mirror no more.”
Culver shakes his head, “I ain’t like that.”
“Maybe you’ll get a job that eats you alive and spend every night alone in a bar wondering what your life would’ve been like if you’d only realized yourself and sailed your own ship with your two hands firm on your wheel.”
Culver takes a deep breath and chokes on air.
Tulsa slides the float to Culver.
“I believe we honor our ancestors in how we choose to live our lives. It’s how we keep their fires lit.”
He shifts his toothpick, “Do you believe that?”
Culver thinks, “Yes.”
He tilts his head to Will.
“Me and him go back generations. The bond we got won’t ever be broken. It’s based on family and a life of shared hard work on the road. A bond like we got is all a soul needs to survive.”
Culver stares.
“Right here and now, you got an invitation to customize the trajectory of your life.”
He puts his finger on the table. “All you got to do is take a stand for yourself. It’s a decision. It’s up to you.”
“I understand.”
Tulsa knocks on the table, “You know where to find me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tulsa stands, “Sorry for your loss. He was a pal.”
“Thank you.”
Tulsa tips his hat, “Down the Road, Thompson.”
He turns and walks back to his friends.
Culver takes a deep dive inwards and looks to his hands.
He opens and closes them as if seeing them function for the first time.
Will looks to the Dragon looking sharp in the moonlight.
“Are you a driver or a rider?”
Culver blinks as if wakened from a dream, “Sorry. What?”
“Are you a driver or a rider.”
“I’m nobody’s rider.”
Will knocks on the table, “So, drive.”
Culver looks to Will as he stands and buttons his jacket.
“If you pay attention, Culver, you’ll learn something new every minute of every day.”
He slips a hundred under his cup.
“Tulsa can get you trained, walk you through your paperwork, put you behind a wheel and get you on the road. You can work off what he spent on training you as you earn.”
“Find your vision and don’t let it go, kid.”
“Think.” Will flips his collar up, “Down the Road.”
Will turns and leaves the diner.
Culver pushes his chili dog away and scans the room, taking in the faces of all the working people who have all taken up the torch before him.
A new sensation runs through Culver’s body.
His vision is clearer and the colors around him are more vibrant.
He feels himself rising from his booth, standing square in his boots and drawing a breath that makes him dizzy.
He flips the collar of his uncle’s leather jacket up and experiences a powerful vibration growing up from the ground and strengthening his spine.
Culver puts one foot in front of the other and repeats, aiming straight to Tulsa and directly into the rest of his life.
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