It’s late.
Henry is sitting alone in his roadhouse diner gazing at the wall to an old framed tintype photograph of a young couple proudly standing on a newly paved stretch of a rural desert road.
At ninety-five, he is sharp and spry, even while stationary in his chair.
He glances at his Rolex Oyster Perpetual and takes a sip of mint tea and a bite of fresh ginger.
A car drives up the gravel road outside and Henry stands, straightens his tie, adjusts his cufflinks, and smoothes his jacket.
He opens the door to see a modest looking man of sixty-four wearing gold framed glasses and dressed in an austere navy woolen suit.
He greets Henry with a handshake and then an embrace, “Good to see you, buddy, you’re looking fine.”
“Feeling fine.” Henry smiles warmly, “How about a mezcal.”
“Perfect.”
Henry walks to a table with the stride of a fifty year old and pours two glasses.
The man removes his hat and places it on a nearby table, revealing a bald head with wisps of white hair.
“This yours?”
“Yes. Proud of it.”
Henry hands the man a glass, “Here’s to you.”
“And, to you.”
They toast.
Henry looks to the man, “How goes it, kid?”
“Life’s been easier. Harder to find time for golf.”
“Time.”
Henry looks back to the photograph on the wall, “Time is a deeply complicated concept. Ain’t it.”
“Yes, it is.”
He takes a strawberry candy from a crystal bowl on the table, “Have a candy. My granddaughter can’t make enough of them.”
“I need to get right to it, Henry, I’m playing hooky.”
“Good for you.”
The man pops a candy, “I have a proposition for you.”
There is a knock at the door.
“Excuse me. Food’s up.”
Henry walks to the door, takes a cart of food and places bowls of enchilada, rice, stews and condiments onto the table, along with plates and silverware.
“Eat hearty.”
The men serve themselves, “How did you know I’d be hungry?”
Henry smiles warmly, “Everybody’s hungry.”
He gestures to the door, “My granddaughter. She’ll take over when I check out. She’s much smarter than I ever was. She’s young, but there’s nothing she can’t learn, and her instincts are sharp. She’s up to speed. Actually, she’s ahead.”
The man hands the photograph back, “I’d like to meet her.”
“She’s here, she cooked this meal. I’ll bring her in after.”
The man sips his mezcal, “Different.”
“We added ginger.”
“Interesting.”
“I have a case for you. Your men can bring it to the car.”
“No men tonight.”
“Why’s that, Dwight?”
“No one knows where I am aside from my driver who happens to be my nephew. Tonight doesn’t exist.”
Henry sits back and sucks his candy, “What’s your proposal?”
Dwight puts his elbows on the table and leans in.
“I need fast, heavy roads providing access to every corner of the country. Long, wide, relatively straight roads.”
Henry sips his mezcal.
“Nothing changes on your end. You’ll maintain the same structure with the same interests.”
Henry nods, “What do you need?”
“I need you to map the routes, organize, and build them.”
Henry’s eyes sparkle, “Let’s do it now.”
Dwight laughs, “I’d like to give you time to think.”
“I’m ninety-five years old. We’ll do it now.”
He walks to the door, “Please, a box of Ticonderoga 2’s.”
Henry clears the table onto the cart and replaces the soiled tablecloth with a clean one, which he carefully straightens out, “What’s most important?”
Dwight helps Henry straighten the tablecloth, “Speed and access.”
“It’s a network of roads that travelers and drivers can use, but they’ve also got to handle transports, heavy equipment, wide loads.”
“It’s a defense system.”
“Yes. Providing access to anywhere in the country.”
“You expecting a war on our soil, Dwight?”
“Not as long as I’m seated.”
Henry goes to the door, returns with a box of Dixon Ticonderoga #2 pencils, removes a knife with a heavy wooden handle from a sheath on his belt and sharpens a pencil.
He stands over the blank tablecloth, conjuring his map.
As he speaks, he slowly and gracefully draws an outline of the United States, “We’ll cut horizontally in three streams.”
“North.”
Henry draws a rough sketch of a northern route, “Got to avoid the Rockies. Cut through Cheyenne.”
“Get you another route cutting right through the middle.”
He draws a horizontal line through the center of the country.
“South.”
He draws a southern route, “Take it through Yuma.”
Henry draws veins of roads connecting the horizontal routes to each other.
“You’ll need to connect them.”
He draws stars on the map in strategic locations, running north and south, “The roads need to communicate. Without communication, you have stasis. Got to feed the flow.”
“Sharpen a pencil for me, William.”
Dwight takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.
Henry sharpens a pencil and hands it to Dwight, “You’re one of very few left who know my name.”
Dwight smiles, “I’m grateful for our friendship.”
“So am I.”
Dwight draws a series of circles on the map.
Henry looks on, “What are the circles?”
He draws a couple more circles, “Sites.”
“What kind of sites?”
“Eventual missile silos.”
Henry takes that in, “A lot of them circles are in New Mexico. I thought there was an understanding. New Mexico already gave it’s fair share. No?”
“Can’t be helped.”
Henry draws the horizontal roads in a more detailed manner now, leading them around specific topographical areas.
“Hand me a candy.”
Dwight gives him a candy and takes one for himself, “Will these roads disturb your interests in any way?”
“They’ll help drivers. Encourage travel. Open opportunity for roadside commerce, restaurants and such. Grow towns, create jobs. They’re gonna speed the flow. Positive all around.”
“Good.”
Henry draws, “You taking tolls?”
“Have to.” Dwight nods, “Your end will remain unchanged.”
Henry sharpens his pencil, plants the tip on Cheyenne, Colorado, and makes a minuscule adjustment to a twist in a road that would later be called Interstate 80.
“Give me two days. I’ll draw it out proper.”
“Take two weeks.”
“I’m facing some truthful math. No time like now.”
Henry makes one final adjustment and puts his pencil down, “You’ll need to meet my granddaughter.”
Dwight rolls his sleeves back down, “Love to.”
He puts his jacket on and straightens himself up, while Henry opens the door.
Beatrice appears from outside the door wearing a poodle skirt, a bright pink cardigan and black and white saddle shoes, her hair pulled back in pony tails.
She enters the room with her hands uncomfortably clasped behind her back.
Henry tenderly takes her hand and leads her to Dwight.
“Beatrice, I’d like for you to meet President Eisenhower.”
Beatrice tries to hold it together, but is overwhelmed.
She takes a breath, nearly cries, then swallows it and extends her shaking hand, “I’d like to meet you.”
Dwight smiles, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, dear.”
“It’s a pleasure. Yes. It’s nice to meet you. Sir.”
Dwight takes another candy, “Did you make these candies?”
Beatrice straightens up, “Yes. And, all the food, I made that, too.”
“Did you.”
“Your recipes?”
“My Nana’s.”
Beatrice relaxes and stands sturdier in her saddle shoes.
Dwight nods, “That was a complicated meal.”
“I learn by finding my way. Do you know what I mean?”
“I do know what you mean. Yes.”
Dwight looks to Henry, then back to Beatrice, “I look forward to working with you, Beatrice.”
“Working with me?”
“Yes.”
She looks to Henry, “What’s happening?”
Henry takes her hand, “I was telling the president that you will be taking the wheel when my time comes.”
“No way.” Beatrice’s face flushes, “I’m just a teenager.”
Henry takes her hand, “You are timeless.”
“Wait, no.”
“It’s not up to you, Beatrice. It’s not up to me either.”
Henry smiles, “You’re the one.”
Beatrice takes a deep breath, “Excuse me.”
She walks to the mezcal and pours herself a glass.
Henry looks to Beatrice, “Do we have a deal?”
Beatrice drinks her mescal, takes a moment to herself, then turns to the men, “Deal.”
She gives a certain nod, straightens her poodle skirt and walks to the table, “Catch me up.”
Dwight clears his throat.
“I need a system of fast roads running clear through the nation, providing access for wide, heavy cargo, anywhere.”
Beatrice takes in the map, “It’s is a military system.”
Dwight looks to Henry, “If need be, military. Yes.”
She nods, “You’re thinking of the principle of fire roads.”
Dwight nods, “Exactly. Yes.”
“Okay.” Beatrice looks to Dwight, “What about our end?”
“Your interests remain the same down the line. Your scope will expand.”
“What about the drivers and road workers? Same deal?”
Dwight nods, “Same deal.”
Beatrice looks over the map, “This is gonna create a hell of a lot of jobs for a hell of a lot of people.”
“Yes, it will.”
“New opportunities into the future.”
She looks to Dwight, “May I make an adjustment?”
Dwight hands her his pencil and she makes a small adjustment to a stretch of road near Gallop.
“I recognize the stars, but what are the circles?”
Dwight looks to Henry who nods, “They’re silos.”
Beatrice takes that in, then gives a quick nod.
Henry pours mezcal and hands glasses all around, “To Love.”
Dwight sips, “The ginger was, I’m guessing, your idea.”
Beatrice looks to Dwight, “Delicious, right?”
“Yes.”
They stand there a bit awkwardly.
Beatrice takes a breath, “Well, I should leave you alone. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mr President.”
“Dwight.”
“Oh, no. No. I could never say that.”
She skoots to the door, stops and turns back, “Dwight.”
Dwight raises his glass, “There you go.”
She swings through the door and Henry hands Dwight his hat.
“We’ll see it through. The future is luminous.”
“Yes. Thank you, Henry.”
Beatrice knocks on the doorframe, holding a basket.
“I packed a treat for you and your friend in the car. There are plates and silverware and napkins, and I wrapped a cloth around the bowls, it’ll stay warm.”
Dwight takes the basket, “Thank you, dear. That was very thoughtful.”
“You’re very welcome, Dwight” Beatrice scoots away.
Henry walks him to the door, “Who’s paying for all this?
“Taxpayers.”
“I’ll keep the cost low.”
He opens the door for Dwight, who extends his hand, “Down the Road, Henry.”
“Down the Road, Mr. President.”
Henry takes a step back and Dwight exits.
He closes the door and leans his back against it.
His eyes drift to the photograph on the wall of he and Paulita standing on his very first stretch of road running through a deep valley.
Henry loosens his tie and moves the curtain to see Dwight’s car driving away, then opens the door and walks outside to fill his lungs with crisp air. He sits on a low stone wall and looks up to the layers and layers of stars in the sea of the New Mexican sky.
Beatrice pokes her head outside and comes to sit next to Henry, who takes his jacket off, wraps it around Beatrice, and pulls her close.
She reaches into Henry’s jacket pocket and takes out an old tintype photograph of her grandmother, “I miss Nana so much. Sometimes, I talk to her. She points the way.”
“Keep talking. More important, keep listening.”
“I will.”
“She’s always with you. I will be, too. I promise.”
Henry kisses her on the forehead, “Time spins. It goes forward and back and then forward some more, in a stream. You’ll see.”
Beatrice slides the photograph back into his pocket and cuddles under his arm, “Why do you trust me to do this?”
“Because you’re smart as a whip. And you have vision.”
“How do you know?”
“I know what I know. You’re the one.”
Henry looks into her eyes with a warm smile so full of love that she grows warm all over.
He brushes the curls from her eyes, “Let’s go home.”
Henry locks the restaurant’s door and they walk around back to a black and white horse and a pure brown horse, modestly saddled and inwardly royal.
Beatrice places a step-up next to the black and white horse and Henry mounts.
She throws a leg over the brown horse, “Ready?”
Henry pats his horse and settles into his ancient saddle, “Born ready.”
And on they go, riding a familiar road on trusted horses under a sea of stars, secure in knowing that trust is trust, history is history, family is family, love is love, truth is truth, and all is well, onwards, forever, into the future.
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