Growing up, Bubba was the kinda kid who didn't have a ton of friends. Some folks shunned him cause he was slow, some cause he was overweight, some just cause everyone else was doing it. I fell into the same category. I wasn't overweight, mind you, but I wasn't in the popular bunch and lets face it, I was a little geek. We both grew up in households that were scraping by during the up-and-down financial situation that was the 80's. We both wore our hand-me-downs and cheap brand clothes. Keds instead of Nikes, black and white instead of color TVs, leftovers all the time. We both had second-hand stuff and that was okay. We knew our parents busted their asses to put food on the table so we rarely complained about the Kraft macaroni and cheese and the Wrangler jeans. So we naturally meshed very well, because we were okay with what we got even if everyone else wasn't. And probably because I was good at thinking shit up and bubba was crazy enough to try them. As we got older we both dreamed of the one thing (besides girls) that is on a fifteen year old boy's mind.
Drivers License.
Bubba was a year older than I but he was held back in either kindergarten or 1st grade so he was a year closer to that holy grail and I envied the hell out of him for it. Around this time, his parents had moved out of the dingy trailer park down by the tracks in New Holland to a house in the country about 20 minutes away. But the distance did little to deter us from hanging out. I still remember the evening the phone rang:
"Wit," said bubba on the other end of phone, "I got it."
"You got what," I replied, "the clap?" I was mezmerized by something on the television, not dedicating my full attention the caller on the other end.
"I got a car", he gushed.
And that jolted me away from the TV as if I'd been slapped. Suddenly I was sitting upright. Straight as a board.
"Yer shittin' me," I hissed. "You....are....SHHHHITTING me!"
"Nope," he chimed and I could literally HEAR the smile on his face. It was contagious and I couldn't even see it. "I'll be right over," he said, and click the line went dead.
"Yer shitting me," I murmured to no one in particular as I gradually set the receiver back in to the phone's cradle.
Fifteen minutes later I heard the horn blast and nearly killed myself stumbling down the steps and out the front door. The screen door swung back with a whip-like crack. Inside I could hear my mom yelling about something (probably the screen door) but I didn't care. There was freedom to be had. Parked infront of my house was a glorious 1976 Pontiac Phoenix, silver-blue, two door, ugly as sin and smelling like burnt oil. But it was fucking cool!
Bubba spent most of his teenage summers as a landscaper. The hard work had burnt off a lot of the baby fat, which happened to hang on until he was roughly 13. And as if to advertise the fact, he spent most of the summer with out a shirt on. I don't' think he owned a shirt that summer come to think of it. And there he was now, leaning up against his proud new possession, shirtless in dirty wranglers (of course) and tennis shoes, arms spread out in a "too cool for you, sucka" pose. The smile that stretched across his face was priceless.
"Oh my god," I gasped, eyes wide. "You weren't shitting. I can't believe this!" Bubba only nodded, trying to hold back the excitement that was bubbling inside him.
"You're damn RIGHT," he said with an explosive emphasis on right. "You wanna go cruise or what?" Cruising in New Holland was a bit of an overstatement. We had the option of motoring up and down mainstreet or...uh...motoring up and down mainstreet. But we didn't care. Wheels are wheels. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder knowing that if my mom saw me getting into the car with bubba, an accident prone inexperienced driver, she'd shit a golden egg and hit me in the head with it. So the object was not to be seen.
"Yeah yeah," I said, shushing him and running around to the passenger side. Within two seconds we were pulling away from the curb fighting the urge to crow like roosters! We both felt triumphant...Invincible.
Now who cares about the cruising part of this story. Who cares about us honking the horn at everyone we saw...even folks we didn't. Who cares about laying rubber at the stop lights and mooning Tammy Weaver, the nightmare of a girl who would later stalk me and my friends. That part doesn't matter. What does matter is the fateful drive home from Bubba's house. That terrible trip that would bring us both back down to earth.
Bubba wanted to run out to his house to pick something up. I don't' remember what. Along the way I had picked up a box of Cheez-Nips crackers and sat in the driveway of his house munching while he went in to retrieve whatever he had to retrieve. He returned to the vehicle and we headed back towards New Holland. The daylight was fading fast and the sky was painted purples and reds and oranges in a glowing and impressive display. The road from New Holland to Intercouse was a simple farm road that cut a path through corn fields and cattle pastures. The warm summer wind washed over us as we rode, windows rolled down, arms hanging out the sides of the car tapping on the metal to the beat of the song on the radio.
We came to a stop sign that marked the crossing of another farm road. I suddenly had a bright idea. "Hey, I'm gonna check out the back seat," I said. I don't know why I had the need to check it out. Maybe I was checking out its potential for the horizontal mambo...who knows. But I grabbed my box of crackers and hauled myself over the front seat into the back.
Bubba, still very much in love with the power at his finger tips, made it a point to lay a patch at every stop sign and intersection. This one being no different, he put his foot in it and the tires let out a chirpy squeal. The road we were on was basically a hill and we were heading upward. I felt gravity pull me back into the seat as the car lurched forward. I was preoccupied by the writing on the back of the box. For some reason I was reading about how to spice up your favorite foods with Cheez-Nips or some shit.
The last thing I remember is looking up and seeing bubba, one elbow propped on the front seat, craning his neck to look at me in the back. I remember him turning to me, still glowing with pride.
"What do you think, wit?" he said. And then the car dipped as if hitting a pot hole in the road. We were already traveling at a pretty decent click thanks to Bubba's lead foot. The jolt startled me from my crackers and I looked forward, past Bubba's gleaming face. I gasped as I gazed out the windshield. I saw no road, no pavement, no grass.
All I saw was stars.
It was one of those moments where time stops. Things slow down to a crawl and all you hear is the hammering of your heart thudding in your ears. Where did the road go? I looked to my left and I see gray things whizzing by, short white things whizzing by. What the shit was going on? Then I realized, we were airborn and flying into a grave yard.
Part II - Cheez Nips and Gravestones
posted by Michael Witmer @ Thursday, February 26, 2004
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