Читать книгу Escape To Anywhere Else - Robert Rippberger - Страница 10

chapter two

“We need more ice!”

Louie pushed open the front door, jumped off the porch, and stumbled across the yard. I uncovered the pitcher and held it out. The cubes splashed in with a hiss, crack, tink. I fixed on the lid while Louie gathered the rest of the supplies.

We wandered up the driveway toward the road. My arm was cramping so I exchanged the pitcher for Louie’s cardboard sign. Propping the sign on my head, I made a game of wrestling the wind as the air caught its underside. Its eight years in action left the edges torn and waterlogged, but it did the job. Thick orange and black letters read: “The only lemonade sold in 50 miles.” Since we’d first started, our sales price had gone from ten cents to fifteen to twenty-five to fifty, then back to twenty-five. The result was an illegible ink splotch that looked like a bird had done a fly-by.

See, whenever Louie and I were bored with being bored, we would sit on the side of the road with sign in hand and sell lemonade. It was rare to see a car and even rarer for one to actually stop in this godforsaken place, but we didn’t mind. It was something to do. It was an excuse to get away from our parents, to lie in the sun, and dream about the possibilities just over the horizon.

I set up the two chairs and the umbrella next to the cornstalks. Louie squinted in each direction. You can see for miles on a road like that, and we noted there was not a car in sight. Not one. I took a cup from the towering stack and filled it. It was mid-July and the heat was unforgiving. To be shaded from the sun with a drink in hand and to be away from our parents was the height of our lives. I downed the glass and poured another.

“Stop, you’re going to drink it all.”

“In all the times of doing this, on our best day we didn’t sell more than four glasses. And that was only because a family van stopped. So shut it.”

Louie didn’t want to admit I was right. His hand hesitated toward the lemonade and then retreated when I looked his way. I refilled my glass and poured a second. He took it without objection. And so there we sat, sipping, staring up the road, waiting for a car to pierce our solitude.

An hour lapsed by, and still nothing. A few pheasants and doves passed, but that was during rush hour.

“School starts soon,” Louie said, shattering the serenity of the moment.

It was beyond me how he could mention such a horrid thing at such a pleasant time. I was trying to ignore school’s speedy arrival and had been doing a damn good job.

“Aren’t you excited to see your friends?”

“Are you worried about being a freshman? You get your ass kicked, you know?” I said, changing the subject.

Louie nodded, fully aware. I considered leaving it at that but couldn’t resist...for his benefit. So he could prepare mentally for what awaited him.

“You know what we’re going to do to the freshmen this year?”

Louie’s eyes grew wide. “Fill water balloons with piss? Tether us to the flagpole? Make us swim in Lark’s Pond?”

“Nothing that dull.”

He pestered me for an hour, but I refused to talk. After all, he was going to be a freshman, and I was to be a senior. I couldn’t let him in on the secrets—even though there weren’t any. In my opinion, getting over high school fears is the initiation itself and the most important initiation into life. I wanted to set the bar high.

“You’re not going to do anything to me, are you?”

“Of course not,” I replied as Louie let out a sigh of relief. “I’ll have my friends do it.”

The seed was planted, watered, and ready to sprout. Louie swallowed his lemonade and choked. Then in the distance, extraordinary as it may seem, a car. It was a small speck on the horizon, probably five miles out. Louie noticed it as I did and hurried from his chair to get the cardboard sign at attention. We waited, excited and eager.

Faster and faster the car grew closer and larger. Dust spat from the back tires as the car crested the hill only a half-mile away. My jaw dropped. It glimmered and glistened in the sunlight with stunning vivacity. It was the car I dreamed about. The one Dad and I drooled over since we first saw it in the Road-Show magazine the previous summer. The red 1967 Corvette Sting Ray—“American elegance at its finest.” The car roared closer, and then with a curious abruptness, its brakes locked, and it slid and whined. Unable to keep traction, it twisted sideways across the road and teetered at the edge of the irrigation ditch. Louie and I looked at each other confused, neither of us with an explanation. The car came to a complete stop but fifty yards from us.

“Get a cup ready.”

Louie went to the chairs as the Corvette hissed back into gear. It rolled toward us like a model sauntering down the runway. The red paint glimmering in the sun. Every inch chromed, which made the car look as if it was a light source in itself. From the precision and flawlessness, it was clear this wasn’t just someone’s car, this was someone’s life.

“Oh no,” Louie cried, turning the pitcher upside-down. “We drank it all!”

“Get back to the house. Make more. Quick!”

Louie grabbed the jug and bolted into the cornstalks. The 1967 Corvette Sting Ray came to a stop beside me. Yes, the red ’67 Sting Ray stopped beside me, Ivey Doede. The passenger window slid down and I knelt into a plume of fruity mandarin that burnt the nostrils like the stuff Dad chugged. The man’s precise stop made a little more sense now.

He was pale with a tint of green, sloppy with his gestures, slurred in his speech, and his eyes were so baggy it looked as if someone taped prunes under them.

“What’s this you’re...” He burped a little. “You’re selling?”

I glanced down at the sign, wondering if he was illiterate or too hammered to read. “Lemonade,” I said, sounding the word out for him. “Twenty-five cents.”

For the first time the man looked up at me. We locked eyes and I felt it impossible to dodge them. Past the glaze I saw something I had never seen in someone before. It was a look of complete peacefulness, freedom, contentment. The man seemed to have no worries, no frustrations, no fears. He looked completely satisfied in his world. His blue eyes drooped from my face, and I could tell he was no longer thinking of the lemonade. Maybe there’s one thing that’s not satisfied, I thought, and set the sign down.

“My brother is on his way over with a fresh batch. I’m afraid the two of us drank all we made.”

The man’s thoughts were projected over his face as he wiped the edges of his mouth. I wondered if he too ran a magazine in Chicago.

“Aren’t you a little old for this anyway?”

“Oh, I’m just helping out my brother,” I lied, glancing back at the house. Louie was nowhere to be seen, and I couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad thing.

“This is a nice car,” I said, resting on the passenger window, leaning in. The man beamed as he ran his hands over the leather seats.

“I’ve worked hard on it.”

“The ’67 Sting Ray is actually one of my favorite cars. One of the only ones I know,” I laughed, “but my favorite.”

The man was awe-struck. I’m sure his female flings never had a clue what the hot rod was he sped them around in. So to have me know the make and even the year the car was released must have been quite surprising.

“Little lady, would you care to take a spin?” He asked, tossing beer bottles under the seat and pushing open the passenger door.

“I’d love to.”

Drunken stranger or not, such opportunities only come along once in a lifetime, and I wasn’t about to let this one pass me by. The door slammed behind me. The lock latched. Inside the car, it was everything I imagined and more. The upholstery was like velvet and shined as white as a dentist’s teeth. I peered over the dashboard at the endless road ahead and took a deep breath. I admit I was a bit scared. Actually, very scared. I rode in larger vehicles like buses and tractors, but was a virgin to the sports car. It was so low to the ground and with a glance to the speedometer I saw it topped out at 150 MPH—90 miles faster than I had ever traveled.

“Let me show you what this baby can do!”

The Sting Ray whirred into gear and shot forward as my head snapped back against the seat. The car picked up speed as exhilaration overtook fear. Air whistled through a sliver in the window as again the car shifted gears, launching us forward. The whistle became a shrill scream, and at this point I was laughing and giggling uncontrollably. The man looked over and chuckled.

“What’s your name?”

I started to reply but stopped. I don’t know why, but at that instant there was nothing more I wanted to do than hurl myself onto him, gouge at his eyes, kick him out the door, and make off with the car, taking it as far away as possible. But the idea of leaving Louie closed the door on the fantasy before I could even get my seat belt off. I knew even if I doubled back, I’d never be able to convince Louie to come with me. He wasn’t ready to leave the nest, at least not yet. I was working on that, showing him that if we left and ran away, things wouldn’t be disastrous, that we could stay afloat, get a job somewhere, make ends meet.

“What is it?”

“Ivey,” I replied. “What’s yours?”

He shifted the car into fifth as I glanced at the speedometer. We were nearing 90 MPH. A new personal record!

“Chuck,” he said, as he eyed my dress and bonnet. “Have you lived out here your whole life?”

“Never been anywhere else.”

He gave an empathetic hmmm.

“Where are you from?”

“California,” he began, and my heart fluttered.

It was a lifelong dream of mine to live on the beaches of California, either under a lifeguard tower or beneath the shade of a palm tree abundant in coconuts.

“Although I spend a helluva lot of time in Mexico and driving cross country on business. You know, I’ve probably traveled more miles today than you have in your entire life. Crazy thought. I mean, my god. There’s so much world you’re missing out on. See it all and then settle in, fine. But you can’t settle without having lived and died first. I bet that’s what those parents of yours did. Saw the inferno and then settled. I could see myself doing that, I guess. I might even enjoy it, getting out of this chaotic bustle of who’s the pit bull and who’s the bitch. What’s the phrase? Urban jungle? I guess I could see myself getting out. But then again, what would I do with these trusty bottles here? They’re mother’s teat, am I right?” He laughed, although I’m not exactly sure why. “You should explain to those parents that you, having lived out here in nowheresville your whole life, you’re being brought along the wrong way. It’s not right. Live and die first. Live and die, mi nuevo amiga.”

“Trust me, I have.”

There was another empathetic hmmm. He stroked his chin as if my problems had just become his next project. “You know, I should take you with me. I’d be more than happy to. Could take you a bunch of places, ending up on the California bluffs overlooking the world’s largest bathtub. It’d expand your horizons and I’d show you a helluva good time. Would be good for you, you know?”

“That’s alright,” I said with colossal restraint. The words came out squeaky and pained. Chuck put his hand on my shoulder and frowned. He understood the predicament. I had talked to Louie about running away many times, but he remained firm that we wait until both of us were high school graduates. And while I told him I thought this was an excuse, a way of putting off a tough decision, I wasn’t about to run off on my own and leave him behind. Since we were infants we stood by one another, protected the other, fought for each other. That was what being brother and sister was all about. Unlike Mom and Dad, we understood what family meant and wouldn’t let anything break us apart.

“Shall we turn back?” Chuck said, already decelerating.

I nodded as the car pirouetted 180 degrees and stopped. He pulled out his wallet. I glanced over and saw the edges of three hundred dollar bills. He must have seen me wide-eyed because he started laughing, giving me his business card. I turned it over and traced the engraved gold lettering. It reminded me of the print on Mom’s Bible. The card had Chuck’s home address, telephone number, cell number, and job occupation: Furniture Dealer.

This I didn’t believe for a second.

“What’s this for?”

“If you’re ever out in California, give me a call. We’ll get together and have a good time.” He winked, then sped back to the lemonade stand.

The Sting Ray rounded the hill. Louie was in the middle of the street advertising a look of deep concern— probably thinking he lost the sale. I stuck my hand out the window into the cool blast and yelled his name. He scowled and didn’t respond. Chuck turned the car around for the last time and parked. I looked up at Louie from the passenger seat. His eyes beat down on me like lights in an interrogation room. I opened the door and climbed out. Louie put the cup forward.

“Thanks,” Chuck said, handing Louie two quarters and asking for another. I tried to help Louie with the pitcher, but he shrugged me off.

“Where you headed, mister?” Louie asked, giving Chuck the second lemonade.

“All over. It’d be easier to tell you where I’m not going.”

He peppered the throttle with his foot. The engine growled and then quieted back to a purr.

“Ivey,” Chuck said, leaning over into the passenger seat to look up at me. Louie caught a whiff of the vodka and gave me a cold glare. “It was very cool meeting you. And I’ll be waiting for you to take me up on that offer.”

My cheeks flushed. Chuck gave a salute and then rolled up the window. The Corvette slid into gear, sped off with a deafening cry, and disappeared up and over the horizon.

Louie waited for an explanation. I ignored him and went and sat down. “Since when have you been the type to take rides from strangers? You never...” his voice quivered.

“What?! I never, what?”

“I...I just wish you weren’t so reckless. Things are bad, but don’t make ’em worse. One of these days, Ivey. One of these days...”

I sprawled out in the dirt and let his voice fade off into the distance. My eyes closed and, just like that, I was back in the Sting Ray—the leather beneath my fingertips, the wind cool on my face, Mom and Dad at my rear, and the endless road ahead.