every car, occasionally stopping to try a handle.
Dodge made comments about cars being perfect but no gas. Or complaining because there was a body or two in them. Then finally, just as we hit the traffic leading up to what I knew was a hospital, Dodge clapped his hands together released the suitcase and walked to the car.
“What are you doing?”
“Abandoned.” He indicated to the open door. “And I can pull this on the sidewalk, cut through that lot there and down the street.” He reached in and popped the trunk, walked around to the back of the car and started rummaging.
He smiled with an ‘aha! ' and lifted a small gray case. “Cheap but works, roadside kit.”
I shook my head back and forth confused as he climbed in and laid down. His feet extended from the car. “Dodge?”
He grunted. “Give me a second.”
“Dodge.”
“I don’t wanna walk, this car has gas.”
Just as I inhaled to call his name again, the car started. “You jumped it.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.” He slid out. “Once we stop we may not be able to restart it. But we can find another.” He walked to the suitcase and grabbed it. “Getting in?”
“How did you know to do that?”
“My job.”
“Ah,” I nodded. “You were a car thief.”
“What? A mechanic. A good one too. Been doing it since I was a kid. Hence my teenage nickname.” He tossed the suitcase in the car. “Dodge.”
“Ok.”
“Back in the day I could fix any Dodge. Trucks especially.”
Suddenly his nickname clicked and made sense, it wasn’t criminal relayed like ‘dodge the bullet’ or ‘get out of dodge’ he fixed cars. He added another reason I was glad to have him with me.
Thanking him, I got into the car. To me it didn’t matter how many things he banged into getting off that street or curbs he ran over. He was driving, and I was exceptionally glad to not be walking.
17. The Empty Chair
We had to abandon ship. The comfort of the car, silence of no conversation, with the exception of Dodge telling me to hold on when we had to run around or over something. But six miles into our road trip, we hit an impassible section of road. Cars were jammed together like a parking lot. There was no getting around it. All of it beginning several dozen blocks before the area’s teaching hospital. We should have known better.
But we made it six miles.
“Hate to say it, we ’re probably gonna have to walk to a doable bridge. Then once we cross, find transportation,” Dodge said. “Sorry I let you down. I really thought we’d get farther . '
“Hey, we made it six miles. That was a lot of walking we saved. No, I expect ed to have to walk.”
“We need to plan a course of action. Gotta see where we’re going. How about you start checking these cars for a map. I’ll trudge up to the overpass and take a look, maybe see if we can spot an upcoming bridge that looks good?”
“We can both go. I’m not that slow, am I?”
“No that’s not it. Just … I’ll run it and run back. You settle. Maybe not move so much. We also gotta find a place to stop for the night.”
“How about this? We both go …”
“How about not.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
He placed his hands on his hips, lowered his head and glanced at me through the tops of his eyes. “Honest?”
“Please.”
“You don’t … you don’t look that well. You’re pale.” He reached up and touched my forehead in some sort of fatherly fashion. “You’re cold and dry.”
“Oh, my God.”
“No, Faye. If you are it, if you are the last person I have to talk to on this earth, I sure as shit ain’t letting you drop from dehydration, exhaustion or whatever it is you are dealing with right now. Don’t be a martyr.”
It took until I got into that car, driving, to realize, I still wasn’t anywhere near a hundred percent. I pushed it because I had to when the truth was, my body had been deprived of food and water for longer than I knew. Rest was
Dodge made comments about cars being perfect but no gas. Or complaining because there was a body or two in them. Then finally, just as we hit the traffic leading up to what I knew was a hospital, Dodge clapped his hands together released the suitcase and walked to the car.
“What are you doing?”
“Abandoned.” He indicated to the open door. “And I can pull this on the sidewalk, cut through that lot there and down the street.” He reached in and popped the trunk, walked around to the back of the car and started rummaging.
He smiled with an ‘aha! ' and lifted a small gray case. “Cheap but works, roadside kit.”
I shook my head back and forth confused as he climbed in and laid down. His feet extended from the car. “Dodge?”
He grunted. “Give me a second.”
“Dodge.”
“I don’t wanna walk, this car has gas.”
Just as I inhaled to call his name again, the car started. “You jumped it.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.” He slid out. “Once we stop we may not be able to restart it. But we can find another.” He walked to the suitcase and grabbed it. “Getting in?”
“How did you know to do that?”
“My job.”
“Ah,” I nodded. “You were a car thief.”
“What? A mechanic. A good one too. Been doing it since I was a kid. Hence my teenage nickname.” He tossed the suitcase in the car. “Dodge.”
“Ok.”
“Back in the day I could fix any Dodge. Trucks especially.”
Suddenly his nickname clicked and made sense, it wasn’t criminal relayed like ‘dodge the bullet’ or ‘get out of dodge’ he fixed cars. He added another reason I was glad to have him with me.
Thanking him, I got into the car. To me it didn’t matter how many things he banged into getting off that street or curbs he ran over. He was driving, and I was exceptionally glad to not be walking.
17. The Empty Chair
We had to abandon ship. The comfort of the car, silence of no conversation, with the exception of Dodge telling me to hold on when we had to run around or over something. But six miles into our road trip, we hit an impassible section of road. Cars were jammed together like a parking lot. There was no getting around it. All of it beginning several dozen blocks before the area’s teaching hospital. We should have known better.
But we made it six miles.
“Hate to say it, we ’re probably gonna have to walk to a doable bridge. Then once we cross, find transportation,” Dodge said. “Sorry I let you down. I really thought we’d get farther . '
“Hey, we made it six miles. That was a lot of walking we saved. No, I expect ed to have to walk.”
“We need to plan a course of action. Gotta see where we’re going. How about you start checking these cars for a map. I’ll trudge up to the overpass and take a look, maybe see if we can spot an upcoming bridge that looks good?”
“We can both go. I’m not that slow, am I?”
“No that’s not it. Just … I’ll run it and run back. You settle. Maybe not move so much. We also gotta find a place to stop for the night.”
“How about this? We both go …”
“How about not.”
“What’s the problem?” I asked.
He placed his hands on his hips, lowered his head and glanced at me through the tops of his eyes. “Honest?”
“Please.”
“You don’t … you don’t look that well. You’re pale.” He reached up and touched my forehead in some sort of fatherly fashion. “You’re cold and dry.”
“Oh, my God.”
“No, Faye. If you are it, if you are the last person I have to talk to on this earth, I sure as shit ain’t letting you drop from dehydration, exhaustion or whatever it is you are dealing with right now. Don’t be a martyr.”
It took until I got into that car, driving, to realize, I still wasn’t anywhere near a hundred percent. I pushed it because I had to when the truth was, my body had been deprived of food and water for longer than I knew. Rest was
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