Nobody

Gun Oil

I woke up in Arizona, at a rest stop, covered in sweat. I'd put up the windshield cover, cracked the side windows and the rear window, and had gone to sleep with my head against the pillow. I sat up, rolled down the window, and lit a cigarette. I had a bottle of water on the floor that I gulped down between drags off of the cigarette.

Pru had convinced me to give up smoking years ago.

But Pru was dead.

I got out, used the rest room, bought a couple of sodas from the vending machine, then walked back to the truck. I didn't look much like the one I bought. The brush guard and the winch, the tire and gas can on the tailgate, the whip antenna for the radio, all changed the way it looked. I liked the red color with the thick white stripe on the side. The new tires had been broken in during the drive last night.

I shook my head, focusing my thoughts.

I'd dreamed of Pru all night. I kept waking up, reaching for her, all during the day. The worst was the dream of Pru standing in front of the ranch house, calling my name, trying to call me home.

But Pru was dead.

I climbed in the truck, sitting there for a long moment, staring at the suitcase on the floor. I grabbed it and headed back into the rest room. The rest area was empty, so it was no surprise that the urine smelling rest room was empty. I used a rag to wash my pits, my crotch, my ass crack, and the small of my back That done, I got dressed, deciding to wear the T-shirt with a kind of neat tribal design on it and a red and black checkered thin flannel shirt.

I folded the dirty clothes and closed the suitcase, ignoring the stacks cash hidden under the t-shirts. I switched the ball cap out for one with the US flag on it, put a cigarette in my mouth, and headed back out to the truck.

I fired up the truck and pulled back out on the highway, the engine purring along. The truck only had sixty-thousand miles on it, which wasn't much for an old Ford F-150. Getting it a tuneup and fluid change probably added a hundred thousand miles to its life.

Driving at night was preferable to sleeping at night. At night, when I woke up, the darkness confused me and I reached for Pru out of habit. I'd wake up and listen for her breathing in the darkness. I'd wake up, my body expecting to feel her body against mine.

Then I'd remember and the loss would crash back down on me.

Pru was dead.

It kept circling in my brain. That one fact. Over and over. Like a kid's model train running in a circle for all time.

I turned up the stereo, lighting another cigarette, filling the cab of the truck with the sound of Motley Crue. The road hummed under the tires, the warning reflectors on the side of the road swept by and vanished behind me, the moon above me.

I'd realized where I was going when I saw the road sign. I'd been heading that way for two days, wandering around slightly, but steadily heading toward it.

The Grand Canyon.

I pulled off, the truck bouncing slightly as I drove to the lookout point.

When I reached the parking space I shut down the truck, killing Axel Rose's voice, and sat in the dark for a long time. I smoked several cigarettes, staring at the moonlight landscape in front of me. Grief swept over me, remembering the last time I had been here.

Pru and I had taken a donkey ride to the bottom of the canyon, camped at the tourist area for a couple of day, then gone back to the top. It had been after Panama, her and I celebrating that I'd come back to her again.

It had been our first vacation together.

I sat in the truck, weeping, my face in my hands. I missed her so badly that it physically hurt. A deep aching pain in my chest. Knowing why I was crying only made it hurt worse, and the pain reminded me why I was crying.