The Summer of Love

On the Road

We were somewhere around Mansfield, Ohio on an old and janky road surrounded by nothing but Cornfields and acres full of grass for cows to graze. We were in a sea of green, and that made me bored. We were in the middle of nowhere, in this absolute desert of grass and corn, we were lucky to see a tree, sometimes even a house of the poor bastards who were stuck here. It was 2:30 in the afternoon, and we were making good progress, we were already half way through Ohio.

I had one hand on the wheel and the other out the window with a cigarette in it. I saw George's eyes wander towards my Sawed-Off and he asked "Where did you get that old thing?" There was an interesting story behind this gun. And I was ready to lay it on him. "It was my grandpa's. He was a rum runner and hitman for the Luciano Family during prohibition in New York." George's interest was piqued. I went on.

"His name was Thomas. He carved his initials in it." I pointed towards the lower handle of the gun where the old "T.W." was scratched into the wood. It was nice how we had the same initials. "Did you ever meet him?" George asked me. Sadly, not even my father had met him. "He died before my father was born." He asked on. "What happened to him?" George was interested in this. This was a story that I grew up with, so it caught me off guard to see him so interested. I decided to give it to him straight. 

"In 1925 he was shot 54 times in the chest and bled to death on the sidewalk." George seemed sad and unsatisfied. But that was how it was. If you live by the gun, you die by the gun. But I liked the conversation that this had opened up. We were learning things about each other. There was no time for that in 'Nam. After all, George was my best friend.  I should ask him something. 

"How'd you get outed?" George looked surprised, like the question caught him off guard. "Jesus," I thought to myself, "way to ask a sensitive fucking question." But before I could tell him that he didn't have to tell me, he opened his mouth. "It was a week or so after graduation. We had been seeing each other for 8 months at that point. My dad was going through my shit one day and found letters."

It was hard for me to hear. But nevertheless I listened on. "My parents quickly kicked me out of the house and my Mom told me not to come back until I was a real man. My Dad told me that if I didn't come back after conversion therapy, he'd "Beat my Faggot ass to death." It was awful to hear. "So a couple days later, I joined the military because I had nothing. No money, no home, and no family." 

"What happened to Tom?" I asked. George fell silent for a second. I regretted asking. I knew this couldn't be good news. "His Dad was an alcoholic. Tom's mom died in a car accident in '62. Anyway, when he found out, he pushed him down a flight of stairs at the top floor of their apartment building. He died." It was a heavy load. I felt so sorry for my friend and anger towards his parents and that bastard father of Tom's. "Jesus...I'm so sorry George...I don't know what to say." George just shrugged and looked out the window. "Well, what can you do, y'know?" 

We drove on silent for a while. I turned on the radio to change the subject and break the awkward and sad silence. "King of the Road" by Roger Miller was on. We drove on silently, except when we snapped our fingers to the song.

 Eventually, my stomach started to growl, as did George's. About a half hour later we were in some redneck bumpkin town that hadn't quite recovered since the Great Depression.  I didn't like the looks of this town one bit. As I drove in, all I saw were hick assholes chugging shitty beer down their throats while driving around in their rusted old trucks with the Dixie flag in the back, even though we were in Ohio.

Ugh, I could go on and on about these hillbilly assholes. There wasn't a single person there that didn't look like they were the result of three generations of inbreeding. Everyone was either morbidly obese, missing half their teeth, or looked like they ate Meth for breakfast. Some of them were all three.