Frank: RIP you piece of crap
It was getting dark, becoming very cold, and the truck completely ate shit near the sixty five hundred foot level of the mountains. The old beat-up vehicle sat still on a rutted washed-out dirt road. There were no road signs although a few late season souls were camped some miles behind them.
The two been driving these roads looking for crystals. The woman was in severe pain from the condition of the roads. Her boyfriend didn’t seem to care about that. He probably didn’t. She’d been this way for over a year. Spinal degeneration that began at a young age, but she wasn’t as young anymore. It was progressing quickly, and who the hell wants to hear about constant pain.
Things hadn’t been going well at home. Lots of arguments. Little talk. The couple had started out with the mutual love of the outdoors, listening to live music and fabulous, fetishistic sex; this had dissipated into two people sharing a house. Sharing isn’t the right word. Occupying a shared space. Neither of them happy, just existing,
He would come home from work, peek his head into the bedroom and say hello. No more kisses or hugs, not for a long time. She would spend the majority of time in bed weeping from the combination of pain from a failed back operation and memories of the life she had once lived. The pain was never ending, as was the depression. No more swimming in the river, hikes, riding bicycles or worse, skiing.
He probably felt just as miserable. Perhaps not. He seemed content to be by himself every night in another room. She never knew because they never talked beyond the superficial.
‘What do you want for dinner?’
‘I don’t care.’
‘We really don’t have much food, but I can make you some eggs and bacon’
‘I don’t want any fucking eggs and bacon’
‘Well you shouldn’t have spent all of your money on fast food lunches, DVDs and all the money you’ve poured into Frank and god knows what else.’
‘Well you shouldn’t spend all of your money on gin and Nicorette!’
As Vonnegut wrote…’and so it goes.’
Frank is his truck. Short for Frankenstein. A piece of $500.00 steel crap but her lover could fix anything. Except himself, her or anything to do with other people. A computer, car, truck, bike rack, electrical panel, a house you name it. But personal relationships were beyond his purview. Probably hers as well.
The sun went down and the cold Nevada mountain nights set in. Hell, Reno is at almost 5000 feet in elevation and they were far higher than that on the back roads outside of Verdi. When leaving the freeway and starting up to the old crystal areas and mines they’d crossed into California.
Not an hour from Donner Summit. Nom nom nom.
People back east and in Los Angeles are always stunned to hear stories of streets not being plowed, too much snow to get out of the driveway and pile-ups on the freeway during Reno’s winter.
Note to citizens outside of Nevada: Reno is an eight hour drive from Las Vegas. Please pass this along to any friends in Hollywood. I once saw an episode of CSI in which Grisham was handling a case and a sign loomed against his headlights saying ‘Sparks.’
Sparks in the town abutting Reno. As I said, eight hours from Vegas and at least 9 counties past Clark. Yep. That was realistic.
Well, back at the break-down the man lit a fire in the dried out meadow next to the dirt road. It wasn’t hot enough to warm their feet, being started with dead vegetation, no wood and gasoline.. In retrospect it would have been a wonderful way to be found. Nothing like a roaring forest fire to bring the helicopters and fire brigade.
Except for the whole lawsuit and life-long payments to the county for starting a goddamned forest fire and the reparations required. Although at that point the woman didn’t really give a shit.
There were no blankets, extra food (which was alright because they’d stopped for a cheap lunch on the way out of Reno), water, alcohol, and worse pain medication. Even aspirin.
There WAS cell phone service out there though. A freak of nature; as weird as the woman’s sister but without the silicone and bitchiness. You know, just peculiar.
Bad part was that the day was Sunday. BBQ’s and cocktails for her friends. Shooting expeditions, football and cocktails for his. No one was home to answer a phone, or better yet, they were already too blasted to come and get us. Not to mention find us. Believe I mentioned the lack of road signs.
The couple was finally found later that evening, by one of his friends. Turns out the battery had fallen over and leaked acid over some of the electrical wires. The guys fixed that. The truck was almost to paved road when the transmission went.
At about midnight they were both home and in bed. He on his side of the big bed, she on her side.
The day began because he had been complaining for weeks that they never did anything that HE wanted to do.
And this is why.
NOTE: No trees, animals, battery acid or people were harmed during the writing of this piece. Which is not to say that any of the above could not happen later tonight. Despite pain medication, death of Frank, worsening of back degeneration due to washed out roads, pain and/or lack of human contact. Video Games may be destroyed during the early hours of the morning…just so a conversation could be accomplished one evening.
But he’d just purchase more so no worries.
~Miss R
