1
Ben slid a cigarette from the pack on the dash with one hand, controlling the steering wheel with the other. The truck rumbled as it passed over the bridge.
He’d been back smoking for nearly five years now, just shortly after landing the job. It wasn’t the stress of the long trips that made him do it; it was the thoughts of coming home.
He’d been promoted from beer to scotch right before he quit at the plant, at home their marriage was falling down faster than a camel on roller-skates.
When Ellen had asked him why he quit the manufacturing plant, he’d said that he’d always loved trucking ever since his dad first brought him along as a kid.
It wasn’t a down out lie, but it came pretty close.
Ben couldn’t understand how their relationship had begun failing so badly, it seemed as if a toxic cloud hung over their home, because often times when the two of them went away for a weekend they got on just like old times.
He missed the good times, and so it was high time he did something to try to get them back on the same level. But that wasn’t today though, today he would drive until his eyes cried out for sleep and then drink in the motel until he passed out. This was the only way he could sleep without having that bloody nightmare.
Lighting up, he threw the lighter back on the dash.
Ben loved being on the open road, there were no expectations. Out here there was no waking up and wondering what the hell to do for the day, besides getting shitfaced of course.
It was awful hard to get shitfaced at home. Whiskey had a tendency to stick on his breath and Ellen had a nose like a bloodhound. He didn’t understand why she was so bent out of shape, just because he would have a little nightcap while away, he could stop anytime he wanted.
At that thought the bottle of scotch slid sideways under the seat and made a glug glug sound. He looked over and saw the sun beginning to set behind the hills. Leaning over, he pressed the G.P.S.
BEEP
“Motels,” said Ben.
“Searching,” spoke the monotonous voice. “Carson Motel, in 500 yards, turn right.”
In the reception a small weasel of a man glanced up at him. Ben paid with cash and went to the cramped, foul smelling room. As he sat on the bed with the bottle o scotch, he scratched the scar running up his arm. His eyes took in the jagged line and scattered dots.
A few weeks after he’d gotten the trucking job he’d been walking down the second floor of his home, towards the stairs. As he got to the first step something rolled under his feet, making him lose his balance. Down he went, feeling every bump and landing sideways on his arm with a sickening crunch. It had been broken in three places, his ankle sprained and two ribs broken.
Johnny’s marbles had been scattered on the top of the stairs.
Johnny.
Now there’s a kid prone to disaster. Like the time he’d put a large bowl full of silverware into the microwave, with his pet hamster going along for the ride too. Or the two kittens they’d found in the crawlspace.
He shuddered at that memory.
But Johnny’s tenth birthday was soon and Ben had gone all out on his present. He’d be back in a couple of days and he’d surprise them all. And boy would they love it.