2 at 18 on I-5 (conclusion) (606 hits)
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Submitted by Esso (View user info) at 2004-01-26 19:47:02 EST
(Sorry about that. Twice. Here's Part 1: http://www.ubersite.com/m/23863 . I know this is long, but most people hated me doing the TBC.)
I looked expectantly at George. George looked expectantly at me. The gray clouds of winter rolled south as did the traffic on Interstate 5. I looked from clouds to cars and thought to myself, "That's not a very subtle omen, is it?" I looked back at my travel companion.
"George, let's do it. Fuck it."
"All right. Let's go to Santa Cruz!" George's faltering smile did not match the excited tone in his call to arms. My fears were confirmed years later when we discovered that we each did not want to go, but were afraid to say so. Peer pressure's a bitch.
We decided to stop in Centralia to pawn George's stereo for gas and cigarette money. We still had Oregon and Northern California to travel through before we reached our final destination and my car would only reach a maximum speed of sixty miles per hour. Downhill. The hunger for adventure was mixed in with a fear of the unknown as we pulled up to the small Pawn Shop downtown.
George looked nostalgically at his stereo just before we stepped into the store. I carried about twenty of my least-favorite favorite CD's in behind him. Once we sold these items, it was pretty much a go on our trip.
"Eighty dollars for the stereo, forty for the CD's." We had expected more. Pawning goods was not something we knew a lot about.
"Ma'am, we need this for gas money to California. Can you help us out?" I put on my best po-kid face. It got through.
"I'll give you one-fifty, but that's it. Do you guys have snow chains? It may be snowing up there in the mountains on your way down." And just like that we got $150 and a set of tire chains. We jumped back into the 'Vette, smiled at our good fortune ("I told you this trip would work out!"), and glided back on to the freeway.
There isn't much to tell about our trip through Oregon. Trees and small towns flew by one after the other. I think I remember seeing a Beaverton somewhere and making a teenage joke about it. We passed the turn off to Ashland, the home of the Shakespeare Festival. Eugene, the hippie college town and home of the High Street Brewery, faded into the rearview mirror. Nighttime was approaching as we reached Medford near the California border. We decided to stop at Burger King for that day's meal.
After ordering our food to go and flirting with some local girls, we got back into the car and I keyed the ignition. Nothing. I tried again and still nothing. I looked worriedly at George. Quietly I begged my faithful late 1970's relic to please, please, PLEASE FUCKING START! I turned the key once more and she roared to life.
The idea of my car not making it all the way to our intended location had passed through my mind briefly at the beginning of our journey, but the last couple of hundred miles had been fine. Now I was full of doubt as to whether or not this automobile would make it to the freeway entrance, let alone Santa Cruz. I saw a pay phone and turned to my friend.
"Listen, man. I'm going to call my mom in Antioch. It's on the way to Santa Cruz, so maybe we can stay with her tonight before we head out to the beach." I didn't say it out loud, but I was also thinking that if someone knew we were on our way down south it might be easier to get help if we had to abandon our mode of transportation.
I had a short collect-call conversation with my mother while the car idled behind me. She informed me that my dad was worried about where the hell I was and that my work had called to his house to inform me of my recent enrollment in the ranks of unemployed college students. I told her we'd be there sometime tonight, making sure to give her our planned route. Safety first.
George and I, once again driving south, talked excitedly about what we'd do when we reached California. We were going to get jobs while living out of the car. When we saved enough money we'd get an apartment and just live contentedly on the beach. Surfing plans were made, hey, we'd start up a new band, girls, dude, it was all about girls. Smiling brightly into the blackness of night we saw the "NOW ENTERING CALIFORNIA" sign.
Our plan had been to stop at the sign and kiss the ground. We made it. We had now reached our new home. Our new beginning. Life was going to be better and it was all because we had took the initiative to get out of our comfort zone. Fuck those losers back up in the farmlands of Washington. California! Here I come!
We sped at fifty-five miles per hour past the sign. I looked at George and he was as pale as I felt. Something was wrong. What had we done? We had left our jobs, our friends, our schools, our girls. We had left everything behind. We had nothing. Nothing.
"What the fuck were we thinking?!" I shouted, my hand punching the steering wheel.
"What the fuck were we thinking?!" George yelled, his head against the dashboard.
"What the fuck were we thinking?!" became our mantra, so much truth in it that it hurt. Seriously, what the fuck were we thinking?
Most of our drive through Northern California is still a daze. George went to sleep and I leaned over the steering wheel trying to see through the fog. There was fog from about sixty miles south of the border until we reached Contra Costa County, near San Francisco, wherein lied Antioch. I missed an exit and almost sped off a sharply curved interchange, doing fifty in a twenty. I just wanted to stop driving. I just wanted to stop thinking. I just wanted to stop.
We reached my mother's house.
I walked up to the door, George following groggily behind, and knocked. And knocked again. And again. O.k., where is my mother? I went around the back and knocked on the sliding glass door. Still no answer. If someone knocked on the back door to my house in the middle of the night, I'd be curious, yet there was no answer. We walked back to the car. I was furious at my mom for not answering even though she knew we were coming over. Even if I did just show up in the middle of the night, I was her son goddamn it.
I drove to my uncle's home nearby, my car once again barely starting. We parked in front and I tapped on my cousin's window. Their insane dog, Ace, began to bark and growl at the front door and living room window, but still no one answered. I knew the front door was usually unlocked, but I was also aware that it was because Ace would tear your throat out if given half a chance. I tried tapping again to no avail. What a bad time to leave your life behind and try to visit your family. Shit.
We drove back to my mother's house more desperate than ever. I walked up to the front door, determined to wake someone from their slumber. I banged on the front door and finally, finally I heard footsteps. Mom answered the door.
That night George and I told the tale of our journey south for the winter as my mother grabbed blankets and explained where the bathroom was. We laid down to rest, completely exhausted. We had begun the day full of excitement and joy yet as we nodded off our minds were full of doubt and fear. I tried to quiet my mind. Now was time for sleep. We'd think about our plans for tomorrow tomorrow.
I stretched out, stuck between that peaceful haze of slumber and the crystal clear light of consciousness. Ah, good, it had all been a dream then. I turned over in bed and blinked twice. I cleared my eyes and there was still a baby grand piano in the corner of the living room. Shit, I was at my mom's house. I had driven approximately eight hundred and sixty miles south in a car I had previously been afraid to drive more than twenty miles in any direction. This was lame.
George and I had breakfast that morning while my mother called Dad back up North to let him know that his only son had arrived safely. It was a good thing they were still amicable after the divorce or she might have let him sit and worry. She told me that he was sending my stuff down tomorrow. He didn't want to talk to me. I didn't really want to talk to him at that moment either.
We walked outside to my car after breakfast. George desperately wanted a cigarette, so we were going to the store. Our new plan was to stay one more night then cruise over to Santa Cruz, home of the Boardwalk and the Banana Slugs and a great place to film a mid-eighties teenage vampire movie. I opened the driver's side door, George and I jumped in the car and I turned the key.
Nothing.
Oh, she wasn't going to start at all. She was dead. Dead-dead-deadski. Santa Cruz was looking farther and farther away. What the fuck had we been thinking?
We walked defeated back into the house. I explained the situation to my mother: we had almost no money, the car was not working, we needed a place to stay, and we had fucked up. She nodded understandingly. My mother the saint.
"You guys can stay here. I know a mechanic who might be able to fix your car. As for money, well, we'll see if Uncle Mike can find you all a job somewhere. You did the right thing by coming here. Don't worry." See? I told you. Saint.
Later that day after realizing that our grand scheme was falling apart, George said he was going to call his aunt in San Jose. He didn't feel comfortable staying at my mom's too long, so he told me the new plan. We'd get jobs, he in San Jose, me in Antioch, save up cash and then after one of us got a car, we'd finally move to the beach. It all made sense. We were so close we might as well save up money and do it the right way. It was time to be mature about this. An eighteen year old level of maturity anyway.
He left with his aunt the next day and I commenced job hunting. I applied for work at all the high-class places I could think of: Hollywood Video, Mountain Mike's Pizza, Brennan 16 Cinema, etc., etc. My Uncle Mike gets jobs for kids coming out of halfway houses and such, so he put in a good word for me where he could. From a monetarily secure college student to a potential Thrifty Foods employee sans car: I sure as shit was moving up in the world.
About a week later I tried to get a hold of George and check up on his progress.
"Is George there?" I asked his aunt.
"No, he's back in Washington."
"Uhhh...What?"
"Yeah, his mom bought him a plane ticket, I told him we were going job hunting, then I drove him to the airport and dropped him off at the gate. He's back home now. Bye."
Plan A: Ben and George drive from the Pacific Northwest to the sunny beaches of California and see where the wind takes them.
Status: Failed
Plan B: Ben and George get jobs in California, save up money, and then head on out to the sunny beaches of Santa Cruz.
Status: Failed
Plan C: Ben gets a job.
Status: Failing fast
A month had now gone by with no return calls from the places to which I applied. I was getting frustrated. I began getting stoned with my cousins, drinking beers and not caring about what I had to do next. I was failure, I had no friends, and I had to accept this. Once you start falling down the Pit of Despair, you might as well just relax and see how far it goes.
Then there was a phone call from Washington. My best friend, Keith, whom I had argued with over my drug use, wanted me to come home. So much in fact that he had collected money from everyone I knew and bought me a bus ticket. He also made sure some friends of ours would let me stay with them and he got me a job at the restaurant where he worked.
"All you need to do is say yes and I'll have the ticket sent first thing."
"Yes."
I had been in Cali now for a month and a half. The whole time I had thought I was a friendless, directionless loser. I was only half right. All these people who knew me or even half knew me had donated money to Keith's Bring Ben Home charity. The girl who had thrown the party the night I left even donated some money. And she didn't know me. Apparently she felt some responsibility as she heard about my leaving after not being able to locate the celebration. She was planning a welcome home party. I felt loved.
As I was heading out the door, backpack over one shoulder, my little brother runs up with the phone. He told me it was Uncle Mike.
"Hey Ben! I got you a job as a bagger at the Sunnyside Market. My friend owns it and owes me a favor. There're benefits after three months and you start out at $6.50. What do you say?"
Hey God? You are one seriously funny motherfucker, you know it?
The phone in one hand, my bus ticket in the other. California living to the left, Washington State residency on the right. I closed my eyes and made sure to think long and hard about this. It didn't take long. As pissed off as I was about finally getting a job offer on the day of my departure, I knew where my friends were. I knew where my real home was. I was going back up north.
As much as I still kick myself in the ass for my irresponsibility in the opening of 1996, I don't think I would have accomplished as much as I have today without that little excursion. I learned about planning. I learned about fiscal management. I learned who my friends were. And most importantly, I learned that I will never, ever again travel by Greyhound.
User Reviews
Submitted by QueenAshlee (user info) at 2004-01-28 23:14:34 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Anyone who loves the Princess Bride is A-O.K. in my book.
You keep saying that word. I do not think it means what you think it means.
-Inigo.
Submitted by cellar_door (user info) at 2004-01-27 05:48:26 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by esso_merda (user info) at 2004-01-27 00:40:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks all. And Queen:
"Never make a bet with a Sicilian when death is on the line!"
Vizzini
God, I love that movie.
Submitted by QueenAshlee (user info) at 2004-01-26 21:44:29 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Another +2 for the Princess Bride reference.
Submitted by QueenAshlee (user info) at 2004-01-26 21:43:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Worth waiting for.
Submitted by Anansie (user info) at 2004-01-26 21:35:15 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Well, I already said this, but since this is the only one on the front page, I'll say it again. I know people have flamed you for accidentally posting this three times, but fuck 'em. This is a good story.
Submitted by Phinch (user info) at 2004-01-26 21:14:35 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
fucking awesome.
Submitted by hamilton (user info) at 2004-01-26 20:16:08 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by PolPot (user info) at 2004-01-26 19:53:44 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
"And those warts on your dick aren't gonna go away, unless you start using topical cream, every day."
It's funny because it's true.
Submitted by esso_merda (user info) at 2004-01-26 19:48:28 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
(-2) for me for fucking up twice. Very impatient today, and hitting the <Enter> key is a great mode of stress relief. Sorry.
Submitted by JoeAverage (user info) at 2004-01-26 19:48:11 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
I liked the other three attempts you took at posting this better. Shithead.