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Friday, April 27, 2012

Weekend At Willies Ch Ten: Drive

When I write, it’s important to me that I have a groove to hear. 

It sets the mood for my words. 

If you care to hear what I listened to when I wrote this tonight, 

go ahead, click on the video below. 

If not, no harsh on you my friend. 

We are going back to a burned house, 

thirty some-odd years ago, in the depths of a desert night, 

with heavy rain punishing a dirty, huge city that we will call Fuckno. 

A house may not be a home, but for one in particular, it was all he’d had.

It was gone. 

It had been erased from the Earth by the evil person who owned the hearse we had stolen. 

 Deep Draw, by Chris Zippel. 

The young man drove the stolen vehicle in fear. 

He was heading home.

This made him grip the steering wheel so hard that his fingers became numb, and his knuckles turned white.

The memories of his father began to appear in between the brush strokes of the windshield wipers.  Each frame of an old movie appeared anew, one at a time.

The movie was in black and white.  The frames showed the door to a bedroom opening, with the dim light of the hallway beyond shining over a dark figure who entered.


The young man’s breath came faster with each beat of his heart.

Soon, they reached the same rate as the young boy in his bed, pretending to be asleep.

Bad things were about to happen.

-   -   -   -   -   -   -

I looked over to Tellesco and noticed his white knuckles in the light that refracted back from the headlamps in the downpour.

He was hyperventilating.

I said, “Tellesco!  Take it easy!   You look like you’re about to pass out!”

He jumped and swung his face over to me.  He said, “I don’t think I can do this!”

The heavy vehicle swerved to the right and we were both tossed to the left.  His head hit the side window but he straightened up and regained control.  He slowed the iron hearse down to a stop and pulled his clenched fists away from the steering wheel.  They made a sound like pulling tape from a present.

He began to tremble, rubbing his clawed, numb fingers to get blood back into them.

I said, “Tellesco, we need to get there.  You want me to drive?”

He looked up from his fingers and nodded.  I opened my door as he slid across, and in the crashing rain, I heard sirens from far away.  There were many of them, from different areas, but none seemed to be approaching.

At least for now.

I climbed into the driver’s seat while he blasted the heat.

The windows steamed up from the rain all over my leather jacket.  He pushed the heater lever to allow for the defrost, and the window began to clear.

“Mr. Will,” he said, “I don’t think I can go back there.”

I looked in the rearview mirror for a clue. Rain washed in through the open window back there.  It was busted-out from a vehicle smashing into the rear-end.

I could see as well from behind as I could looking forward.

There was nothing at all.

I dug deep.

I said, “Maybe we shouldn’t go to your old house.  You’re taking it pretty hard.  I just don’t know where else we can go.”

Tellesco was shivering and he looked down into his hands while he rubbed them.  His breath finally slowed down.  He rubbed his knuckles, but they remained white.  There was no red.

Then he straightened up a bit.

He said, “Maybe I’m supposed to go back there.  Maybe that’s why I’m so afraid.”

I had no idea what he meant.  I looked forward into the cloud of light, refracted.

Soon, the morning would come.  Daylight might offer some answers. 

Yet, the light of the angry sun reveals all secrets.  Along with the arrival of daylight, so would come the fact that we would be seen.  We would be noticed in such an obvious sort of vehicle as a hearse.

For the moment, the black of night was a cover, a shade. 

Tellesco sussed this out, I could tell.   He said, “Drive, Mr. Will.   I’ll make do.  Let’s just go forth.”

And so we did.


God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.


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