The driver of the tanker truck grabbed his Styrofoam cup of coffee, briefly removing his eyes from the road and took a long sip. It had been a long day of driving, but he’d soon reach his destination and would have a chance to rest. Paul Furst was divorced. He had no family to return to and no one to miss him while he spent days on the road. That’s just how he liked it. He and his ex had planned to have children, but their relationship, like their attempts to conceive had failed before that was possible. After satisfying his need for caffeine Paul returned the cup to its holder and turned the radio up. He usually listed to country music, but found on the road it was better to listen to rock and knew that the Metallica song playing would do the trick. He yelled the lyrics along with James Hetfield, but would certainly not be giving him any competition as the band’s lead singer.
“Almost there, Pauly,” he said to himself. He found that he preferred his own company more than he preferred company with anyone else. “You can do it.
He’d been following Route One since entering Maine. He’d made similar trips before and enjoyed the scenic coastal highway more than any he’d driven. He’d already past through Ellsworth and knew the road would continue on through Calais, Presque Isle, and all the way up to Madawaska and even Fort Kent. He wasn’t native to the state of Maine, but liked it enough to consider buying property up here.
“Just not during the winter,” he said to himself.
There was some traffic on the highway, but it was easily managed and was not slowing his journey. Paul passed a slow moving sedan and saw clear road ahead. He smiled and relaxed a little in his seat letting his body take over the driving and let his mind rest. It was a trick he’d learned from many years on the road and helped him stay sane through some of the longer stretches of driving. He took one hand off the wheel and reached to his right for the coffee cup again. He took another long sip but as he lowered the cup and his eyes refocused on the road he saw a large moose in his path. Most animals would not be a concern for Paul, but a moose was a big deal. At the speed he was travelling Paul knew he had very little time to react. He turned the wheel hard in an attempt to get into the passing lane, hoping that the massive animal wouldn’t do the same. The animal looked on dumbly as the eighteen wheeler swerved. Paul wasn’t exactly sure what happened and would not have a chance to reflect on the situation. As he turned the wheel back to the right to straighten the vehicle the fully loaded tank continued to the left and lost contact with the roadway. Its momentum carried the entire vehicle off the road and into the trees. Paul smacked his head on the window and was dazed. He watched in horror as a sturdy tree branch smashed through the glass and into his head, breaking his neck. The tank carrying the dangerous chemical was ripped open as if it were made of paper its contents now leaking out and onto the ground. When authorities arrived they would do their best to clean up the spill, the government would give them their cover story which they would stick with or risk the wrath of the U.S. military, but what they would not be able to prevent is the fact that in the time between the crash and when they arrived some of the chemical, enough to cause major damage in a small town like King’s Cove, had been absorbed by the thirsty earth and would soon find its way into the groundwater which would then find its way into the wells of the nearby coastal community. Paul knew none of this as he died, but if there is a Heaven and he was destined to go there he may get a chance to watch it all unfold.
I was scouring the house for something quick and easy to make for dinner when the phone began to ring. I snatched the receiver from its base and put it to my ear.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hi, honey,” my mom replied. “How was school?”
“Same as always. Have I ever told you how happy I am that you honored my grandfathers by naming me after them?”
“Probably a thousand times, Freddy.”
“Let’s make it a thousand and one then. Thanks, Mom.”
“I’m sorry. It gets better from here though. Trust me on that.”
“I have trouble believing that, but I’m sure someday we’ll sit around the table laughing about all of this. Until then, though, thanks, Mom.”
“What are you doing?” his mom asked, obviously unwilling to continue the topic.
“Trying to find something for dinner. Do we have anything here?”
“There’s plenty of food in that house, Frederick. You’re a big boy. Make something.”
“I will, Mom. Is that why you called? To check on me?”
“No, actually. I was calling to let you know that we’ll be up here longer than I thought. My sister is not doing well right now and I’m the lucky one who gets to stay with her.”
“How about Dad? Is he coming home?” I wasn’t sure which answer I wanted to hear.
“No, your father is going to stay here too. Will you be okay there? If you need to buy food while we’re gone there’s some money in the cookie jar.”
“In the cookie jar? I was hoping there were some cookies in there,” I said laughing. “I’ll be fine, Mom. You and Dad do what you need to do.”
“We will, Freddy. Be good and don’t get yourself into too much trouble.”
“I will, Mom. We live in King’s Cove, what could possibly go wrong?”
When I said this I had no idea how much could go wrong in a town like King’s Cove. These many years later I am acutely aware of the answer to this question, but I’m still coming to that. My mother and I said our goodbyes and I hung up the phone. I returned to the freezer and decided to heat up a pizza. It was easy and it was good. With dinner made and consumed I grabbed a cold can of soda from the fridge and sat down to watch some television. I managed to find some primetime comedies that held my attention. I continued to flip through the channels until I began to feel tired. I walked around the house, verified everything was locked, and then headed down to my room. I fell deeply asleep not to awaken until the following day.
No comments:
Post a Comment