frank – 2

by underswansea

My old man is mean most of the time. Not to me. He loves me, but to everyone else. He wants me to be mean like him. He tells me not to take shit from no one.

Last summer we were fishing out at Little Twin. Coming back, we were passed by an Albertan. It was dusty and the dust rolled through our windows. I tried to roll up the window in a hurry, but it made no difference, the cab filled with dust. The old man muttered, ‘those sons-a-fuckin-bitches’, and gave chase. It was a roller coaster and I was scared, not for the ride, but what was going to happen when we caught them. The old man pulled even then sideways and cut them into the ditch.

The dust was rolling. The old man was out of the truck quick and so was the Albertan. The guy said, ‘what’s your fuckin problem?’ He started to say something else when dad hit him. The guy crumpled. The dust was still in the air. The sun would be down completed in another hour and it made it look nice.

The guy tried to get up. At first I thought the old man was helping him. He had him by the neck and beltloop. The guy was bent. The old man ran him headfirst into the side of his ditched truck. It left a sizeable dent. The guy fell twisted and askew onto the ground. The dust was settling. The old man jumped back in. He tossed a crescent wrench between the seats.

He hit reverse than drive and we kicked up more dust, but this time we wouldn’t be around to eat it. I looked out the window at the guy. He still hadn’t moved. The dust was falling into his slack mouth. I noticed another man in the passenger seat. He was still strapped in and looked scared shitless. Our eyes met. If he could have said something, I think it would have been, ‘what just happened’.

The old man drank beer on the way home. We didn’t talk. It was nearly dark when we pulled up to the house. Before I went to bed he said he loved me. I wondered if the guy was still lying in the dust.