Thank God, or whoever for Karma

CHAPTERS THREE AND FOUR The bus is having problems and I nervously accept the help of a stranger. A little background information about my character/me

CHAPTER 3

The bus has two more stalling events before we finally hobble into Tonopah, Nevada. What should have been a six hour trip has taken nine.  My solution of blowing out the fuel filter is clearly not working well and I need to find a mechanic. I see a gas station with an open service bay so I pull in, park the van, and enter under the glass paned roll-up door. No one is working, but there are 4 weathered old men sitting in plastic chairs, Budwiesers in hand, talking and laughing. A tall, heavyset man wearing a greasy uniform with a Chevron logo turns and walk towards me and I explain my problems with the Heineken.

“Sorry Hon, I am closed for the weekend, the boys and me here, we was just sitting around having a a few beers and tellin’ stories,” he says, flicking ash from his cigarette.

“I cannot wait for the end of the weekend, please just take a look at it.” I beg.

“Well, ya’ see the problem is, even if I did look at your bus there, I don’t have any parts here to fix it, so I can’t help ya. But go an’ ask that long haired guy with the ponytail, he works on cars some and I think he even got some of them Volkswagen parts at his place.” he says

A small man with long grey hair pulled into a ponytail sits in the plastic chair wearing a clean, white wife-beater and an old pair of Levi’s, both a couple of sizes too big for his small wiry frame, his pants cinched with a black leather belt with a Harley Davidson buckle. The lines on his face a road map of the years enjoying Budwiesers and Marlboros. I approach him and tell him the events on the road today.

“Well, there is no way of tellin’ just lookin’ at it here, but if ya’ want, you can follow me out to my place and I can check a few things and see what I can do. I got some pieces and parts out in back of my house and might have somethin’ that’ll work.” he says.

“That would be great” I say in grateful desperation.

“Lemme finish my beer here with the boys and we’ll hit the road, it’s a ways drive, but you can follow me. Just be a few minutes” he says turning back to his buddies.

“Sounds good” I reply and head back to the Heineken to wait for him.

As I sit, I ask myself, "is this a good idea?"  I am about to follow a complete stranger to his house, in an apparent remote location, with nothing but a thirty five pound dog and six inch cooking knife to protect myself. If I were in a cool little mountain town or a seaside city the choice might have been different but spending the weekend in this sleepy desert town is not an appealing option. I want to get back on the road. I saw a wearied kindness in the man's faded blue eyes and he doesn’t weigh much more than I, so I opt for the immediate fix at the risk of bodily harm.

The various horrifying scenarios that could occur play through my mind as I follow his rusted red Ford pick-up out of Tonopah. I have never allowed myself to be a victim but I am aware that I have knowingly put myself in a potentially precarious position. My gut said he is not a dangerous person, just a kind stranger who is helping me out just as I would do if I were in his position. However, as the sun drops and the highway ahead becomes increasingly darker I recall the countless reports on the news of women being raped and murdered for no apparent reason and question my choice. After driving for 20 minutes we pass a yellow sign on the highway stating “Correctional Facility Ahead- Do not stop for hitchhikers” 5 miles later, we turn onto an isolated dirt road, the surrounding desert obscure in the black of nightfall. I imagine watching this scene in a movie and know I would be talking to the screen saying

“ Are you crazy?!?! Don’t follow him down the road! Turn around, turn around, RUN!”

I do, however, have a plan. I will hide the knife somewhere where it is in close proximity to me, leave the keys in the ignition so I can make as hasty a get-away as is possible in a VW van, and will keep Macy by my side at all times. So, despite every warning alarm of common sense going off in my brain, I continue another 3 miles, eventually arriving at his house.

We pull into a clearing. In front of us, my headlights illuminate a small dilapidated building with grey vinyl siding. Beside it sits an old trailer on cinder blocks surrounded by rusted car parts and other junk in various stages of decay. I suppress the frightening similarity to a horror film backdrop. He exits his truck and enters the house. I park the Heineken facing the dirt road we came in on. A single light bulb mounted outside the front door brightens to a dull glow and he approaches me with a friendly smile.

“Ya’ know, we never even introduced ourselves. I am Jimmy” he says, extending his hand.

I exit the Heineken and walk to shake his hand

“I am Jennifer” I nervously reply, knowing that my knife and my dog are not within reach.

“I hope you didn’t mind the long drive”

“Not a big deal. Man, it sure is dark out here.” I reply.

He smiles and says, “Yeah, it’s nights like these the inmates like to escape. Over the years I have caught a few millin’ around through my junk but they usually run off as soon as I come outside.”

Barring him pulling out a hockey mask and a chainsaw, I cannot see how this can get any creepier.

“It’s too dark to find any parts now so I’ll fix your van in the morning. Are you hungry? I think I got somethin’ in the fridge I can cook up.”

My unnerving thoughts calm when I look at his gentle blue eyes, and respond

“I am, I have been on the instant food diet for 2 days, and a home cooked meal sounds great.”

“Well come on in then!” he says.

“O.k., it’s a little chilly, I just need to put on my jeans and grab a jacket.”

“Just come on in when you're done” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards the house.

I enter the van, pull the curtains closed and put on my jeans, a clean t-shirt, socks and my running shoes, stashing the knife on the inside of my calf in my tube sock. O.k., here we go. I nervously open the front door and the sweet smell of frying onions puts my olfactory senses into a delightful state of euphoria, easing some of the tension racing through me.

“ I am just fryin‘ up some onions to go with the sirloin and potatoes, you want a beer?” he says from the kitchen.

With the exception of the kitchen that sits in the tiled far corner, the walls of the small room are lined with wood paneling. Low pile maroon carpeting lies under a triangle formed by a flowered love seat, a pale blue recliner, and a small entertainment center made of black particle board, holding an old TV set and VCR.

He hands me a beer and as he cooks dinner and tells me of the various jobs he has had over the years. Maintenance man, mechanic, line cook, assembly line worker on the stealth bomber(which included various encounters with aliens.) The rumors must be true about the government having contact with aliens, I think as I musingly smile. I ask about his family, and how long he has lived here. His eyes sadden and he tells me his wife died a long time ago but he has a daughter who is 20 years old and living in California. With the mention of his daughter, the sadness in his eyes dissolve, replaced by a twinkle and a gleaming smile to match.

“ She moved to Hollywood last year, she’s goin’ to be star. I got some tapes that she sent me of some of the stuff she’s been doing. Dancin‘ and singin’ , it’s great! Want to see ‘em?“ he excitedly asks.

Watching home films of an aspiring starlet sounds considerably better than my original thoughts of being tortured and killed so I readily agree. He pops a tape into the VCR and we sit down at TV trays and the delightful home cooked meal. The tapes are pretty poor quality and the sound is distorted but Jimmy beams throughout it’s entirety, repeating

“She’s gonna be big someday, don’t ya think?”

We finish the video and I wash the dishes.

“Thank you so much for the delicious dinner and showing me the tape of your daughter. I am exhausted so I am going to bed. Knock on the van whenever you are ready to look at the engine, Good night, and thanks again.”

”No problem, it’s nice to have some company out here.”

I walk out the door where Macy is waiting patiently in the passenger seat. I let her out to use the bathroom, move the knife from my sock to the crate next to my bed, feeling completely at ease with Jimmy but still concerned about the potential for escaped convicts visiting in the night. Macy jumps in the Heineken, I slide the side door shut and twice confirm all the doors are locked. I fall asleep in no time, and enjoy a restful night without intrusion.

I wake up and take Macy down the road for a walk. When I return, Jimmy has the engine compartment open and is troubleshooting the problem.

“Go on inside and help yourself to a shower and some breakfast while I figure this out.” I walk into the house and I am greeted by the smell of freshly cooked bacon. Bacon, eggs, hash browns, and 2 pieces of toast sit on a cornet plate sitting on the gold speckled formica countertop. I am blown away by the kindness of this man. I pour some coffee and enjoy the breakfast. As I jump into the shower I hear the rumble of the Heineken starting up. After the fastest shower in human history, I speed clean the kitchen and race outside.

Jimmy smiles and says “ Well, I think I figured out the problem. You got some junk in your gas tank so it clogged up the fuel filter, and the fuel pump didn’t seem to be runnin’ so great. I replaced that with one I had. I think it’ll be o.k.”

“ I cannot thank you enough for everything, How much do I owe you?” I walk over and extend my hand.

“You don’t own me nuthin‘ I had that part sittin‘ around for years and it didn’t take me no time to put it in.” Jimmy smiles and replies.

“Please, let me pay you something.”

”Nah, it’s no big deal. Good luck to you.”

I return inside to use the bathroom and leave $20 by the kitchen sink. I know it is not much, but I wanted to give him something to show my appreciation for all of the kindness he has shown me. I return outside, get Macy loaded in the van and we make our way down the dusty road to the highway, my faith in the Heineken and humanity reinforced.

I think back on my life and while I have never done anything grandiose for anyone I have always treated people with genuine kindness and respect and helped someone if I could. I have never had the money for extravagant gestures but I have been able to do small things on the most basic of levels. Things that were greeted with a pleasant surprise or sometimes never acknowledged at all. Simple things like picking up a hitchhiker needing a lift, opening the door for people as they enter a store, patiently listening to a stranger or a friend tell a story I have heard 10 times like it was the 1st, smiling and saying thank you, treating everyone from the homeless person on the street to arrogant bosses, with a basic level of respect. I have never thought of it as building a Karma account. I never really thought about it all actually, it is just the way I was raised and it is the right thing to do. After my encounter with Jimmy I cannot help but wonder if it all those minuscule acts of kindness have added up to something, if perhaps,the universe is looking out for me on my journey.

 

 

CHAPTER 4

Four months before departing on my trip I graduated college from Northern Arizona University with a degree in Physical Education. A major decided on based on the only things I knew, sports and school. When I walked into the auditorium the statement on my mortarboard said it all. On it, I had placed, in 1 inch bright white cloth tape, “ Ski bum 2 B.” My parents were so proud. Well, not really. After the ceremony I approached them with a big smile, acting like nothing was abnormal, which really, it wasn't. “Oh Jen, now why did you have to do that!“ my Mom said in her calm, I just don’t understand you tone of voice, an appropriate tone because she really didn’t. My Dad looked at my stepmother and rolled his eyes. While my Dad and I never talked about much more than the weather he knew I was not a mainstream kind of person. Years before I commented on a TV program about someone who gained a new appreciation of life after almost dying, telling him “I wish I could get into a horrific car accident and have a near death experience so I could appreciate life more.” He looked at me perplexed but didn’t say a thing. The fact that the diploma I received would not result in a conservative and stable life should not have been a big surprise.

"The American dream” of a nine to five  job, white picket fence and 2.5 kids was never what made up my sugarplum dreams. I wanted to discover something else, to live a life outside of the insulated microcosm of college, different from the middle class American world I had grown up in. I wanted excitement, adventure, deep and genuine connections with other people, and a better understanding of myself. I received a glimpse of some things after discovering skiing and the counterculture that surrounded it. Two years before I graduated, skiing became my passion. It gave me such a pure feeling of freedom and exhilaration. The people I met at the Snobowl Ski Resort were soulful, fun, adventurous people who became my idols. I wanted to live the life they did. I wanted to be a ski bum.

The only hitch in my plan was that I did not come from a wealthy family. I was raised in a single parent household. We never had a lot of extra money but my Mom made sure there was always food on the table and a few new outfits at the beginning of the school year. I learned early on that if I wanted something I needed to earn the money to buy it. I supported myself with a full time job throughout college and would continue to do so. The $1500 I had saved for the trip was enough to get me to Alaska where I would work endless summer hours in a fishing cannery and make enough money to not have to work all winter, just ski.

I asked my current boyfriend Brian if he wanted to come along but he was ready to enter the real world and wanting to start a career as a Construction Superintendent. I was disappointed because I liked him a lot but it was clear we were in different places in our lives and so I packed the Heineken for a solo road trip. Solo, meaning no other people to share space with. Macy, my fearless two year old Springer Spaniel-Retriever mix who went just about everywhere with me would be my co-pilot and companion.

I have access to everything I needed without moving much. Behind the drivers seat are stacked milk crates packed and filled to capacity, sitting against the wall. In one, my books- classics mixed with quirky fiction by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Albert Camus, Hunter S. Thompson, and my favorite author of all time, Tom Robbins. In another are a few pieces of fruit, angel hair pasta, small packets of Parmesan cheese I had collected from Dominoes Pizza deliveries, shrimp flavored Cup-o-Noodles, instant oatmeal, and instant coffee, cooking on the road negating my general dislike of instant meals and beverages. The remaining are filled with clothing; two pairs of jeans, five pairs of shorts, five of my favorite t-shirts, two turtlenecks, three long sleeved shirts, three sweaters, ski pants, a ski jacket, a light waterproof rain jacket, a pair of running shoes, Tevas, and a pair of leather Asolo hiking boots. My mountain bike leans against the crates, leaving three by four feet of old beige carpet clutter free for access between the front seats and the elevated platform that holds my four inch foam mattress. Underneath the platform I store my backpack, a folding camp chair, a cook stove, dog food, my skis, a case of water, a case of beer, and a bottle of Grand Marnier a friend had given me as a going away present. My initial plan was to leave the following morning but now that I am packed and ready. I am unable to contain my excitement and anticipation. At 4:00p.m. I hit the road.

Author's Note

Inline reviews would be great but whatever you would like to offer will be appreciated

Reviews

[Cathy Sipprell]

"Low pile maroon carpeting lays under a triangle..." I love how you are describing everything, however I think in this instance, "lies under a triangle" would be grammatically correct. I love the philosophical issue of karma that you have brought up, and how she never really thought about "building a karma account." Finding an unexpected friend along the journey is a nice addition. Great job!