Chapter Three The charm

I wake up in a sweat, the sun is beating down on me through the open window. I look next to me and my girl is still sleeping. Quietly I i kiss her forehead and light up a cigarette, walk out of the room. My house was littered with beer bottles, whiskey bottles, opened pizza boxes left most the way full of pizza. I walk out onto the porch and see Jason sitting on the railing smoking a cigarette. 

"Rough Night" He asked as i sat next to him.

"It's been a rough 4 years," I replied. 

"ahh" 

It was nice having company. Strictly a business friendship, but we always had each others backs. It was nice to have someone who didn't ask a whole lot of questions, or ask "why" all the time. Just to have someone to chill with, crack jokes, get drunk with. That to me is a true friend. Family, are the ones who care about how you are feeling, what your doing, are you happy; when friends are like "did you see that chick i fucked last night". Friends are as still important as family. In my mind that is. 

Jason and I sat and talked about random subjects and cracked dirty jokes. My dad pulls up to the side of the porch and gets out of his fancy white truck.

"well aren't you fancy? Big nice truck, button up shirt"

He Chuckles. "Better than that piece of s**t car. This truck will out run that any day."

"Try it old man ha ha". 

"Hey i came by to steal you for a few hours. We are going out to get you a real truck."

I looked at him in question, looked at jason. His Face was more  confused than a W***e in communion. I walked into the house and grabbed some cash, put it in an envelope and hid it in my jacket pocket. "I'll catch you later bro. Hold down the fort."

My dad starts driving into the outskirts of Salt Lake City. It was a pretty silent drive. Old rock music playing at a comfortable volume, and just the company of my father sitting next to me. It was all i could ask for. I haven't spent much time with him. We had small problems growing up. We became pretty distant but i still enjoy the time being spent together.

"So whats the deal with me getting a real truck" I ask?

"Well kid, you've had that old school pete for some time now, you are very talented when you drive. You know, I don't really know what you are doing much anymore and i can suspect it ain't good. I can see you are struggling ever since, well you know." He looked out his window and paused. "I want you to be able to do something you love, be safe doing whatever you are doing, and be happy. I have some work for you to do, and I Don't know how reliable that truck of yours is going to be."

My father hasn't spoken to me like that in 15 years. I don't know if he suspects what i have been up to the last while or it drives him crazy that he just doesn't know and he is worried. Kinda makes me feel bad.

"What kind of work do you have going on, pops?" I asked

"Flatbed work. Need you to haul to Boise twice a week. Some of these projects we are making, well they are a royal b***h to strap and secure safely. I know you can do it, your my boy, you can work hard, and get the job done."

We drive in silence for another 15 minutes. "So what's it going to be, Freightliner, Mack, volvo." I glare at him and chuckle. "Peterbilt it is.