c. 2026 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-26)
When Parker Redman awakened from his episode of drunkenness and guilt, the garage had turned unbearably cold. The single propane cylinder fueling his shop heater had run empty. With fumbling hands, and groggy eyes, he disconnected the empty tank and found a new one to serve as its replacement. Then, sat before the active flame rail, and warmed himself. After a few minutes, he had stopped trembling. This made it possible to think about heating up water for instant coffee. Something that he hoped would help to clear his head of the throbbing gained from an evening spent drowning sorrows.
The wind outside was still brutally cold. Though it appeared to have stopped snowing. He gazed through a small, square window that faced downhill, and saw deer tracks meandering over the white landscape. A telltale sign that while he had been abandoned by his cousin, at least temporarily, nature remained close and attentive. It was enough to break his mood of isolation for the moment. Yet with a January chill in effect, breaking free would not be possible for weeks to come. He could only watch the blustery wrath of Mother Nature, asserting dominance. And engage in fantasies of riding his Shovelhead chopper out of the roll-up door, and onto the main route through town.
He had managed to swig a full mug of the reconstituted flavor crystals, when a rattle of mechanical energy shook the walls of his hut. Outside, a yellow, Jeep Wrangler spinning its knobby, oversized tires appeared from below the ridgeline. The vehicle spat exhaust fumes and frozen debris, while drawing closer. Then, it slid into the narrow drive, and came to rest pointing sideways.
Krista Pearl cheered and thumped on her steering wheel. Her head blazed with red braids, flinging themselves in a defiant dance of feminine style.
“FEESHTAIL! GAWDAMN IT, DUDE, YOU’VE BEEN IN THAT SHACK FER LONG ENOUGH! IT WOULDA DRIVEN ME STIR CRAZY BY NOW! Y’ALL MUST BE HURGRY FER A HOME COOKED MEAL AND A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP. C’MON BOY, DON’T ARGUE WITH ME! JUMP YER ASS IN MY RIG, AND LET’S GO! THERE’S ANOTHER STORM COMIN’ I HEAR, YA WILL BE FROZEN IN THERE LIKE A SIX-PACK OF RED, WHITE & BLUE POPSICLES!”
Parker was still only half awake. But his mood had softened after passing out on the concrete floor. His bones ached from the abuse. And his ability to focus on details had been compromised.
“Geez, woman, I never thought you’d come out here again! There’s something wrong with a lady that can’t give up on an argument. Don’t you get it? I’m not looking for companionship. As a matter of fact, I’m not looking for anything at all, except a chance to hit the road again, and be gone!”
His femme pursuer stood in the doorway, dripping melt from her knee-high boots.
“Look, I’m not tryin’ to play y’all fer benefits. Ain’t ya figured that out yet? But I know ya gotta be lonely up here on this hillside. Maybe not fer kissin’ and cuddlin’ - but I bet more so fer a hot meal and a real shower. It’s no fun to be stuck in a hole fer the winter. And I’m bored as hell with watchin’ soap operas and doin’ crossword puzzles. I need to dote on somebody else. Ya understand? That wife-and-momma thing don’t go away just because yer ol’ man went to jail, and yer kid left the nest. It’d make me feel a whole lot more useful to help somebody instead of mopin’ around my kitchen. Y’all need a break, and so do I, buddy!”
The biker reddened with embarrassment from her candid confession. He had never heard someone speak so plainly about being in charge of a household.
“It’s righteous of you to state your case firmly and freely, ma’am. I’ll give credit where it’s due. I’ll give you plenty of credit for that. Your offer turns my head, I’ll admit it. But I figure in a day or two, maybe a little more, my habits would grate on your nerves. I’m not so personable without a drink in my hand. Actually, I’m very shy. Nobody believes that, of course...”
Krista snorted with the nasal intensity of a wild filly.
“BULLSHIT! I MIGHTA THOUGHT OF YA AS MANY THINGS, BUT BEIN’ SHY AIN’T ONE OF ‘EM! ANYHOW, IT DON’T MATTER. WE NEED EACH OTHER RIGHT NOW! DON’T DENY IT, WE’RE BOTH KINDA STUCK IN A RUT. I DON’T LIKE IT, AND Y’ALL MUST BE FEELIN’ THE SAME WAY! WE CAN DO GOOD FER EACH OTHER! SO, LOAD YER DUFFEL BAG IN MY JEEP, AND LET’S GET ROLLIN’!”
Parker frowned and gritted his teeth. The truck-stop clerk was undeniably correct. By some quirk of fate, they had intersected at a fortuitous time. Neither one of them had a feeling of fulfillment with things as they were, at least for the moment. By sharing their discomfort, they could both engage in a period of rest and healing. But to gamble on that possibility made him uncomfortable. His own history as a wrecker of relationships remained a potent force. He could never sit still for long. Eventually, the wanderlust always took over his brain. The need to be perpetually in motion, as his father was, traipsing from congregation to congregation, preaching the gospel, was part of his native DNA. He could not change that fact, for any reason.
“Okay, here’s my take on striking a bargain. Maybe there’s some logic to what you’ve said. We could provide comfort for one another right now. No promises, no vows, no ties that bind. Just a couple of lost souls coming together. I guess that’s no big leap of faith. But let me put down one stack of chips on the poker table. I’ve been restless lately, more than usual. Which is an achievement, as I’m always out of my head, and ready to break down fences, wherever they stand! There’s a tick under my skin. It keeps biting at me. I don’t know why, or where it’ll lead. But there’s something I’ve got to do, while waiting for this seasonal hibernation to pass...”
The waitress and dancer nodded, shrugged, and sighed in succession. Then, threw up her hands. She was willing to agree with almost anything.
“Name it Feesh! Name it and we can do it!”
The motorcycling loner bowed his head, as if saying a prayer.
“For papa, and my family... I want to go back to church.”
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