Baxter and Josh On the Run
Chapter 7.
It’s been years since I’d found myself missing anything about my father. Yet here I am, feeling a rare smile when thinking of the old man as I hear his very voice talking about ‘skedaddling on out of here’. I’d always thought that a funny word, and now I’m doing one of my own. And, I’ve got to tell you, if this particular ‘skedaddle’ was coming from my bank account we’d be hoofing it by now. This beast’s preferred beverage comes in at $3.85/gallon, and it guzzles the brew like a college freshman with a fake ID. Just across from me, stealing my focus from the somewhat surreal numbers on my own pump, was this beautiful crew cab dually 1-ton Dodge diesel pulling a stretched out camper trailer. As soon as it pulled in, two little kids took a yipping ball of black fur off to the grass shoulder and that was where Matt was now, playing in what is likely to be a field of long-traveled-dog’s poop and pee, but he was laughing with the little boy and girl as the puppy floundered in the tall grass. A particularly sharp screaming giggle had my attention and that of the gentleman serving slave duty to his own thirsty beast, but we were both soon in smiles as Matt was down on his back with a pup doing its best to lick him into submission. The little boy and girl looked on for a moment before gang piling into this swirling ball of childhood bliss. At that point, I felt it necessary to at least introduce myself to the man who allowed my hooligan to play with his kids and their aspiring attack dog.
“Hi,” I said stepping through the pumps with my hand out. “Frank. That’s my son Matt giggling madly through the face wash, there.”
“Hey,” he replied, stepping forward to grasp my hand and shake it firmly. “I’m Tom. That’s my son Joseph and daughter Jolene,” he responded in a distinctly southern drawl that made me positive someone was a Dolly Parton fan. “And, our four-footed terror, Vader.” At my raised eyebrow he clarified that his kid was a Star Wars fan.
“That’s a beautiful rig you have,” I offered, wiping the slobber from my chin as I gazed upon his truck and trailer.
“Oh, thank you. It’s a rental, though. We considered buying because the wife and I wanted to travel and see something outside of Mississippi. I mean, you would not believe how beautiful it can be there, but it can also be red mud. We want the kids to see the mountains, the ocean, and at least one city so they will never want to see another!” I laughed with him on that, being not exactly a country kid but definitely not a city lover where I always felt too crowded.
“How’s it been to pull,” I asked, admiring the truck as he gave me the nickel tour and considering the new idea of renting a trailer.
“Oh, it’s been a bit of a challenge. I grew up pulling trailers on the farm, so this is nothing new, but the wind is a consideration. A passing truck can move you if you aren’t ready for it, and when the wind comes over the fields and hits the flat of the trailer - well, I think you can imagine the pucker factor there.” Thankfully, he grinned with that last phrase because his accent was about to send me into a belly laugh of my own as he pronounced the longer words. I don’t mean to indicate a lack of intelligence by any means, just a startling change in the way words came out.
Our trusty steeds each sated and ready to continue our trek, we called the kids back to the vehicles and made our way to the building to handle the damages. Jolene chose to stay with her mom and Vader, but Joseph and Matty were shoulder to shoulder through the door to explore the many offerings of the Masteka, Iowa Kum&Go gas station.
“Dad, can I get some munchies?” Matt called over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Get me some chips or something. Whatever looks good. Oh, and a couple of teas.” With a whoop of acceptance, my munchkin made his way back to the coolers with Joseph hot on his heels, perusing his own possibilities for begging material from his father. Personally, these places make me cringe. I can’t help but to wonder just how long products have sat on the shelves as dirty hands scrounged about them. But if there is one thing a somewhat recent life and death experience has on a person, it’s a loss of concern over the little things in life.
“Didn’t know you northerners were big on tea,” Tom drawled at me as we got in line behind a couple others. As many pumps as this place has, you’d think there would be more than one register, but then that would have people moving out too fast to allow the kids time to find those things they just couldn’t live without. Looking over to Matt, I couldn’t help but smile as he juggled two big bottles of tea, a liter bottle of Dew - which made me cringe knowing he was going to be bouncing off the walls in that truck cab - and had a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos clamped securely in his mouth.
Maybe it’s the animal side of our brain, the throwback to our caveman years, but there’s an odd feeling when the natural murmur of a room slowly dies down. I was still grinning at that image of my little hunter/gatherer as I looked through my wallet, considering the use of the credit card I was just given or stick with cash, when that awareness slowly slipped into my mind. I looked up from my wallet, to see everyone staring at me. Like any red-blooded American male, first thing I checked was if my zipper was up.
“What?” I looked around to see angry eyes glaring at me and I hadn’t farted or anything! Well, not inside. Then, off in the shelving a bit where half stale crackers and overpriced cookies were, I heard a crash of plastic bottles and Matt holler out “Dad!” There was a lady, a fairly kind looking one, trying to pull him into the back area of the store.
“Matty!” I began moving towards him, thinking he’d not managed his finds so well and there was a spill or something, when two men stood in my way. I moved to go around them and they moved with me. I was slow on the uptake, but the scowls of the men facing me were unmistakable. Then Matty screamed out to me again and I heard him tell the lady to let him go. Now, I don’t know what those men thought they were going to do with their scowls, but when Matt called out again, I was on my way through them whether they liked me or not. Behind me I vaguely heard Tom saying “Now wait a minute, fellas, he just introduced himself and his son to me and my family…” but I was zeroed in on where I could hear Matty hollering, little Joseph beginning to scream for his own father. I caught a glimpse of Matty struggling with that lady when someone grabbed my arm, and another tried to lock onto the other. Reflexes built over years in less than ideal environments lead to actions before thought argues for restraint, and I put my fist backwards down low, then brought my elbow up sharply feeling something bounce off it hard. Someone got me good in the back of my head, scrambling things a bit. Spinning with the hit, I swung a haymaker with my left and had my right up and ready to let loose when I heard Tom holler again.
“Frank!” I stopped swinging. Pushing backwards, clearing away from what was in front of me, I tripped over a rack of post cards and tourist knickknacks, snapping back to my feet and kicking the collapsed stand in my panic. There was Tom. He was behind another man who I think I’d just popped with my left but looked ready for more. Tom had him by the right arm and shoulder.
“What the fuck!” I hollered, looking about wildly. “Matt! Where are you?!” Backing up quickly I saw Matty swinging desperately and pulling himself away from that lady while Joseph looked on in horror, crying and cowering in fear. Matt came running right to me, screaming out for me in terror, and launched himself into my arms. The kid moved me back a step, causing my feet to slip around on spilled postcards and whatnots. I quickly set him down behind me, cleared my feet and got my fists back up and ready. “Ok, I’m going to ask you all one more time. What. The. Fuck!?”
Tom slowly pointed to the old tube tv in the corner. There, in living hazy washed out color, were pictures of Matt and me. Well, the pic was an older pic of Matt, maybe from last year’s school pics, where he was looking considerably younger. It showed a little boy wearing a school polo and sitting backwards on a chair before a soft blue background. Even on that old washed out tv I could see his happy smile and eyes that sparkled when he held no concerns beyond why x=5 and girls were icky.
My own pic was an old prison ID when I was considerably younger, leaner and far less innocent. Underneath our pics was a running banner: “Joshua Flores kidnapped by local convicted pedophile Joseph Baxter.” I just looked on in stupid awe, the sudden silence stifling after that crashing chaos. On a barely cognizant level I felt Matt slowly take my hand, but all I could do was stare at that dusty tv as our pictures flashed under an emergency alert. Matt, thank goodness for my smart boy, in a stage whisper that easily carried through the silent store said, “Dad, who is Joshua Flores?” And, like that, the tension seemed to completely melt away from everyone in the room.
“Did any of you think to simply ask me my GOD DAMN NAME?” I thundered into the small gas station. Matt, being the consummate drama prince, reached up to me and started to cry. I picked up my boy, glaring at the three men who now thought they may have made a huge mistake. “Where’s my wallet?” I hollered into the still doubtful eyes angrily looking at me. “Where’s my FUCKING wallet?”
“Here it is, Frank,” Tom said, stooping to pick up my flayed-out wallet from the floor.
“Read the driver’s license. What’s it say? What. Does. It. Say?” I was growling at this point, pissed, scared, and really, really hoping I pulled this off.
“It says ‘Frank Brown’,” Tom said quietly.
“What!”
“It says ‘Frank Brown’!” Tom said louder, walking forward and handing me my wallet, then going to get his own son.
“Move,” I demanded, coming through the suddenly embarrassed men. I threw two $50’s on the counter and walked out holding Matty to absolute silence in the gas station. We walked slowly, Matty putting his head on my shoulder and continuing his crying jag, until I loaded him into the truck and climbed in behind the wheel. Pulling out of the lot slowly I looked back to see Tom in the doorway looking somehow both embarrassed and pissed, holding his little boy.
We drove in silence, just the slap of the pavement on old tires telling our passage. I caught a short glimpse of Matty in reflection of the passenger window, but he wasn’t speaking. I couldn’t blame him. I’d failed him, so badly did I fail him. “Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!” I ranted silently to myself, gripping the steering wheel in quiet rage. “Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.” Raw-eyed, I stared out at the road flowing before me, white lines passing in a blur. “Stupid, Stupid, Stupid,” I berated myself for being a fool. A blind, dumb fool. “Read a couple fiction books and think you know something, you dammed idiot,” I continued, pummeling the moron that I showed myself to be today.
This litany continued to run my thoughts until the setting sun shining in my eyes woke me from my flogging and convinced me to turn off the highway. Looking at the gas gauge we weren’t going a lot further in any case, so the first gas station that I came to, I pulled in, threw a cap on and went to refill. To say I was nervous is a huge understatement. Matt just shook his head when I asked him if he wanted to come inside. He still wasn’t speaking, and I still wasn’t blaming him a bit. I didn’t know how I was going to make up for my blunder, I didn’t even know if I could.
“You ok, there, son?”
“Hmm?” I asked, looking up into a pair of kindly grey eyes.
“I asked if you were ok,” repeated the elderly man, a sympathetic smile gracing his weathered face.
“Yeah,” I breathed back, more a whisper than a statement. I felt very weary, thinking Atlas got off easy. I felt purely exhausted, beaten.
“Well, I don’t mean to be in your business, but I couldn’t help but to ask since you’ve been staring at those chips for a good five minutes,” the man offered back in a quiet voice. I looked down when he nodded and saw I’d picked up a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.
“They’re my son’s favorite,” I said.
“The one in the truck out there,” the old man said, nodding toward the pumps in front of the store. At my nod, he asked, “Do you need a couple bucks to get them for him?”
“No.” I smiled at the offer, a bit embarrassed that I looked like I needed the help. “I, well, I let him down. Screwed up. He’s mad at me and I don’t really blame him.” I smiled my humility.
“Pshh! Oh that. Get used to that feeling. You are going to feel like that a lot, no matter what you do. Comes with the job,” he laughed, leaning back onto the glass doored coolers humming behind him. “And it doesn’t really go away. I’d tell you not to worry about it, but my own gray hair didn’t come from lack of worry, and yours won’t either.” I smiled sadly, wondering how age and grey hair would find me if I kept screwing things up.
“Look here, son, from one father to another: You’re going to make mistakes. But, if you love that kid, if you do your best – well, he will always love you. He may be mad at you, may even say horrible things to you,” and I saw his eyes lose a bit of light and turn inward at that.
Clapping me on the shoulder, he moved slowly back to the front counter. I continued my shopping in the surprisingly well stocked mini store, then took my selections to the counter. Ringing up my purchases, the old man smiled at me as he bagged everything up, a blue Dorito’s Cool Ranch bag on top of it all.
Pulling back onto the two-lane, I drove until darkness forced decisions I didn’t want to make. As luck would have it, a bent and faded sign for a nearby campground flared through the trees, reflections from my headlights likely the only thing making it visible through the overgrowth. Turning at an only slightly more readable sign lauding the best camping in Brown County, Nebraska, we traveled a worn two-track littered with last year’s leaves through a woods area with a bit of wetland on either side until a cinder-block building with a faded sign proclaiming it to be the office blazed back to us in the wash of the headlights. Leaving Matt to sleep, if that was indeed what he was doing because he still wasn’t looking at me, I entered the small building to see a man sitting in a corner looking at me in surprise over wire-rim glasses, a book in hand and an old dog panting at me from the carpet at his feet.
“Oh, hi,” he said.
“Um, I’m sorry. Did I come in the wrong door? Is this the office?”
Chuckling softly, the man set the book aside and pulled himself to his feet. He looked to be in his early to mid-50’s, a fair bit of belly making getting out of the chair a less simple task than it was some years earlier, I imagine, and made his way towards a desk just off to the side of the doorway with the help of a cane. The dog, a decidedly overweight but seemingly happy Australian Shepherd, quickly made his pudgy way to smell my knee, then, like all dogs do, quickly had his nose in my crotch. “Sammy be polite!” the man chided the dog, but I just laughed. Dogs will be dogs, and their noses go where they go. Not really much you can do about it. Sammy was good for a scratch behind the ears then waddled back to his rug by the chair and flopped down with a huff of overwrought breath, continuing to thump his tail on the floor. I guess I passed the sniff test.
“Welcome to Uncle Toby’s Campground,” the man grinned at me, pulling a plot book out. “We have campsites, trailer pads, and cabins…” he proclaimed, a definite sales speech “…well, yeah, one, I guess. Maybe two … no … hmmm”. He sort of wound down from his sales speech like a spent clock-work toy as he stared at the plot book before him, an introspective look on his face as he tapped a pencil off his scrubby beard.
“Thank you, Uncle Toby?” I guessed, thinking it odd to call a stranger “uncle”. “I’d like a cabin. Two beds,” I responded.
“Hmmm?” Poor man looked confused for a bit. “Oh, no, I’m not ‘Uncle Toby’, that was my uncle. Toby. He died.”
“Um, I’m sorry, it did seem...” I began, becoming unsure of just where in the hell I was. Maybe this wasn’t a good place to stop for the night. I’d barely started voicing thoughts and the man was walking over them in his oddly manic then quiet inner-looking manner. It was at once frustrating and funny to see him bouncing about.
“Ah, no bother. He was old, led a good life. Left me the campground. I was going to sell it, retire early on the proceeds. But, well, too many memories here.” The man smiled into the air above my head, the images clearly flashing behind his eyes. He shook himself a bit, smiled a genuine smile at me and stuck out his hand. “Brian Fray, owner, operator, handyman and chief bottle washer, at your service. Welcome to Brown’s Holler Campground. Least that’s what I think Uncle Toby called it. Been a bit ...” He seemed to wind down into introspection again, then shook himself. “Well, how long will you be here and how many in your party?”
I couldn’t help but grin at the in and out of this man. He seemed like a nice guy if a bit distracted. “Frank Br…,” I started, only be interrupted again.
“Frank, great,” Brian said, penciling me in on his ledger.
“Um, yeah. Uh, there’s just my son and me. I’d like a two-bedroom cabin.”
“Yeah, um … well, no. Well, I have a two-bed cabin, but well, no. It’s not … well, no. I have a one bed cabin I can get you?” I had to chuckle at the hopeful smile.
“Ok, I guess. Why not a two bed?” I asked.
“Well, you have to understand, Uncle Toby was getting up there in age when he died. He wasn’t caring for the place as he used to. He just managed to keep this office/home going and the one cabin I used when I came to visit now and again. I should have come more often. You know how it is. Got busy. Mostly doing nothing. So, yes, there are two-bedroom cabins, but they need a lot of work before they could take a guest.”
I nodded my understanding. “Ok, do you prefer cash or charge?” I asked.
“Oh, I do prefer cash. Yes. Um … $40 a night?”
I grinned. “Are you asking me or telling me,” I chuckled.
“Well, I’ve only been here about a month, myself, and you’re my first guest,” Brian grinned abashed. “Let’s take a look at the place and you let me know if you like it, then we can go from there. Come on, I’ll grab my cart and we can go open it up.” Reaching up, he grabbed a faded key fob and key from a dusty rack, then put his big mitt on my shoulder and steered me out the door, whistling for Sam on the way out. “Tell you honest, Frank, you are the first and only person I’ve talked to for a month, outside the checkout girl, and she wasn’t much for conversation. I could use the company. But I think you’ll like the cabin.” He was right.
Matt woke up when I got back into the truck and looked at me curiously as I followed Brian’s golf cart down the overgrown two track road with the dog happily romping as best as it could, my headlights providing the only illumination. In just a bit we pulled up in front of a small cabin, probably about 25 feet to a side, covered porch on the front with a couple of chairs leaned against the wall. Brian went to open things up, turn on the lights, open the windows… it was slightly dusty, but not bad. It had an open floor plan, bed in the back, kitchen and table in front, with a small bathroom holding a toilet, sink and shower with little space for anything else. Matt stumbled to the bed and curled up, going back to sleep. I told Brian I’d take it. We agreed on $100 for a week – he didn’t need the money, and that would cover the expenses.
I brought in what we would need immediately and a blanket for Matty. Lifting him off the bed, I put the blanket down one handed and set him in the middle of it. Removing his shoes and pants, I wrapped the blanket around him, watching him curl into it, then went out to sit on the porch. The stars were out, and I could see them shining off the surface of a small lake. Didn’t see that there was a lake when I drove in. Nice. I didn’t know what I was going to do, how I was going to do it, or even where I was going to do it. But I somehow had to do better than I had.
I was watching the sky lighten for the morning when I heard Matt stirring. “Dad?” he called out quietly.
“Out here, buddy.” Matt came out, the blanket wrapped around him, and struggled up into my lap. I guess I was forgiven, somewhat. Remembering what that old man at the gas station said, I pulled him into me, wrapping my arms around him as he snuggled in. “I love you, son,” I said. I think he heard me. He was soon asleep, if he ever really woke up, and all I could think was that this is what life was supposed to be about. Sitting there in the dawn of morning, holding Matty as he slept, was one of the best moments in my life. It soon changed; all things do. But I’ll forever remember that moment.
I don’t know if I dozed a bit, more likely my minded wandered off without me, but I came to feeling Matty struggling a little in my lap. Initially I thought he just wanted down but I soon realized he was having a nightmare. “Mmm. Mmmmmm,” he murmured. Not knowing what to do, I just squeezed him gently, doing my best to let him know he was loved.
“Mmmm. Ssssorrrrry,Mmmmmm,” he continued. I tried to gently rock him, shush him a bit. It didn’t work. “MMMMmmm!” he called out. Then, just when I thought he was starting to come back down he screamed, “Mommmmmeeeeeee!” and lost control of his bladder, soaking us both and snapping upright on my lap. Looking around frantically, eyes wide and breathing hard, he finally found my face and his own lost all cohesion. The poor boy began to cry in a misery I’d not heard since his mother had been shot and lie dying on my floor. “I’m sorry, Momma,” I heard him whisper.
“Hey. Shhhhh. You’re ok, I’m here. You’re ok,” I tried to comfort. His only response was a hitch in his breathing and a nose snuffle. “Do you want to tell me about your dream, Matty?” I asked.
“No,” he whispered.
“Are you sure? I’m a good listener,” I offered, rubbing his back through the blanket. He just nodded his head in my neck. I could feel him playing with my chest hair, just idly fidgeting like little boys do to keep their hands busy. I was trying to think past it because it was feeling rather nice, but I wanted to keep my mind on task.
“I guess I just, well, what I did …”
“I don’t understand, Matt,” I said, fully stymied.
“What I said.” He became quiet, snuggling deeper into my chest and neck. I was still confused and told him so. “I said, at the gas station, I said, uhm, ‘who’s Joshua Flores’,” he whispered into my neck, beginning to shake. “It was like I shot her myself. I denied being her son. I denied being her so-o-o-n-nn…,” he whispered, crying softly.
“Oh, my boy. That was my fault, not yours. You saved the day, and your mom knows that,” I said, stroking his back. “Wherever she is, looking down on us from above, she knows that when you did that you saved us both, and she understands.” The hiccups were back, poor kid. “That was my fault. I was foolish. I didn’t plan for what would happen when they put our pictures on the TV. I just didn’t think, honey,” I whispered, admitting to this poor child just how inept of a protector I’ve shown myself to be. “I’m sorry I failed you.” The resulting silence seemed so very damning to my mind then, and all I could think to do was to slowly rock back and forth holding Matt through his torment while my own never abated.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, buddy,” I responded.
“When did we get a lake?”
I chuckled. “Surprised me, too, buddy. It showed up sometime last night as I was sitting here, staring off at the stars. Maybe someone heard how you like to swim and put one here just for you,” I kidded him, giving his ribs a tickle.
He giggled. Ticklish ribs. “It’s nice,” he said, wiggling about to escape the rib digging.
“Dad?”
“Yeah, buddy,” I said, quietly.
“I’m all wet. Did I pee?” Matt asked, whispering.
“Yeah, but I have a fix for that,” I said, kissing his forehead. Standing up, I toed-off my shoes and, cuddling Matty to my chest, I walked towards the lake as he looked at me questioningly. Wading in, I saw him begin to get nervous, looking about and clutching my neck in a death grip. Smiling my best, mischievous grin, I fell backwards into the water to shrieks of surprise. We laughed with each-other, shattering Brian’s peacefully quiet campground morning coffee time, splashing and playing in the wonderfully warm summer water. Being fully clothed, it felt like I was pulling a Buick around the water with me, but Matty was just in his underpants and slipped around like a little otter laughing at my clumsiness.
Wading back in, dragging his soggy blanket behind him, Matt’s FTL’s were all but transparent. I was peeling off my jeans in the shallows, my own drawers tangled into the near impossible to remove pant legs, leaving my pecker swinging in the wind and me fighting for balance. I looked up to see Matt had dumped his now very sandy blanket on the ground and turned back towards me, laughing at my obvious distress. Looking past him at quick movement, I saw a boy staring back at me with wide eyes. He was peeking around the corner of the cabin, his jaw unhinged and hanging, one hand hiding near his concealed waistline. “Ooops,” I thought, just before Matty hit me with a perfect shoulder tackle and put me under water again.
TBC