Tripping with Trevor Part II

Road trip part 2

If you are just joining me, then I recommend you go back here and read this post. If you love spoilers, then forge on ahead.

There are certain moments in life that I remember watching in horror. This was one of those events where time slowed down for me. I heard the tailgate slam down. I looked into the rearview mirror and watched the oddly square-shaped nylon blue duffle bag slide out of the bed and come to a stop smack dab into the middle of the intersection. I stopped the truck, threw the flashers on, and ran to collect the bag that slightly resembled a 24-pack of Keystone Ice. (What? I was eighteen, and Keystone Ice was like $5 for a 24-pack.) The cop flipping on his lights and pulling into the intersection all happened simultaneously. My heart was racing. I was on a suspended sentence that hinged on me joining the Marine Corps. I sprinted to the bag before the cop got out of the car. I chucked the bag in the back and started slamming the shit out of the tailgate, making sure that it wouldn't do again. Trevor and Wade thankfully stayed in the truck with their seatbelts on. The cop was cool, and I was like, "Holy crap, I'm so sorry I didn't shut the gate very well. We're going camping it's my first solo trip." The cop was cool. He smiled at me and said, "Calm down, you're not in trouble. Take your time and get there safe alright." He knew. He had to have. Sometimes small-town cops remember what it was like to grow up in a small town.

We were so lucky. I don't know what the laws were like back then, but I'm guessing we might have had enough weed and criminal history to get pegged with intent to sell. The rest of the drive was beautiful and somewhat uneventful. At some point, Trevor and Wade hopped in the back of the truck to get stoned. Fine by me. I was enjoying the open road. It was my first time driving solo across the country. I felt big. I felt free with nothing but green farm fields in front of me and the modern rock station belting out hits like Blackhole Sun, Creep, and Hunger Strike. Trevor and Wade were hotboxing the shit out of the back, though. Laughing and carrying on. I began to get a little jealous. Thinking that they would smoke all that weed. Those bastards. Hanging out back there, all comfortable with blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows. I wish I could hang out in the back and get stoned.

The topper on the back of the truck had little cabinets that lined the sides. I looked in the review and saw that they were going through them looking for food. I mentioned before that this old beast of a truck had about an inch of play in the steering wheel. What that means is that you can turn to the left or the right for an inch, and the wheels do nothing, the car does not steer. At first, it feels very dangerous, but once you get used to it, you barely notice. Bringing my eyes back to the road, I had drifted slightly right, so I gave a quick bump to the steering wheel to get back in the line, not a lot, just a little. The input I gave caused the great big truck to turn sharper than I expected, and Trevor, who was on his knees going through one of the cabinets, slammed face-first into the cupboard and fell to the bed. Wade busted out laughing, and I started laughing.

They were so stoned I don't think they realized it was me. Unphased, Trevor got up and started rat fucking the cabinets again. I gave the steering wheel a little nudge but, this time, sent him flying across the bed into the other side. Instead of going back through the cabinets, they settled down for another smoke session. About thirty minutes later, they forgot about the danger of searching for snacks, and they both picked up the search for sustenance. How dare those bastards try to find food without me. I was hungry too. This time I put a lot of input into the steering wheel, bouncing their heads off the wooden structures, they tried to get up, and I sent them flying. I was in control. I cranked up the radio and locked the back sliding glass window as I shook them up in the back like a jar of ants. They were trying to crawl to the window. Now I was stomping on the brakes, turning the wheel. Launching them all over the place, slamming into windows and the wheel wells. It wasn't funny for them anymore. They were annoyed. They got the hint, I pulled over, and they got back in the front with me. We drove on into nothing, lush green beautiful nothing.

Growing up in Washington state, I never explored the state much. I had been to Seattle during the 1989 Centennial, and I had been to Spokane several times, but the state was as alien to me as Europe. I had never heard of Mesa, Washington, but I expected it to be like my little town of Clarkston or the neighboring smaller town of Asotin, which has one gas station and one mom-and-pop restaurant. As we pulled into Mesa, I quickly realized what a "one horse town" actually looked like. I can't even remember if we had these girls' addresses or if the houses had numbers because nobody had a mailbox. It was a farm town of the smallest order. There was a small grocery store but no gas station as I remember it though I could be wrong.

We did have one of the girl's numbers, and we found a pay phone and tried calling them. I think Trevor was able to get ahold of them, but we couldn't get them to meet us or find out where they lived. Exactly what I knew deep down was going to happen. These girls played Trevor. They played a little game. The town was so small we figured we could drive through every inch of it and spot these chicks. So we did. We drove through every inch of the place and found no one. We even hung out in front of the post office, figuring they would have to check the mail at some point. They didn't. It was getting late, and we were hungry. I spent the last couple of bucks that I had on food. By food, I mean some chips and beef jerky. We drove to the school and parked behind it on the playground. We were still hopeful as we gave excuses for why the meet-up failed. We figured we would meet up with them the next day. We had to meet up with them the next day. We had to meet up with someone and sell some weed because we were out of money, and the Dodge was damn near out of gas.

I wish I could remember what we talked about that night under the stars. It was a nice night. It was cool. The stars shined bright because we were in the middle of nowhere. Trevor and Wade smoked weed, and I pounded Keystone Ice. It was quiet except for the wind and us carrying on. We weren't down and out. We were hopeful for what tomorrow might bring. We weren't broke. We still had weed, even though the boys were smoking their way through it pretty quickly. Though we were subsisting off of funyons and junk food, I don't remember being hungry. I think about that night, and I remember being content. After everything that had happened, I remember talking, chasing each other around, wrestling, laughing, and eventually falling asleep under the stars on the playground of some random schoolhouse in the middle of nowhere western Washington. No money, a gas-guzzling truck, a little weed, and my two best friends.