Tripping with Trevor Part III

Part 3

Keystone is a cheap beer, and Keystone Ice is somehow even cheaper. Having all the drinking experience of an 18-year-old boy, I woke up with the Keystone headache. It was a new day with the same problems that we had gone to bed with. We had no money or food, and the Power Wagon needed gas. We needed to find these chicks sell some weed, and make our way back to Clarkston. We headed back to main street (if you could call it that) to use the pay phone and try to call these girls again. Nobody was answering the phone. That was it. We were out of options and decided to pack up it up and head back to the valley. The boys had smoked a significant amount of weed, and my mood was soured thanks to the rot gut beer vice grip on my brain. We headed out of the abyss of Mesa, Washington, and headed east along the two-lane country road that would take us back to our hometown. I was watching the needle of the gas gauge move closer to the right side of the panel. The speed limit was 55 on the highway, but I drove between 45 to 50 and put it in neutral anytime the nose of the beast was pointed down.

There were no more towns where we could pull in and set up a little marijuana farmers market to peddle our weed. I don't think Trevor and Wade were too concerned because they just kept smoking the product and their problems away. I was wound tight about the whole situation, which is still a problem I carry with me today.

During the summer of my sophomore year, I worked on my girlfriend's grandparent's ranch. I had a little bit of experience working on a farm, and there were farms as far as the eye could see. The Dodge began to sputter, so I pulled into a farm and took the long road to the house. The farm owner was outside working on a piece of his equipment. Since these farmers live miles from the nearest gas stations or towns, they have their own fuel pumps. I told the man of our problems and offered labor in exchange for gas. He looked at me and smiled. I don't know if he smiled at me because I was offering to work for gas or if he was amused by my stupidity.

Maybe a little bit of both. He asked whose ranch I had worked on, and I told him. He said, "I know Ed. He's a good man." The farmer asked me how much fuel I thought I needed to get home. I was so dumb and naive back then. I knew absolutely nothing about nothing. I had no idea how much gas I needed to get back to the valley. I responded with a couple of gallons. He said that it was fine and he would just give us the fuel. He probably looked at the dinosaur of a truck and knew exactly how much fuel we needed to get back to the valley. I told him only a few gallons, partly because I was naive but also because I wasn't comfortable taking anything from these old farmers. They had worked on this land for generations. Their farm equipment was so old that the tools needed to fix the equipment weren't in production anymore, so they had to take care of the tools or make their own. The man had me pull up to the pump. He pumped in a few gallons and sent us on our way. I can imagine him laughing as we pulled off, thinking, "well, if they play their cards right, they might just make it to the valley." Not out of spite, of course, but because there was a lesson he was trying to teach us. I could've asked for more. He most likely knew it wouldn't be enough to get where I was going. Maybe he wanted me to have this experience about overcoming pride and asking for what you needed. There was a lesson to be learned, I'm not sure what it was, but I drove away with an appreciation for the rancher that I carry with me to this day.

I drove, and the boys smoked. I was happy about having scored some gas. I wished a little bit that the man would've made us work. I wished that I had asked for more gas. We were still an hour or so away from home, and I knew there was no way we would make it all the way there. The truck would run out of gas on the outskirts of town in the middle of the prairie. There was one last tiny farm town on the way into Clarkston called Pomeroy. The Ruark family has a farm in Pomeroy that has been in the family for over 100 years. I don't know much about those Ruarks, so there wasn't any sense of me seeking out family there. We started to see the signs for Pomeroy when Trevor had an epiphany.

"You guys remember Maggie?"

Maggie wasn't her name, but I've changed it here. I think she has passed away now. As I describe the next events, I want to premise with the fact that I had known Maggie for a long time before this moment. I'm not speaking ill of her here, just what I remember. Maggie was a nice sweet girl, just promiscuous. I believe she was this way because of something that happened to her in her childhood. I only think that now after having some time to reflect on it when telling you this story. If not, who cares? Maybe she just liked sex like the rest of us horny teenagers did.

It was a bit of a dumb stoner proclamation because, of course, we remembered Maggie. Many guys that we knew remembered Maggie. Trevor, Wade, and I had hung out with Maggie many times. I had known her since grade school. She was a year or two younger than us and had lived in a trailer for as long as I can remember. Maggie was what we referred to as "training wheels." She was, for a lot of guys their first go at sex. She wasn't pretty, so admitting that you had sex with her in the small town that I lived in was social suicide. Which is sad. That's what life is like in a small town.

There was one night I had the chance to lose my virginity to her. Trevor, Wade, and I had snuck out and met her and some of her friends at Maggie's trailer. For one reason or another, her mom wasn't home, or maybe she was. I can't remember. I was in her room which was a plywood partition set up in the trailer painted black with glitter on the walls. Wade was in another room hooking up with her friend, and I think Trevor was on the couch because, well, Trevor wasn't lucky with the ladies. I was super horny, and Maggie and I messed around. She pulled out a vibrator which surprised me.

We were just teenagers. She played with it in front of me, and then she let me use it on her. I wanted to lose my virginity. But I was afraid of the social repercussions if anyone found out. Then she told me the names of the guys that had lost their virginity to her. I was surprised. Some of these guys were my friends and had good standing in the social pecking order. They had never mentioned that they had slept with Maggie to me. I'm glad that we didn't go all the way. I didn't succumb to her siren song or her experience. As far as I know, she kept the secret of our playing around, and I respect her for her discretion. Yes, I remember Maggie very fondly, and I still do. She was a nice girl and a good friend to girls who did not deserve that level of loyalty or friendship.

Apparently, Maggie lived in Pomeroy now with her mom in a trailer on the outskirts of the small town. Maggie and her mom smoked weed, so the new plan was to sell them some weed, buy gas, cruise into town, and leave this road trip behind us. We were almost home. I pulled into the trailer park and up to the trailer. Maggie and her mom came out to greet us. We made some small talk, and everyone except for me went inside the trailer. I was still hungover a little irritated, and I did not want to sit in the secondhand smoke because I knew I would end up smoking, and I was trying to stay clean since my shipping orders could come in any day.

I sat outside, looking the truck over and taking solace in my solitude. After an hour went by, my irritation started to manifest into anger. I was the buzzkill of the trip. I wish I would've just went with the flow. I wished I had just smoked weed and gone for the ride. Instead, I stormed inside the smoke-filled trailer to find Trevor sitting in a chair, Wade sitting between Maggie and her mother with his hands down both of their pants, rubbing their pussies. They were all stoned to the bone, laughing and carrying on. The open door behind me let the light burst in, and they squinted up at me. The laughter stopped. They looked at me as if they had all been caught. It was the first time in my life that I would act like my father and scold all of them. I would love to tell this story differently and say that I got stoned too, and Wade and I had a foursome with Maggie and her mom while Trevor watched. That might make for a better story. But I didn't. I told Trevor and Wade to get outside and then looked at Maggie's mom and said, "Are you going to buy some weed or what?" I knew a little bit about Maggie's mom, and from what I knew, I did not like her nor trust her, and I felt bad for Maggie that she was living with her in a trailer in a town with no stoplights. What was going on was quite clear to me. Maggie and her mom wanted to smoke for free, and that shit wasn't happening on my watch. All Maggie's mom could pony up was five dollars. I don't think I gave them any weed. I told them that the five bucks were for the weed they smoked. Trevor and Wade came outside with their heads down.

Five dollars. We were hungry and thirty minutes from the valley. Back then, it felt like hours. There was one gas station in Pomeroy. I pulled in, handed the money to Trevor, and told him to put three on gas and two on snacks. I heard the pump come to life, put the nozzle in the tank, and squeezed the trigger. The numbers ticked away at a rapid-fire pace. No sooner had I pulled the trigger; than the numbers started to slow down right after a dollar ticked by. "No fucking way." I thought. There was no way that Trever put two dollars on gas and three dollars on snacks, there was no way. But this was Trevor. I gave Trevor the money. Why? I gave a guy who did this type of shit on a regular basis and who was higher than Willie Nelson the last bit of money we had and expected him to perform a menial task. Trevor wasn't at fault. I was to blame. The numbers slowed to a crawl and stopped at $2.00. Barely two gallons of gas in a Dodge Power Wagon, 4x4. Trevor and Wade came out, already eating the Funyons and Cheetos they had bought. I was speechless. I was tired. I was hungover. I was hungry. I snatched the Funyons from Trevor's hand and did not share with either. We hopped in the truck and drove the remaining thirty minutes home.

We cruised in on fumes to my girlfriend's house near Clarkston's western border. Her parents smoked weed, and we were able to get them to buy a dime bag for ten bucks. Trevor assured me that the money would go into the tank of the truck. As far as I knew then, that was one of the stipulations of his dad letting us take the truck that we provide the gas to and from Mesa. At that point, I relinquished my duty as driver, Wade and Trevor left, and I stayed at my girlfriend's house.

A few weeks later, Trevor called me and told me that his dad was pissed and threatening to press charges against us for stealing the car. I don't remember the conversation that we had, but it eventually led to Wade and I sitting in the kitchen at Trevor's grandmother's house while Trevor's dad made accusations and threatened us with the future of our lives. Mr. Jacks knew his son better than we did, so I think he believed us but wanted to make us sweat. He was warning us without saying as much about hanging out with Trevor. My future, along with Wades, hung on the hope of joining the military and getting out of the valley. Mr. Jack's accepted our apologies. This is the last good memory I have of Trevor.

I think about it now how uptight I was during the trip. How I was trying to avoid trouble but at the same time taking other risks that might have destroyed my future. We were just boys on our own for the first time. Driven by our young lust for women and adventure. More than anything, I wish I had a recording of our conversations on that trip. We had just graduated high school and were in the void between our pasts and futures. The road trip for Wade and me was a springboard that would plunge us into a life of world travel that we are still on today. The trip for Trevor was possibly the last innocent one he would ever have. This is the last memory I have of Trevor though I'm sure there were others before I left for Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego a few months later in December. My next one was coming home on boot leave in February of 1996 to see my friends. I went to the school and visited Mr. Jacks in my uniform. I wanted to show him that I had made good on his forgiveness. He asked me if I wanted to visit Trevor. He told me I could find him at the Nez Pierce county jail.

Mental illness and bad decisions plague Trevor to this day as he sits waiting for arraignment on a litany of charges. Some pretty bad charges that you can look up if you're curious. But in the summer of 1995, we were a couple of friends on the road who had grown up together in a small town. We shared a lifetime of memories with each other and had no idea where we were going and what it would take to get there. Sometimes the journey is about getting there, and sometimes the journey is just that, the journey.