Rubbish Day (part 4)

Rubbish Day
(part 4)
by Thadd Presley



He pulled close to the ledge and got out. The view took his breath away. Never did he realize how deep the quarry actually was. There was no wonder why his mother begged him not to swim there. It lookedto be nearly 400 feet deep.

 He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door. While he whistled a tune, he retrieved his pistol from the glove compartment.He didn’t think there were predators near and even if they were he didn’t believe they would attack him. But, just in case, he slid the gun into his waist band at the small of this back.

 then walked nearer the edge, still whistling.

Already the stress of the road was leaving him. A tiny echo of his own whistling came back to his ears and he smiled.

Peace, he thought, was anywhere you looked for it.

Then,a car horn blared behind him. He jumped and feared he would lose his balance. He was too close to the edge.

He heard laughter and without turning around, he knew the boys in the Honda had followed him.

A moment passed before he turned to faced the two boys who had began walking toward him.

“Better watch your step old man,” called the taller red-headed driver.

“Yeah,” his passenger seconded.

Jerald noticed the face of the driver. It was red and twisted by rage.

 Thecar! Where was it?

The boys stopped fifteen feet away. The were spoiling for a fight and weren’t going to stop until they found one.

Adrenaline flooded Jerald’s veins and fire filled his brain. Fucking punks, he thought. He hit the steering wheel with his palm. “I’ll not be fucked with today, thank you very much. Now, we had fun on the road,but this funny.”

The Honda’s passenger laughed. The driver looked hard at Jerold, but he was not as amused as his friend.

Jerald walked closer to his car.

“What you doing grandpa?”

Jerald wasn’t sure which asked him, but he didn’t answer back. Seemed today was a special day for punks. They thought they owned the road and wanted all their question answered.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Jerald turned and saw it was the red-haired boy speaking. He wasn’t any closer, but it looked like he was.

Nervously clasping his hands behind him, he felt the cold metal in his waste band. It calmed him a bit. He wasn’t going to let a pair of punks intimidate him. Especially after they put people’s lives in danger,his Porsche in danger, and followed him deep into a secluded,dangerous quarry.

Perhaps,they thought they could just do anything they wanted and get away with it.

Not today, Jerald thought. They weren’t getting away with anything.

No one was getting off easy today.

Today, we will all get our fucking reward.

They did exactly as he’d thought they would. They began to walk toward him, in an attempt to intimidate him. And in many ways, it should have been frightening. They were younger. He was a middle-aged,balding man who couldn’t fight worth a piss and had no chance to beat them in a fair fight. His belly stood out a bit too far and he didn’t have the breath he once did. But Jerold McCleary wasn’t afraid.He’d realized recently that he wasn’t scared of anything anymore.

He’d been Mr. Nice Guy for far too long, but somehow he knew Mr. Nice Guy was on his way out.

He was going to be in control of his destiny from this day forward, instead of going with the flow.

Assholes,especially assholes like these, were used to pushing people around.They expected everyone to cower in fear because that’s what people usually did when confronted by a unified front. They had forgotten how easily bullies crumble to the strong and courageous. They needed someone to step into place and do what they were too afraid to do themselves.

More and more, recently, Jerold had been thinking of the world and the pitiful state it was coming to. He was prepared to act on his instincts an create a new life for himself and his loved ones. It had become painfully obvious to him that the world needed someone with guts, someone with a pair of balls. There was just no other choice to make.

He had to do what was required of him. If not for his family, then he must do it for all the other struggling families in the world.

It would make the world a better place.



Copyright Thadd Presley — All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Rubbish Day (part 3)

Thadd Presley

They were racing side by side, nearly eighty, west-bound on Crossville Highway towards the community of Deer Ledge when the Honda’s wheels lost traction and spun the car into the shoulder. It began to fish-tale wildly.

Jerald’s heart leaped into his chest.

 Just when it seemed the G-forces was going to take the car into a roll, a stroke of remarkable luck sat the car down hard. It swerved back into traffic, not far behind Jerald.

That was close enough for Jerold. He slowed to a normal speed and put his mind back on the task at hand. How this had gotten out of control, he didn’t know. But, it had gone too far and nearly ended the very important visit to his daughter’s new house in Crossville.

The visit was already going to be a bad situation and require a good helping of courage and decisive action. He was imperative he remained clear-headed. Not a word of his introduction could be out of character or his daughter would suspect his motives before he got the chance to fix her situation once and for all.

Once and for all, he thought.

Yes.

ONCE because it was only going to take one time; and, FOR ALL, because he was doing it for everyone’s benefit.

Tears blurred his vision, as the thought of his daughter and possibly the shock of the near accident washed over him.

This was the reason he couldn’t get sidetracked. Any emotion would give him away. Any emotion, especially combined with the immense anger he had toward his daughter’s boyfriend, would be too much to control.

He shook his head, as if knocking down the thoughts that were beginning to stack in his head. He saw no need in letting them gather together and psyched him up before he needed their motivation.

So,needing a moment of peace, he pulled off the highway onto a narrow dirt road the locals referred to as Rocky Hollow. It was a rough drive on his Porsche, but he’d been down it before and was sure he could get in and out without much trouble.

As Jerald swerved his way around and through mud puddles, dark clouds blew in giving the woods a dark, fairy-tale atmosphere. A massive rock quarry lied ahead where he planned to park and walk off the tension growing in his back and shoulders.

He used to visit the quarry as a teenager and swim with friend, but he hadn’t actually been all the way to the ledge in over ten years. He’d smoked his first cigarette and drank his first swig of whiskey here over forty years ago.

He knew the area well and was looking forward to seeing the water again,but just as he got to the end of the hollow where it opened up enough for the sunshine to show through, he realized just how much it had changed.

At some point, the county had drained the water from the quarry and allowed everything down there to grow up into a neat contained forest.


Rubbish Day (part two)

There weren’t many Porsche in this condition. Ever since James Dean wrecked and killed himself in the same car, they were prize possessions and most were repainted, reupholstered, and otherwise ruined by zealous owners in an attempt to copy the car Dean drove on that fateful day.

Jerald could have driven any of his cars, but he chose the Porsche on this day because he was on an important mission. Perhaps even a dangerous mission. The weather was nice, the sun was shining, it was not too hot, and the Porsche gave the day – and his life – a nostalgic feel. Today, Jerold was taking his life back from the all the indecision he had surrendered to over the last two decades. He was taking charge of everything and making sure he was in control of everything that happened to him.

When the Honda suddenly jumped up it’s speed in an attempt to pass the Porshe, Jerold swerved aggressively and cut it off. “You shall not pass,” he said to no one and laughed a little. The Honda sped up and tried to stay on his bumper, but it was easy or Jerold to pull away from it. He gunned the motor a tad and looked in the rear view.

The Honda tried to pass again, but at the last second Jerold gunned the motor and pulled away easily. The Honda had no choice but to follow at a distance. It had no chance against the Porsche.

Of course, the young man driving the Honda couldn’t have passed the Porsche even if he had a faster, more powerful car. Jerald was a much better driver.

It amused Jerald, as he watched the driver grow visibly angry, but he didn’t want to put any of the other drivers in danger, so he did not taunt the driver. He did not want him to become any more aggressive than he had been. That was exactly the opposite of what he wanted.

Jerald kept his eye on the Honda in the rear view and thought of an endgame. This couldn’t go on for much longer or they’d both get hurt or go to jail. The driver showed no signs of slowing.

Then,unexpectedly, the driver flipped Jerald the bird and sped toward him.For a moment, it looked as if the Honda was going to ram the rear of the classic, but at the last second it backed off.

Maybe,he backed off because he thought better of it or maybe he was a coward. At any rate, and with a sigh of relief from Jerald, the cars did not collide.

Jerald pressed the clutch and revved the engine. He easily left the Honda in a cloud of black smoke. After that the Honda never gained an inch that Jerald didn’t offer.

Rubbish Day

Rubbish Day: part 1

from the storming and suffering thoughts of:
Thadd Presley

 Jerald watched the quick little Honda in his rear view mirror as it weaved dangerously through traffic. Twice the boy behind the wheel cut in front of the cars he passed too quickly, nearly hitting the drivers not paying close enough attention. Every time the Honda bolted ahead, another car came close to a collision. Each time they successfully forced their way in front of another vehicle, or forced someone onto the shoulder, the driver and his long-haired passenger laughed.

Jerald decided they’d taken their dangerous game too far when they cut in front of an unsuspecting old woman causing her to push her brakes too hard. The car behind her swerved onto the shoulder in a bold effort not to hit her. It was all too close for comfort.

As the two men sped away from the moderate traffic jam they created,Jerald stayed ahead of them watching and waiting for them to make their move. They were a few car length behind, the moment they set their sights on him. But, Jerold wasn’t a Sunday driver. He was ready for them. He loved his car and he knew how to drive it.

Cars had always been one of his passions. He’d spent more than a few weekends of his life on the dirt track at the Warzburg Speedway. He and his daughter shared love for numbers and math, but cars were what made his world go around.

He happened to like the particular car he was driving on this day more than any other. It wasn’t his only car and it wasn’t his most expensive car, but it was the one that he dreamed of owning for the longest. This was the car that began it all.

He was fourteen when he saw the 1955 Porsche Boxster 550 in a magazine his father kept in the bathroom. The page was bent in half to mark the place and a circle was drawn around the name at the top of the page. From that moment, the Porsche meant more to him than any other car he’d ever owned or wanted. He dreamed of buying it and giving it to his father, but the coal mines were adverse to dreams. A cave-in and a small underground explosion closed Jerald’s dream forever.

He still bought the car when he found one.

Of the other cars Jerold saved and worked for, the Porsche took the longest to find. It was a life-long dream and a heartbreak come together all at once.

Jerold’s car collection stood at eighteen. Most of them were bought and restored just for him by a local mechanic and friend, but the Porsche was different. It’s condition was not spectacular when he found. It was found on Craigslist and it needed more than a little TLC.

From the photos, there was no doubt that it needed a paint job. But, it was the original 1955 paint, the same color as the one in the magazine, and that was the way it was going to stay. It was exactly the way, he always dreamed it would look.

The brakes, belts, and tires were the only things changed on the car;give or take a filter and a fuse here and there, it was the same car it had always been. Not a cherry by any means, but he loved it.



Copyright Thadd Presley — All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.