Rubbish Day (part 3)

Thadd Presley

For a while, Jerald allowed them to race with him side by side, speeding at nearly eighty on the newly black-topped road towards Crossville through the community of Deer Lodge. When the Honda’s wheels lost traction, it spun the car into the shoulder where it began to fish tale wildly.

Jerald’s heart leaped into his chest.

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

That was close enough for Jerold. Too close. All he wanted to do was scare them a little. But it couldn’t take him away from getting to see his daughter. He slowed the Porshe to the posted forty MPH and said her name. How had he allowed these kids to get him so out of control? It nearly ended the very important things he had to do.

This visit to his daughter’s new house in Crossville was already going to be a bad situation. One that would require a good helping of courage and decisive action. It was imperative that he remained calm and clear-headed. Not a word of his introduction could be out of place or his daughter would suspect that something was wrong before he got the chance to fix her situation once and for all.

Once and for all, he thought.

Yes. It would be just that.

 ONCE because it would only take once; and, FOR ALL, because he wasn’t doing it for himself. He was doing it for his daughter, his wife, and everyone who might have to interact with the man. Jerald was doing this FOR the benefit of ALL.

Suddenly his nose began to burn and tears blurred his vision. Just the thought of his daughter being mistreated was more than he wanted to know.Also, the shock of the near accident possibly had something to do with the rush of emotion. He allowed it to wash over him.

It was enough to cement the fact that he couldn’t get sidetracked by distractions. Anything that might cause a show of emotion at his daughter’s house would ruin everything. Hiding the immense and deep anger he had toward his daughter’s boyfriend, would be hard to control on it’s own.

He shook his head, as if scrambling the thoughts that were beginning to stack in his frontal lobe. He saw no need in letting the idea of consequences gather against him. Nor could he allow the idea of his daughter’s freedom psyched him up before he actually had accomplished something.

He knew then that he needed a moment of peace before he went any further. He had to take a breather.

He pulled off the highway onto a familiar dirt road the locals called Rocky Hollow. The road was rough on his Porsche, but he’d been down it many times before and was sure he could get in and out without much trouble.

 Jerald enjoyed swerving around big ricks and through the mud puddles. Above him dark clouds began to blow from over the mountains giving the woods a dark, fairy-tale atmosphere. At the end of this road was a deep rock quarry where he and his friends used to swim as teenagers. But he hadn’t been all the way to the ledge in more than twenty years. He’d smoked his first cigarette on the ledge and drank his first swig of whiskey there.

Jeez, that was over forty years ago.

He knew the area well and was looking forward to seeing the water again.He made so many memories in this one place, it seemed wrong that he never brought his wife her and had a picnic. But then, perhaps that wasn’t wrong. He had the right to keep it a secret if he wanted.Maybe something in him didn’t want to tell her about the quarry.

 It was his secret place. No one from his adult life knew anything about it or the things that happened there.

Just as he got to where the trees opened up enough to see the ledge, he saw that all the water had been drained.



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 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.



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

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.