Go West

Under the lampshade, the light illuminating softly, he could almost see him standing there. Wearing a wide brimmed hat, torn overalls, ratty tank top, toothpick behind his ear. His crooked smile, leaning into the moon-shaped scar next to the left corner of his mouth. Even though his dad had been gone almost six years, Lance could still see him clearly.

He shook his head and took another sip of his slightly warm can of Old English. After letting out a heavy sigh, he picked up his monkey wrench and turned up the volume on his father’s old AM/FM radio. The sunlight was quickly disappearing, and the rest of the streetlights would soon be clicking on. He needed to move faster.

Lance leaned over the 1969 Chevrolet Chevelle and finished tightening the last four bolts connecting the engine mount to the frame stand.

He chuckled to himself and said aloud, “you see that old man? I actually do know what ‘righty tighty’ means.”

He paused for a second, almost as if he was waiting on a response. Lance shrugged his shoulders and lit another cigarette. After two puffs, he climbed into the driver’s side and turned the key. The engine purred like a kitten. He smiled as he imagined his dad’s look of astonishment. He finally did it. After several long years of sitting idle, his dad’s old Chevy was ready to hit the road.

Lance sat there for a minute, smoking his cigarette, and halfway listening to the static on the radio. He finally snapped out of it and took out his cell phone. He called Tammy, his wife.

“Hey honey. Yes. It’s working. Ya hear it? Listen.”

He held the phone out toward the engine. Tammy’s voice was full of pride. “Well, would you look at that. You actually did it. I’m sure Patrick would be proud.”

Those simple words of encouragement were just what he needed to convince him to do something he was dreading.

“I’m gonna do it Tam. I’m gonna spread his ashes. Don’t try to talk me out of it. I’m gonna do it and it’s gotta be right now. It’s quarter after seven now. I’ll be home by midnight, I promise. Love you.”

He hung up swiftly. Lance didn’t want to second guess himself. And, knowing his wife, she’d be the one to make him think twice.

He gathered all the tools and drip pans, cleared out a path, then closed the garage door. His dad never fixed the latch, so he rigged it closed with a rusted chain and made a note to buy a new one.

For what, he thought. Daddy’s not ever coming to fix anything in this shop. Might as well just sell it like Tammy said. They needed the money badly. Bills were piling up at home, and there was no point in adding the garage rent to the heap. Or maybe he could pick up extra shifts to keep it going for another few months. Who was he kidding? Tammy would never allow it.

Lance ran back inside to pick up the black urn he left on the countertop. He held it tight, like a quarterback gripping a football.

“I gotcha dad. Let’s go.”

He buckled the urn into the passenger seat, turned up the staticky radio, and started on his journey. As Otis Redding played, he tried to remember the last time he was in the Chevelle.

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He was 17. The two of them were visiting his cousin Janet at her college in Atlanta. The conversation coming back home got heated, as the conversations normally did back then. They were almost home when Lance started complaining. He wanted to go to college out west and his dad told him it would be better for him to go locally for a while. He explained how they could save up for another school after a year or so. Defiant as always, Lance couldn’t take no for an answer.

“Why do we have to be so poor? Why can’t you work at a nice office like Uncle Matt instead of messing with beat up old cars all the time?” He snickered. “I don’t ever want to be like you. I want to be important, not just some car mechanic.”

Patrick stopped the car, got out, and walked over to a huge oak tree in the middle of some grass, by a tiny lake on the side of the road. He stood there silently for a few minutes, staring at the tree. Lance, growing tired of waiting in the hot car, walked over and whined about wanting to go home. His dad stood there, feet planted in the soil, still not saying a word. Finally, he broke his silence.

“You see that tree? That tree is my favorite. I’ve been coming here since I was a boy. I remember being maybe six or so and riding my bike down the dirt road. I could sit here for hours and hours.”

Lance rolled his eyes. “Great story, can we go now?”

Patrick stayed right there and kept talking.

“I planned out everything I wanted to do in life sitting by that big ol’ oak. I carved words, numbers, even names into that tree. Man, I had so many plans. Even after I met your mother and we had you. I still came out to this tree. Any time we would argue, or you were crying something awful, this is where I would come.” Shifting his weight to his good leg, he dug his other foot into the soil in order to keep his bearings. “It was a source of peace for me. When my mind gets too loud or when my heart gets too heavy, big ol’ Oaky’s got my back.”

Lance looked at the tree and said, “why? What’s so special about this tree? It looks like every other tree I’ve seen around this lame town.”

Patrick frowned slightly, his ears turning red from the sun.

“It isn’t about the tree. It’s about what the tree represented for me each time I needed it. This tree and me? We have gone through a lot together. Hell, one time I even came out here with one of my army ropes ready to end it all. Instead, I left and went away for a few years. You remember that?”

Lance nodded, remembering when he was eight years old, and his father didn’t come home for what seemed like eons. He remembered how sad and angry his mother was every single day. It was such a bad time. His mother would hit him, sometimes burning him with cigarettes and slapping him across the face with leather belts. It was the worst period of his life. He resented his dad for leaving them. He knew his dad only returned because his mom died from lung cancer. The boy badly needed another parent.

“Do you know where I went, son?” Patrick asked, as if hearing his thoughts.

“No. And I really don’t care. Can we just go? I’m starving.” More whining.

Patrick ignored his son’s cracking voice and kept talking. “I went to rehab. I had to get clean. I was on heroin real bad. Problem was-- every time I got clean, I would relapse. I got clean three times and relapsed three more times before it finally stuck. Your auntie wrote me a letter saying your mama was really sick. I knew she didn’t have much time. I had to get my life together so I could get my boy back.”

Lance was shocked. He never cared to ask where his dad went. He just thought he didn’t want to be his dad anymore.

“Heroin? That’s for junkies,” he yelled.

“Well son, guilty.” He held up his hand like he was answering a question in class. “I was a junkie in every sense of the word.” Patrick shifted his weight to the other side now, careful not to lose his balance.

“But I got clean, and I came back. I’m glad I did.” He put his arm around Lance’s neck. “Listen son, I want you to do whatever it is you want to do in life. If you want to go to college out west, then I’ll make it happen. But you’ve gotta do something for your old dad first. You have to work in the shop with me for your entire summer break.”

Irritated by the thought of oil spills, but obviously excited to go to college, Lance emphatically agreed. He got all A’s that year while his dad worked tirelessly at his shop. Day in, and day out, Patrick would barely come home to eat dinner. He didn’t think twice about the long shifts. He simply looked to the future. He couldn’t wait to teach his boy the family business.

The chance never came. Patrick got in a car accident right after spring began. Lance had to drop everything to work at the factory in town. Right after graduation, he married his high school sweetheart. Lance never went to college, but instead, worked odd jobs to support him and his wife. He stayed close to take care of his old man for the next seven months.

One night, Lance had a vivid dream where he could actually talk to his father. The dream was so real that he could smell his dad’s cologne. Patrick told Lance to sell his Chevelle in order to pay for some of the medical bills. Lance could see the sadness in his dad’s eyes. He told his dad he would work on it first. When he woke up, he told Tammy about the dream.

She laughed at the idea. “You don’t know how to fix no cars!”

“I could learn,” Lance told her.

Lance taught himself how to restore an old car. Over time, he started to like it. He envisioned Patrick watching from his wheelchair, instructing him from the sidelines. At times, he swore he could see him there.

When Patrick died, he had nothing to his name. Nothing except the garage and that car. Lance was determined to fix it. He was glad he was able to complete the project in memory of his father.

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After driving for 45 minutes, Lance finally spotted the old oak tree. He stopped the car, unbuckled the urn and got out.

“Here we are. Good ol’ Oaky. I know this is where you would want to be. I know I was such a brat back then. Despite our differences, I hope you knew how much I loved you.” He choked up. Then he whispered, “being like you isn’t so bad.”

Lance spread his dad’s ashes all around the base of the tree. He planted some of the ashes on the side of the tree and said a prayer. Then, he got back into the Chevelle. He looked everywhere for his cigarettes but couldn’t find them. He opened the glove compartment, and a little black book fell out. He opened the book and saw his dad’s handwriting. Immediately, he was choked up.

The note said:

“It’s almost summer. I have all the supplies I need to teach Lance about mechanics. One day in June, we’re gonna work on this Chevy together. I can’t wait to show him what’s under the spare tire.”

Lance opened the trunk and pulled up the spare tire. He saw a dusty manilla envelope and opened it. Inside was $20,000 and a note. The note said “thank you for helping your old dad this summer, dear boy. Now it’s time for you to leave the nest and go out west. I hope you end up being more like me and less like me at the same time. You are the best son I could ask for. I love you.”