Destination-The Heavenly City

Turning down the radio, broadcasting the news reporting military services honoring veterans, I proceeded to roll down the window and smell the fresh air come into my hauler cab. Behind me attached was the reason decades ago I earned the professional title, “suicide jockey”. A whole lot of explosive material that with one small unknown variable would send me to a fiery grave.

“Been doing this route for many years,” I pondered seeing the metropolis known for teasing and its playful reminders, disappear as I continued heading south through the isolated desert. Not long ago, last century, when long lines at gas stations resembled World War food distribution sites, the corporate lifestyle arrived at my door, handing me social security directions and proclaimed, “see the country you defended.”

Ready to cross the state line a billboard which I used as a routine marker announced, “only one mile to Chuckee Hooters’ Truck And Entertaining Rest Stop, where you get the cheese and stay as long as you, please.”

Laughing remembering when Chuckee Hooter, who I met while assisting another country through its north south civil war told me, ‘about his plan for an arcade truck stop’.

“I will call it ‘Ten Four Good Buddy’”, the visionary said, at one reunion, “I will have locations all around the USA.”

Seeing the bikini calendar’s date above the CB, appearing like two skyscrapers mirroring each other I decided time had come to drop some coins into Chuckee Hooter’s savings account. Peering down, seeing a plastic cup filled with silver change and remembering no longer was I pitching them into a basket every twenty miles, donating to this worthy endeavor seemed logical.

“I hope my kind moved up from the toll booth to an office position,” I commented making the next right after Chuckee Hooter’s Ten Four Good Buddy Truck Stop encouraged me.

Feeling a bone chilling breeze replacing the summertime heat, I headed into the plaza and noticed to my left the arcade filled with electronic entertainment featuring dancing robotic animals. Deciding right to be the correct decision I sat down then opened the menu, “I will have my usual?” I requested.

“Which is?” The server answered wearing her uniform, tight shorts and tee shirt, an image comparable to a marina snack bar attendee cleaning boats.

An hour later and well-nourished I reached into my pocket grabbing the circular tokens. Walking into the darken room the female computerized creature belted out a tune pointing me towards my teenage favorite machine, “Invading Aliens”. After inserting the quarter, the enemy started coming down on me forming an even file mimicking the revolutionary British Redcoats. Using a fast and furious style, I tapped the button and watched the enemy eliminate itself from the screen. When the game pronounced ‘that’s all folks’ I typed top scorer, acknowledging, ‘I was there’.

Finding another coin, I challenged the “The Rock Attack” with the same result and I signed my name to the accomplishment.

Heading out the electronic doors, leaving the rest stop, a soldier stood there with a duffle bag.

Sounding like a commander general after a successful campaign I inquired, “where are you headed soldier?”

“To the city of angels, hope to record a single,”

“Can I give you a ride?” I offered, “I have a petroleum drop to make.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she replied grabbing her baggage.

Once comfortably seated we both headed onto the freeway towards our destination, now in sight.

“Tell me,” she started, “did you serve?’

“Spent time in the Asian pacific theater, the Vietnam jungle.”

“For me it was like this, spiritual desert,” she explained, “I hear the recent war they are attacking woman and girls.”

Hearing the dreadful reality, I suddenly needed to hold the wheel a little tighter, “so tell me, does this franchise company you work for, do they tell you where to go and what to do?” The road warrior curiously asked.

“Yes,” I answered, “and I always had secure income.”

“Well, I only have been the poster girl for Uncle Sam,” she remarked, “that got me noticed around the barracks.”

“You played an important role in keeping morale up,” I noted.

“Do you think you made all the right moves?” She paused, “being a maverick? Staying alive?”

Feeling like I was being judged I issued a polite response triggering her to reveal her true talent,

“I am GI Jane

I played the military game

Having no name

Like those who have fame

Met a beau

He was GI Joe

We gave it a go

Defending our country from our foe

Until one day there was an explosive,”

She stopped on a dime, and the final thing I saw down there was something darting onto the broiling pavement, forcing me to lose control.

Realizing the almighty drafted my service, I immediately took my post on the fluffy cloud, observing her miraculous escape confronting a blazing inferno unscathed, not a scar, tucking away under her arm, my diary I kept in the glove compartment. She found shade underneath the sign, alerting the number of miles until reaching the city of angels, I could hear her say while sticking out her thumb, “this is great, I can get these writings published and the truth will be studied.” Then pulling out a pen she wrote on the final journal page,

“November 11th, engulfed in the desert’s parched silence, I was nothing but another grain of sand in the wind.”