Blacktop Wasteland(29)
“Shit,” Beauregard breathed. He pulled over to the side of the road and hopped out of his truck. The man came running over before he had closed his door.
“Hey, man, I need help. My car just broke down and my wife is in labor. Piece of shit just died on me. No warning, no nothing. Fucking piece of shit,” the man yelled.
“Why you ain’t call a rescue squad?” Beauregard asked.
The man cast his eyes downward. “Our cell got cut off a few days ago. I got laid off last month from the shipyard. Look, man, I think the baby is about to come. Can you give us a ride to the hospital?” the man asked.
Beauregard took in the whole scene. The man was breathing hard. The girl in the car was moaning. He recognized that moan. He recognized the quivering lips of the man standing in front of him. They were terrified. The baby was coming, and they didn’t know what in the hell they were doing. Fifteen minutes of fun was about to turn into a lifetime of responsibility. The weight of that responsibility was pressing down on them like an anvil on their chests. He was on his way home from casing the site of a job. He needed to get in and get out without being noticed.
The smart thing to do, the professional thing to do, was to get back in his truck and drive away. The girl moaned again. The moan became a scream that Beauregard could hear over the sound of traffic zipping by them on the lonely stretch of road. Ariel had been a breech baby. The doctors had a hell of time getting her out of Janice’s uterus. They told him that if she hadn’t been delivered in a hospital, she would have probably died.
“Let’s get your car out of the road first,” he said.
The two of them were able to push the car off to the side of the road without too much difficulty. Beauregard grabbed the young girl and half helped, half carried her to the truck. The man opened the door for her and together they helped her up into the cab. The man hopped in on the passenger side and Beauregard ran around to the driver’s side.
“You think you can get us to the hospital before…” The man let the statement hang in the air. Beauregard almost smiled.
“Just hold on,” he said as he hit the gas.
The nearest hospital was Reed General in Newport News. It was thirty-five minutes away. Beauregard pulled up to the emergency entrance eighteen minutes after picking up the couple. The man hopped out and ran into the emergency room. A few seconds later, a nurse was following him back out pushing a wheelchair. They helped the girl out of the truck and wheeled her into the hospital. The young guy lingered by the door. Beauregard got back into his truck. When he looked up, the guy was trotting over to the window.
“Hey, man, I don’t know what to say. I wish I could give you something. I’m just so strapped right now, and Caitlin had to stop working because of the baby. We moved in with her mom and…” Without warning, tears began to trickle from the corners of his eyes.
“Hey. Hey. You don’t owe me nothing. I just hope everything goes alright,” Beauregard said.
The man wiped at his face. He had a close-cropped haircut and the beginnings of a moustache. Beauregard figured he was barely out of his teens.
“Yeah. Me too. Hey look, thanks, man. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t stopped. Everybody else drove by us like we were shit that they didn’t want to get on their shoes. I tell you what, you one driving mofo. I think we got here before we left,” the man said. He held his hand out to Beauregard. Beauregard took it and shook it. The guy had a firm grip. A working man’s grip.
“Hey, what’s your name? If it’s a boy, we might name it after you,” the man said. Beauregard didn’t say anything. He shook the man’s hand again.
“Anthony,” he said finally. His father’s name tasted like a bitter pill that could save your life by almost killing you.
He let go of the man’s hand and drove away.
Red Hill County
August 1991
Beauregard could feel the power of the Duster’s engine rumbling up through the floorboards, through the seat and out the top of his head. A Buddy Guy cassette was playing in the tape deck. The warbling whine of Buddy’s polka-dot guitar erupted from the radio speakers. His Daddy had one hand on the steering wheel while his other hand gripped a brown bag. He alternated between singing along with the cassette and taking swigs from the bottle. Beauregard glanced at the speedometer. They were approaching 90 miles an hour. The trees and the rolling fields looked like pieces of Technicolor taffy as the Duster flew by.
“You know why I wanted to have you come over this weekend, don’t ya, Bug?” Anthony said.
Beauregard nodded. “Mama says you going away. For a long time,” he said.
His Daddy took another long swig from his bottle. He switched it from his right hand to his left hand while holding the steering wheel steady with his knee. Then he launched it out the window. Beauregard heard it smash against a sign that stated the speed limit on Town Bridge Road was 45 mph.
“Your Mama say anything else?” Anthony asked. Beauregard turned his head and gazed out the window. “That’s what I thought. Your Mama … your Mama is a good woman. She just can’t stand herself for falling for my bullshit. She don’t take it out on you, do she, Bug?” Anthony asked.
Beauregard shook his head. He hated lying to his Daddy. But he hated seeing his parents argue more.
“Well, I ain’t going away for that long, Bug. A year, maybe two. Just until things cool down,” Anthony said.