the beast

The scream of the brakes is deafening as the semi comes to the crossroads. For a brief moment there is silence, until the engine revs and the gears switch on the semi struggling to regain speed, and again the silence, grinding of gears, and the straining crescendo of the engine.

Conversations are halted as the menacing noises pass in front of us.  We sit in the iron rocking chairs on the large, patio-like porch of our hotel that overlooks the public library and the lone cafe.  Our view and much anticipated phone calls are entirely disrupted.  With a look of disgust our faces turn and watch the disturbance disappear in the distance.

I know the man perched high in the cab of that black beast.  He is my father and his father before. The screaming of the brakes means the 7-year-old me can run out the front door and await his emergence from that high perch on which he spends most of his days.  I await the gush of wind that escapes as he puts the beast still. This sound triggers my feet to run to the driver's side door where my head barely reaches the top of the steps.  My eyes point up and finally the door swings open and a man covered in dirt carefully limps out of the truck.  His brown hair is disheveled and his eyes are glazed from the road.  He looks down at me and a wide smile stretches across his hard face displaying the gap between his two front teeth.  I smile too and my eyes dance at the sight of him.

"Hi Daddy!"

He gives a hearty chuckle and wraps me in a bear hug.  His large belly serves as a pillow for my head and he says, "hi tooty-bug."  Then he kisses my forehead and starts limping across the yard as I walk closely beside. Whenever I see daddy walk I am reminded how much it must have hurt to have that fork-lift come down on him and sever the ball of his left foot from the heel. 

"Daddy, when do you have to go back?"

"Oh, tomorrow, tooty-bug."

And when the time comes, I will stand and wave from the porch as the smoke bellows out of the horns of that black beast taking my father, and his father before, away. He will turn his head and look at me through the window and wave.  I will put my arm out in the shape of an "L" with my hand in a fist and frantically and repeatedly pull my fist up and down.  Daddy will oblige and over the roar of the engine's increasing speed I will delight in the song that the beast sings. I will watch and listen until the beast becomes a bug.

i am currently in a remote town in west texas with my literary non-fiction class.  this town is so remote that not even the atomic clock works here as all of our cell phones will display that it is for instance, 4 o'clock in the afternoon when we've only just woken up.  it is such a treat to come to such a remote and iconic part of the southwest.  this is the birthplace of larry mcmurtry (author of lonesome dove among some 30+ other novels).  our class is staying at the historic spur hotel where parts of "the last picture show" was filmed.  anyhow, we are given various writing assignments and above is my interpretation of one.  i hope you've enjoyed it.  i felt i should explain as i may be posting more of them in the near future as a writer's greatest joy is having their work read.