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“Benson, are you sure this is a good idea?” Randy asks as he opens the passenger side door of the truck.
Benson had picked it up cheap as a salvage title when he saw it was a stick shift. The truck was bright red, or at least it used to be. Long since faded by the sun, now wearing the patina of several lifetimes. The odometer read 232,117 and the previous owner said it was on its second junkyard motor. It had no air conditioning, a busted radio and only one functional window. It had also been crashed twice. It terrified Randy as much as it delighted Benson.
“It’s an important skill, Randy.” Benson replies, slapping him on the back as they pass to switch seats.
“I know...I just mean…shouldn’t we go back to the parking lot or something?”
“That’s pussy shit, you already got first and reverse. Trial by fire!” Benson laughs as he closes the door. “Get your ass in here.”
Randy climbs into the driver’s seat uncertainly. He takes his time adjusting the mirrors before he pushes the clutch all the way down and turns the key like Benson had shown him before. The engine roars to life and he looks over for approval. Benson gives him a little nod and gestures for him to get a move on.
“C’mon, put her in gear.”
Randy wraps his hand around the worn leather shift knob, already sticky in his palm. It feels notchy as he pushes it into first and watches the tachometer climb to 3,000 before he starts to let the clutch out. The truck lurches forward slightly, something under the hood screeching like it already needs a break. Randy grimaces at the nails on a chalkboard sound. They creep slowly past a smattering of parked cars and shady trees as he holds his hands at a stiff 10 and 2. He forgets to shift until Benson reminds him and grinds second gear when he goes for it.
“Foot all the way down, Randy.”
“Uh huh, sorry.”
“Stop apologizing so damn much.” Benson chastises.
“Sorr–” he bites it back before he can finish and gets into third smoothly without having to be told. He always does better when he isn’t thinking so hard. They approach a stop sign at the end of the block and he’s already dreading starting over. He had asked Benson to teach him but the prospect of trying it out on a real road, around other people makes him feel like turning around and going home.
“Take a right up here.” Benson tells him.
“Benson…”
“What?” Benson cocks an eyebrow at him like he already knows what Randy is thinking and he isn’t having it.
‘Benson, that's gonna take us into town’ Yeah, that's the point. He clamps his mouth shut and signals right, tires chirping as he takes the turn. Randy likes this stretch of road, it’s long and winding, full of large trees, open fields and farm land with grazing cows. When they had first moved out here he had just about begged Benson to pull over so he could pet them and gaze into their big, brown eyes. Benson had laughed at him but of course he obliged.
Randy’s proud of himself for getting up to third gear without an issue until Benson points out that they’re in a 45 and he’s going about 30.
“My grandpa could drive faster.”
“Didn’t your grandpa get his license suspended for street racing?”
“Yeah,” Benson laughs. “I miss him.”
Randy shifts up into fourth gear and in his haste he lets the clutch out too quickly, slamming Benson’s shoulder into the dashboard when the truck lurches forward. He had been sitting sideways to watch Randy.
“Nice one.” He groans.
Randy considers telling him that if maybe he was wearing a seatbelt… but he doesn’t. It had only started fights in the past. ‘Why should I? If my life isn’t mine to leverage, then it isn’t fucking mine!’ he had shouted the last time before storming off into the house. Randy didn’t get it, but he left it alone. A lot of things felt big to Benson that he didn’t understand.
“Gotta rev match. It’s like a dance, remember?” Benson says, miming the gas and the clutch with his hands.
Randy doesn’t really understand that either but he nods anyway, stealing a sidelong glance at Benson rubbing his shoulder. His dark farmer's tan is clearly visible in the tattered tank top he’d grabbed off the floor that morning.
Things had settled into a shockingly easy rhythm here. Benson found work off the books doing construction, said he’d had a little experience as a teenager. Randy watched the neighborhood kids when their parents worked late and helped them with their homework. When Benson came home drenched and exhausted they sat together on the rotting back porch and watched the sunset. They used fake names with the neighbors and no one questioned the nature of their relationship. It was more than either of them could have hoped for.
The nice thought is shattered as they reach the first landmark Randy has been dreading. A stop sign at the top of a steep, steep hill. And Benson tells him to make a left. Randy swallows nervously, coming to stop and shaking the shifter to be sure he’s in neutral. He looks both ways about 100 times, making sure he’s clear before he even tries to move. His hands feel slick on the wheel. The truck starts to roll back on his first attempt to get in gear. He tries again, maybe it just needs more gas. They roll back again and he slams on the brake.
Benson puts a hand on his upper arm. “You got this.”
Randy presses his right foot down even harder hoping that it’ll make the difference. The engine roars and bounces off the rev limiter but they still don’t move.
“Clutch, Randy.” Benson says laughing. “Let the clutch out.”
Randy picks his left foot up slowly, without letting off the gas and they finally pull off in a cloud of smoke. Benson throws his head back with a hand over his chest.
“Jesus! They can smell that burning clutch back in Kutzburg. What are you doing?”
Insult to injury, the horn is broken from a front-end collision and it lets out a long, forlorn honk when Randy cuts the wheel all the way left. Benson is laughing even harder now, the sun glinting off his teeth. Randy looks mortified even though there’s still no one else around to see.
“This is pointless, I’m never gonna get it.” He says.
“Aww C’mon.” Benson runs a hand through his hair. “It just takes time. When I was a kid I stole my uncle’s ‘Vette and took it to the liquor store. Stalled it trying to park and got it beached on one of those concrete dividers. Shit, he was pissed.”
It’s Randy’s turn to laugh now, giving Benson a little smile. He doesn’t share much about his past even now. Randy treasures every story, tucking them away in his mind like souvenirs in a gilded box.
They’re starting to edge closer to civilization and Randy swerves slightly, eyes flitting back and forth between the dashboard and the road.
“The hell are you doing?” Benson asks.
“You told me to shift at 3,000.”
“That’s just a benchmark, you gotta learn to do it by sound, and by feel. But that part might take you a while. Just keep your eyes on the road and listen. Upshift when it gets too loud.”
“I’ll try.” Randy says, watching the curves of the road and listening to the engine strain in the heat.
The one working window, on Benson’s side right now, really isn’t cutting it. He feels stuck to the seat. Much to his surprise, they make it into the center of town without any real incident. He doesn’t stall again or slam Benson into the dashboard. He’s starting to feel like he’s really getting the hang of it, until they come up to the thing he was dreading the most. A busy 4 way intersection. There’s no left arrow and he’s praying Benson will tell him to go straight through but he doesn’t.
“Make a left at the light.” Benson tells him.
Randy just nods. ‘You can do this’ he tells himself, but he isn’t so sure. He inches forward in first, riding the clutch, waiting for a break in the oncoming traffic. He finally sees an opportunity, starts to lift his left foot and stalls in the middle of the road. Shit, shit, shit. He fumbles to turn the key again, his fingers sweating. By the time the engine turns over he’s missed his opening.
Benson can see his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “Just relax, it’s fine.”
Cars keep coming but he doesn’t move, not seeing a space he thinks he can fit through.
“Randy,” Benson says again, “The light’s gonna change.”
“...Right.” Randy replies, cutting the wheel left and inching forward. The truck jerks and he stalls again, now thoroughly wedged in the middle of the road. Cars are honking, trying to go around and Randy looks on the verge of tears.
“Just give him a second!” Benson yells at no one in particular, sticking his middle finger out the window.
Randy fumbles with the keys again but he’s so nervous he can’t even get it started now. People continue to honk and shout as they pass by.
“Alright, get out.” Benson tells him.
“What?” Randy looks dumbfounded, his eyes big and wet.
“Get out, now. Switch seats.” Benson says, snapping his fingers at him.
Randy shuffles out quickly, his face bright red. He slumps back into the passenger seat feeling defeated and embarrassed as Benson starts the truck and pulls off without a hitch, still swearing at everyone else on the road. He doesn’t turn towards home.
“Benson, where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” He replies, lighting a cigarette. The smoke billows into Randy’s face sitting next to the open window. There was a time when he hated the smell but now it feels comforting and familiar. He closes his eyes for a second to breathe it in.
Benson pulls into the liquor store parking lot and tells Randy to wait in the truck. He sits with an elbow on the door panel, staring off at the clouds and feeling sweat drip slowly down his face. When Benson returns he shoves a 6 pack of cheap beer and a single tall can of hard lemonade into Randy’s lap.
“Thought you might want one.” Benson says.
Randy smiles, Benson still teased him for hating the taste of beer but he always bought him something else anyway. They drive on in overheated silence a long way until Benson pulls off into the grass next to the woods. He gets out without a word and Randy grabs the drinks and follows. They wade through fallen branches and dead leaves, enjoying the shade, until they emerge in a ravine by a lake. Randy thinks it looks like something out of a movie.
“Whoa, how did you even find this place?” He asks.
“I have my ways.” Benson replies.
He grabs the case of beer from Randy and chugs one like his life depends on it. Randy takes a few sips of his drink too.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m goin’ in.” Benson announces, crushing the can and letting it land in the grass.
“I didn’t bring anything to swim in.” Randy protests but Benson is already stripping his clothes off and tossing them on a rock by the shore.
“Benson! Someone’s gonna see you!” he squeaks.
“No one even knows this place is here. Jesus, Randy. Live a little.” Benson calls back, already wading into the blue-green water.
Randy stands there debating. The sun is beating down on him and the lake is gorgeous. He takes another sip of his drink and starts to undress.
“Fine, but I’m keeping my underwear on.”
“Whatever, enjoy your wet ride home. Just get in already.”
Randy places his clothes and his drink next to Benson’s and steps into the wet silt and sand. The water is cool and refreshing but his feet sink into the mud if he stands still too long. He swims out to where Benson is floating on his back in the middle of the lake and pulls him upright so he can hang off his shoulders. Benson groans like he hates it but they both know he doesn’t. Randy tips his head back, letting his hair touch the water and watching the leaves sway in the gentle breeze. They stay like that a while until Benson kisses his neck and pushes him off, heading back to shore.
“Where you going?” Randy complains.
“I need a drink.” Benson replies not turning back, so Randy follows.
They find a spot to dry off, the sun is still high but it’s obvious it’s getting late by now. Randy nurses his drink and watches a frog hop across the grass. Benson downs two more beers in quick succession.
“Maybe you should slow down.” Randy says. He feels his own stomach growl and realizes neither of them have eaten in a while.
“Why?” Benson asks, flashing him a big smile. “You’re driving home.”