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There was some trouble with the new kid. He was stuck somewhere or something. Cockroach was arguing that this might have been the new kid’s problem but it didn’t have to be their problem; if he got himself into trouble he could get himself out, and Cockroach didn’t know why anybody had bothered telling him about it.
“Which new kid?” Johnny asked, looking up from his cards.
“Benny.”
That didn’t help much. Johnny hadn’t gotten their names straight yet. “The pretty one?”
Cockroach leered. “That’s the one. His bike fell into fuckin’ pieces or some shit, he’s at a rest stop outside of Durand.”
“Durand?” Johnny squinted up at Cockroach. “Well, why’d the fuck he go all the way out there?”
Cockroach shrugged. “Hell if I know.”
“Ain’t he on a new bike?”
“Parts.”
“What’s the fuck that mean?”
“Parts of it are new, parts of it ain’t.”
Johnny put down his cards. “Fuck.” New kid probably fucked up the piecing of it together. Put a worn-out screw where it shouldn’t have been. Depending on the problem he might not have even noticed until he was two hours out of town and shit out of luck. Depending on the problem, he might have died.
Johnny didn’t have anything better to do that afternoon. He was supposed to take the truck to the mechanic for a tune-up but it could wait a day. He stood up. “I’ll go.”
Cockroach raised an eyebrow. “The kid ain’t that pretty, boss. Let him figure his own way back.” But Johnny ignored him. It was a good day for driving, anyway; probably the same reason the new kid—Benny—had gotten it in his head to drive all the way to Durand. Who wouldn’t want to be on the road on a nice afternoon like this one?
“Hold down the fort,” he said to the table, abandoning his cards where they lay. It was a bad hand, anyway. A low hearts and a low clubs wasn’t winning him nothing.
— —
When he got to Durand he had to drive around a bit before he spotted Benny, his bike parked outside of a gas station, Benny leaning against it smoking. When Johnny drove up alongside and parked, Benny tossed the cigarette to the ground and ground it out with his boot. Beyond that, he didn’t acknowledge Johnny’s presence until Johnny was standing right in front of him.
“Heard you got stuck,” Johnny said.
“Heard you were coming to rescue me.”
Johnny snorted. “What’s the problem, anyway? Engine fell off?” Benny didn’t know, but Johnny had it diagnosed in a matter of minutes. He pointed it out, ushering Benny over and letting him crowd in close, his hair tickling Johnny’s cheek as he leaned in to peer at where Johnny was pointing. “Should be a nut there, you see?”
Benny straightened up. “I know there should be a nut there,” he said angrily. “Well—must’ve come off.” His cheeks were the slightest bit pink. If Johnny hadn’t been standing right next to him, near cheek-to-cheek, or if the light had been fully gone out of the sky already, he might not have noticed.
“Right,” Johnny said. “Old one, or you didn’t torque it down right. Don’t matter— now this—” He pointed to the sprocket, “Ain’t attached to the gearbox.”
Benny wasn’t looking anymore. “Got it,” he said, tight. “Thanks. You brought the truck for the bike?”
“Nah. Just ‘cause I like the look of it.” Johnny barked a laugh. “Yeah, ‘course it’s for the fucking bike. Load it up, why don’t you. I’m gonna piss. You want a coke?”
Benny didn’t answer, which Johnny took as a no. He went inside, pissed in the disgusting bathroom, and stopped into the gas station market. Then he climbed back into the truck’s driver’s seat. Benny was already in the cab, his bike packed into the back. He was looking straight ahead, his cheeks back to their normal color. There was a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his fingers out of the passenger side window.
The truck’s engine turned over once without starting, then rumbled to life. They pulled out of the lot, and within a few minutes were on the highway, pointed back home. “Why’d you come all the way out here, anyway?” Johnny asked. “Long way to come out on your own on a bike with old parts.” Benny didn’t answer. He continued to look straight ahead, although he’d dropped the cigarette. After a minute, Johnny sighed. “Got myself a two hour drive with a fucking potato, got it. Fuck. Should’ve let you make your own way back.”
“Two hour drive if you’re fucking slow about it,” Benny muttered.
“What’s that?”
“I said, it’ll take two hours if you’re a fucking pussy. I can do this drive in an hour twenty.”
“Fuck off,” Johnny said, with feeling. He’d concede you could drive the distance in under two hours; he wouldn’t allow an hour twenty. That was beyond the pale. “You’re a goddamn liar.”
“Let me drive, then.”
Johnny just laughed. The sun was setting, and the light was golden and pink. He wished he was doing the drive on his bike, but grateful that he’d be in a truck’s cab when it was dark and cold.
“So, Benny. You from Chicago?”
Benny grunted, and it didn’t have enough of an affirmative or a negative quality to the sound for Johnny to tell which it might be. He tried again. “Your folks live close?” This time Benny didn’t even grunt. Johnny gave up; he guessed it didn’t matter much. He asked instead: “How’d you hear about the club?”
Benny shrugged. “Round town,” he said vaguely.
Johnny waited, but Benny didn’t expand on that thought. Johnny was getting the sense that Benny wouldn’t expand on much of anything. They lapsed into silence, and Johnny couldn’t describe it as uncomfortable, exactly, because Benny lounged in his seat, arms crossed, in a way that suggested he’d never been more comfortable in his life, face wearing exactly the same expression it wore in the bar after two beers and a game of darts.
“Turn on the radio, will ya?” Johnny finally said. If Benny wasn’t one for talking, that was fine by him. Only he didn’t want to drive two hours with only another man’s breathing for company.
Benny reached over and clicked on the radio. With a little fiddling he found a station playing music, some plinky piano shit that immediately put Johnny’s teeth on edge. “Something different,” he grumbled, and Benny scanned a bit further until they were listening to a guitar, albeit through a good amount of static. Benny’s hand stilled, waiting for a verdict, and when Johnny nodded, he leaned back into his seat. Johnny got the sense that if he had just a little more space to do it, he’d put his feet up on the dash.
“I always wanted to play the guitar,” Johnny said. “Fucked around with Zipco’s once but I never had my own. Can’t sing worth shit though so maybe it's better. You ever play anything?” He asked it not really expecting an answer, but to his surprise Benny gave one.
“Played the keys a bit,” he said. “When I was little. At church.”
Johnny nearly laughed, it was so unexpected. Benny at church. Benny sitting at a piano bench. He couldn't picture Benny as a kid being anything but one of those tiny ones you saw, shock of blond spiky hair, legs too short to reach the pedals. “Were you any good?”
“Hell no,” Benny said decisively. “Hated church.”
“Me, too,” Johnny said. He grinned sideways, meeting Benny’s eye briefly. “That's how we got here, huh?”
Benny didn't reply. They listened to the song fade out and a new song start. The show's host had a voice like a purring engine: low and quiet and soothing. The kind of voice that promised to take you wherever you were trying to go. The song he introduced was slower, a female singer, slightly mournful against a horn and a rocking bass line. They listened to it swell, the static coming in and out like another instrument.
“My ma liked this song,” Benny said unexpectedly.
“Yeah? It’s a good song.” He paused, waiting to see if Benny had more to say, then asked, “She the one who made you play the piano?”
“Yeah.”
“Ma’s are always making kids play the piano. It’s like they learn it in the fucking hospital. I’m just lucky we ain’t got one to play.”
“What—too expensive?” Johnny glanced at him in the mirror; Benny looked legitimately curious. “How much you make driving trucks, anyway?”
Johnny told him, and Benny went quiet for a minute. Then he said, “And you bought this piece of junk? Man—money is wasted on guys like you.”
“Careful, kid,” Johnny drawled. “I ain’t the asshole who got himself stranded on the side of the road. I’d watch that mouth if I were you.”
Benny went red again—just the top of his cheeks, like he’d got the sun—and shook his head as if by doing it he could clear the blood away. “Didn’t mean nothing by it,” he muttered. Johnny kept the smile from making it to his mouth, but only just.
“Anyway,” he said, “I got expenses. Wife, two kids. The girls need new shoes every fucking year… Bikes, the club. Money comes in, money goes out. When you got a wife, you’ll know.”
“Why I gotta have a wife?” Benny was looking out the window at the empty fields.
Johnny reached for his coke, opened it one-handed, and took two long swallows. Young guys—they didn’t realize how much easier having a wife made everything else. Sure, okay, somebody to clean the bathroom and make a hot meal when you’d been on the road for twelve hours and you were so tired your eyes were full of sand. Somebody to make decisions about your paycheck for you: what goes to food and what goes to keeping the roof on and what keeps you in beer and smokes. But having a wife also meant an end to a certain kind of question. The end to double dates you didn’t know were double dates and to pointed remarks and to certain rumors that nobody ever said to your face. Now people saw his two daughters and complimented their shoes, even if he hadn’t yet gotten around to buying them new pairs for the school year and the straps were beginning to fray.
A rabbit jumped out of the grass beside the road, and Johnny swerved to avoid it. A loud clatter came from the back of the truck, the bike sliding around on the metal.
“Fuck, stop!” Benny yelled, craning his head around, and Johnny pulled over to the side of the road. “You gotta drive like a fucking grandpa?” He jumped out, ran around to the back, and vaulted himself into the bed of the pick-up truck. Johnny didn’t bother getting out. The bike would be fine. Benny was like a kid with a new toy: precious about it. Sooner or later, you learned that nothing would be pristine, that even the most beautiful bikes were destined to get a little banged up. There was honor in having something that showed its age.
After a bit, Benny climbed back into the cab. He was scowling, but he didn’t accuse Johnny of anything so Johnny assumed the bike was fine. “You gonna swerve like that for every fucking bunny?” Benny asked, disdain dripping from his voice like oil out of a leaking engine.
“Dunno,” Johnny said. “You gonna walk your bike home?”
Benny crossed his arms and sank deeper into his seat.
The engine turned over twice before it started this time. Johnny pulled back into the road, empty in both directions as far as he could see.
He couldn’t help it, he was enjoying himself. It was a long time since he’d been on the road like this. He wasn’t in any particular rush. He had a beautiful late evening sky. Etta on the radio. Company to talk to—despite company not being especially talkative. There was something about Benny that he liked, even if Benny didn’t feel one way or the other about him. He didn’t think that was true, though. Benny kept looking at him sideways, like he was trying to figure something out. And he’d joined Johnny’s club, after all.
“Engine sounds funny,” Benny said after a bit, sounding sullen.
Johnny hummed. “She’s due a tune-up,” he admitted. He patted the dash kindly. “She’s done a lot for me over the years. But she’s a workhorse.” Benny shot him a glance, then turned back to the road. The light was bleeding out of the sky faster than beer out of Zipco’s bottles, and before long it was night, actual night, velvet blue skies and pinprick stars when the streetlights let them through. Benny’s half-opened window meant a shuddering, grass-scented wind through the truck, and the occasional smell of cow. Neither of them spoke for a long time, watching the scenery flash by in fence posts and telephone poles.
They made it as far as Dekalb before the engine sputtered once, coughed twice, and finally died with a wheeze.
You had to laugh. ‘Cause if you didn’t, the rest of the world did it for you.
— —
Johnny walked to the nearest gas station and made a call, then walked back. Benny was leaning against the truck smoking, much like he’d been leaning against his bike when Johnny had picked him up outside of Durand.
“Cal will be here in an hour. If he can’t fix it up here, we’ll leave it and come back tomorrow with Bill’s tow truck.”
Benny nodded. He ground out his cigarette and got back into the passenger seat, leaving the door hanging open. Johnny hesitated, then walked around to the driver’s seat and got in himself.
“You knew there’d be a station up there?”
Johnny had grown up not ten miles away, and anyway, knew all the roads into and out of Chicago like the lines on his palms. He said as much to Benny. Then he added, and made it into a question with the tilt of his voice: “You didn’t grow up around here?”
Benny shook his head. “Waverly.”
It took Johnny a moment. “Iowa?” When Benny nodded, he let out a low whistle. “Weren’t gonna get all the way out there without that nut,” he said.
Benny was playing with the passenger door, swinging it in and out. He said, without looking up, “My pa’s funeral was today.”
Fuck.
Johnny closed his eyes. The first thought that came into his head, he didn’t say aloud. He got the idea it wouldn’t be appreciated. The second thought he didn’t say either. Benny pushed the door all the way open, then let it swing back almost closed before it stopped against his foot.
“Well, we were going in the wrong direction the last hour,” Johnny said finally. “So if you’re still hoping to make it, we better pray for a fucking miracle.”
Benny shook his head without looking up. “Nah. Already missed it. He was a real asshole anyway—only would’ve gone for my ma.”
Johnny fumbled a cigarette carton out of his jacket pocket and tapped two out. He handed one to Benny, who took it. Johnny lit his own, then passed his lighter to Benny. “Why didn’t you say.”
Benny took his time lighting up. He took a deep drag, blew out a lungful of smoke, then finally met Johnny’s eye. “And drag you along to that shit hole? Fuck.” His lip curled, his eyes flat and black in the dark. “You’d kick me out of the damn club.” He took another drag, letting his wrist hang on the open window, loose, the lit ember like a red star against the black sky. “It’s better I wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have wanted me.”
“That much of an asshole, huh?”
“Kicked me out of his house when I was fifteen. Haven't been back since.”
There wasn’t much Johnny could say to that. The words had been said with a kind of bitter finality that didn’t invite further questioning, so Johnny didn’t. Benny was still looking out of the window into the empty night, and Johnny couldn’t help wondering how far removed from fifteen he was. He looked about twenty, give or take. What had he been doing for the last five years?
“Your ma will still be there tomorrow,” Johnny said. Benny lifted and lowered a shoulder. “Just gotta put a new nut on, torque it right,” Johnny went on. “That’ll get you to Waverly no problem.”
Benny kicked the door open wide again, a gentle push of his booted foot. It swung out and back, pushing the breeze in as it did. A car drove by, the first in a long time, and it flashed its lights as it passed. Johnny held up a hand in acknowledgment, then lowered. Keep going. No need to stop. Nothing to see here.
“Wish I had a coke,” Benny said.
Johnny reached into the door pocket for the second coke he'd bought along with his own. He handed it to Benny, who looked at it, looked at Johnny, then opened it. “Thanks.”
It was a five hour ride to Waverly. If Benny had gotten there, he would have had to stay the night. Johnny wondered if Benny’s ma had ever cleared his bedroom out. Did Benny have siblings? Were they younger, older? He talked like an only child—but then, he had been on his own for years now.
Johnny thought about his own childhood bedroom. Blue walls, toy trucks. School books and a baseball trophy.
“My daddy kicked me out, too.”
Benny finished ripping the yellow price sticker off of his coke bottle. Then he met Johnny’s eye. “Yeah?”
He looked younger, then. Too young, Johnny thought, but the thought didn't have any real weight behind it. He wondered what would happen if he told Benny why his daddy had kicked him out of the house at sixteen. He’d never told anybody that story, not even Betty. Anyway, he wasn't queer, so it wasn't a story worth telling. If he'd've told it, the story would have been about how fucked up his old man got on bathtub gin, how he read a situation wrong and went wild over it. But a story like that, you got to tell it just right. Otherwise people wouldn't get it.
He bet Benny would get it. He couldn't quite work up the nerve to test it. They didn't know each other, not really.
When Cal drove up forty minutes later, they were sitting feet up on the dashboard, listening to Etta croon into the silence. Neither of them mentioned a funeral. Neither of them said much of anything.