Awake Asleep Dreaming Dead (10 page)

If there was a way for you to get some time back, would you? Tom asked.

How, sell my soul to the Devil? Sam asked. Spend eternity burning in hell. Don’t like the sound of that.

You know Robert Johnson, the blues singer? Tom asked.

Don’t know much about him, but I’ve heard the name.

Well, he wrote and sang some amazing songs. All when he was very young. Some say he sold his soul to play the blues.

Not me, Sam interrupted. I’m happy just to make the best of the time I have. It’s the only way to live. That’s what I think. Choose a path, and do what you’re good at.

What if you could trade places with someone for a while, would you do that?

You’re sounding weird now. You must be drunk. What’s with all this getting time back talk, and trading places with someone got to do with me?

Nothing, nothing, I guess, Tom said, but you know how tree roots go deep under the ground to get food and water?

Yeah . . . okay?

In some way they’re connected to everything by their roots, and through the earth. People are just water and dirt.

I don’t know, Sam said. You mean trees affect events in some way, and change the outcome of life.

Possibly, Tom said. What if you could be a tree, or live inside a tree for a while? I mean an ancient oak or a sequoia, not a shrub, a real old solid tree

Live in a tree, Sam laughed. Live in a tree, yeah, right, that’s a good one. Live in a tree, he repeated and laughed.

No, just imagine if you were inside a tree. I mean your soul, your being, and could know what was happening everywhere in the world like the internet links us together now. Thousands of years pass, and you’re collecting information throughout history about everything. What if trees were connected that way, and you had access?

Well, I’d be worried because they’re being chopped down at a pretty fast clip these days.

Exactly, you’re right about that; trees are falling everyday. Nothing can live without them because they produce and filter the air. They’re home to animals, birds, and insects.

It’s called progress, Sam said, and I guess progress always involves destruction.

Tom looked at Sam. What do you think it’s like inside a sequoia? Imagine if you lived in one of those big trees, or an old oak tree, like the one at the school yard. Hundreds, thousands of years old. You’d have been through a lot, more than any living person.

Okay, I’m a sequoia, thousands of years old. Now what?

That’s the point, you don’t know, but what if you did know? What if you could know everything a sequoia knows? Feel everything a sequoia feels?

This is crazy. How can I live inside a tree? Sam said.

Never mind, don’t worry about it, Tom said. Where are we going again?

Before picking you up I was planning to go to Wild Cat Mountain State Park, and camp out for the night. Got a tent?

No, I don’t, Tom said.

Well it’s warm, and if the weather holds up, we won’t need any. We’ll just sleep under the stars.

I haven’t done that since I was a kid. Sleeping under the stars and trees sounds fine to me. I think that calls for a toast, Tom said. Here’s to sleeping under the stars. He took a drink. I’m looking forward to a fine night.

You know, Tom, I know what your last name is . . . it’s Handbuster. You’re the barber, and used to cut my hair. I remember listening to you talk about all kinds of things while waiting for my turn to get a haircut.

Well . . . Sam Young, you surprise me.

Sam turned to Tom. The funny thing is . . . my studio is in your barber shop.

Here, have a cold one.

Tom happily took the beer, and said, It doesn‘t get any better than this, Sam, thanks. Let’s have a look-see what you’ve got to listen to, and flipped through the sleeves of discs. Warren Zevon, Tom said with a light tone in his voice, and smiled. Let’s play this.

Sure, then he thought. Tom seems to be a happy-go-lucky guy again, but what’s with that wild story about being a tree. I think he’s going senile.

They stayed on the back roads, avoiding traffic. The music blared, the wind howled through the car, and the high sun burned off the clouds leaving a crystal blue sky.

You know, I remembered reading stories of talking trees. One was about a couple of trees called the Sun and Moon. They were fighting trees. Trees live, decay, and die like people. There are wishing trees that transfer disease after one leaves a lock of hair, or piece of clothing. Trees for enlightenment, holidays, some bloom once, others twice, and there’s the universal tree of life. How far is Wild Cat Mountain? I bet there are lot’s of trees in the park.

We should be getting close, and then you’ll be happy because there are lots of trees.

Do you have a map? Tom asked.

Yeah, a book, under the seat.

Tom reached under the seat, and pulled it out, then some pages blew out the window. This things pretty old, and falling apart. I guess it’s going back to where it came from, returning home, back to the earth.

It’s okay, roads don’t change that much, and don’t just disappear. They’re long, and they’re not going to be torn up and moved. There might be a new bridge, or some construction, but an old road’s still going to exist in some shape or form.

Well, guess you’re right, and according to the map, it looks like we’re on the right road.

Just follow this road, keep going straight, we should see a sign for the park soon.

There’s a hitch-hiker up there, Sam said.

Tom looked up from the map. Yeah, and he looks like a young fellow. Tom’s head turned, and his eyes followed the hitch-hiker as they passed him, then Sam slowed down. Are you stopping to pick him up?

We can drop him off somewhere along the way, Sam said.

I wouldn’t pick him up.

It’ll be a tight fit for a while, but we can make do. Sam pulled over. It’ll be my good deed for the day, he said. Then looked in the rear view mirror, and watched the hitch-hiker gallop to the car. Sam thought, He looks familiar. Where have I seen him before?

Thank you, the hitch-hiker said as he ran up to the car. Thank you. I been walking for hours. He was panting, trying to catch his breath and talking at the same time.

Squeeze in back, Sam said, then thought, I know him. We can drop you off at the next town. That’s about all I can do.

Next town’ll do just fine.

Where are you heading? Sam asked as the hitch-hiker climbed in, and tossed his green canvas bag on the floor.

Thought I’d try my luck in L.A. How about you guys?

We’re going to Ellsworth, Sam said. It’s a small town west of here.

Well—beggars can’t be choosers, the hitch-hiker said. Ellsworth sounds good to me, and it’s in the right direction.

Sam put the car in first gear, and headed down the highway, tires screeching as he slammed through the gears.

Tom turned to the hitch-hiker in the back sit. You’re traveling pretty light, he said. Leave your stuff somewhere?

No, this is it, only got the one bag, he said. All I got in the world’s here in this duffle bag. Just got out of the pen.

It was quiet, and no one said a word for a long, long, moment. Finally Tom broke the silence. What were you in for?

Well, I’ve always had tough times, he said. My family’s always been on the shit end of the stick. Always trying to put together enough money to start a business, or get a decent place to live, nothing’s worked out. Not yet, anyway.

That could change today my friend, Sam said. This might be your lucky day.

How do you figure? the hitch-hiker said. You know something I don’t?

Tom here is blessed with an over-abundance of good luck, Sam said. Seriously, no joke.

That true, old-timer? You a lucky charm? The hitch-hiker asked, and laughed.

Tom turned to the hitch-hiker, and said, Depends, maybe you were born under a bad sign, and there’s no hope for you.

The hitch-hiker laughed. You’re pulling my leg, he said. There ain’t no such thing as good or bad luck. You’ve got to make your own luck.

Really, Tom said, then how do you explain getting picked up five-minutes ago, just coincidence?

That’s right, pure and simple, that’s all. Well, along with my thumb in the wind, the hitch-hiker said. But if you’ve got some extra luck old timer, I’d be glad to take it off your hands. Not gonna turn down a dose of good luck. No, sir.

Sorry, there’s none left, Tom said, and took a swig of beer. I’m all out of luck, my hitch-hiking friend. Used the last bit of it when I told Sam not to pick you up.

Sam looked at Tom with a try-to-be-nice stare. How about a beer? he asked the hitch-hiker.

Sure, never turn down a brew, either, he said, snorted, and laughed.

Help yourself. It’s in the cooler on the floor.

You never said why you were locked up.

Oh, yeah, that, he mumbled, and took a drink. Well I needed a car, but was short on cash. Me and a friend, who had himself a similar problem, was talking about how banks screw people over. They only lend money to people who don’t need it, and turn down the poor schmucks who do. So, one afternoon we walked into a bank wearing ski masks, and carrying pump shotguns. We robbed it, and got away clean, but, well, because we were young and stupid, started spending the money. All our friends wondered where the money came from. They knew we didn’t have jobs. A few weeks later the cops put it all together, and we both ended up in the crow-bar-hotel.

You’re kidding, Sam said. Just like that, walked in and robbed a bank.

No joke, he said, just like that. Don’t know what come over us. Tired of having nothing, I guess, and one thing led to another. Being novices at robbing and all, we watched a few bank job movies to get some tips, but you know things work out a lot different in the movies.

Sam laughed. You watched movies to learn how to rob banks? He looked at the hitch-hiker in the rearview mirror. Did you really think that would work?

Why not? It does in the movies! the hitch-hiker said, and broke into honking laughter.

Why didn’t you look for a job? Tom asked.

Tried and tried, damn hard, couldn’t find a thing. Well, nothing good anyway. But I’ve changed my ways. Prison did that. No way I’d ever rob a bank again, too damn dangerous. You can’t get away now-a-days, damn technology, always get yourself caught by the police. It was different back in the day.

Well, I’m glad to hear you’re not robbing banks anymore, Sam said, What’s your name again?

Holiday, but everyone calls me, Doc.

Doc, Doc Holiday, Tom said, and grinned. Jailbird and famous dentist gunfighter?

After Tom said gunfighter, Holiday yanked out a pistol from behind that he had tucked in his belt. Then he cocked and released the hammer a few times, and twirled it around his finger smiling like an entertainer at a gun show. He leaned forward resting his arms on the top of the seats behind Sam and Tom. With gun in hand said, If I’ve got to protect myself, or my friends, I will. You guys are my friends now, so we protect each other. He spun the gun round his finger again, aimed out the window at some invisible prey. Bang! he barked. Got’em! then let out another long yokel laugh.

Okay, Sam said. We’re friends. You can put the gun away. Don’t want anyone getting shot. Holiday! The cat killer. He looks so young! It’s him, I know it! What is it with these people I’m picking up? Sam thought. If someone picked me up on the highway I’d sit in the car quietly, answer questions I was asked, and have a nice friendly conversation. Why are the people I pick up fruitcakes? What’s going to happen next?

In the mirror Sam watched Holiday tuck the pistol back into his belt. This time he tucked it in the front, then sat back, and drank his beer. This guy’s going to be trouble. I have my hands full with Tom, and now I’ve got this goof. I should’ve listened to Tom and driven by. Damn, why did I stop and pick this loser up? Sam continued to watch Holiday in the mirror, and noticed Tom doing the same with an I told you not to pick him up look on his face. Tom’s drinking slowed, and Holidays increased. He guzzled three cans of beer, and after that cracked open the whisky. Tom cringed. I felt something might happen, but he was cool, studied the road map, and played with the CD player. Every so often he’d say something about a nice car that drove by, or elaborate about the scenery.

After listening to music, and driving a while, Holiday leaned forward, and said, I’ve got to take a leak, guys. What about you?

Sounds like a good idea, Sam said. I’ll stop at the next wayside or gas station?

Can’t wait, Holiday said. I’ll piss my pants.

Pinch it off, Tom said, until we pull over.

That looks like a good spot up ahead, Holiday said. Pull over quick!

Okay, Sam said, go empty your wagon, but make it fast, so we can get back on the road. We’re staying at a campground tonight, and have to get going, so we can set up camp before dark.

Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . okay, boss, he said, laughed, then climbed out of the car. He stood next to the road, unzipped his fly, and watered the weeds along the roadside.

Oh, man, that’s feels good, he said, and let out groans of joy as he emptied his bladder. That’ll make everything grow. It’ll look like the Garden of Eden when I get done pissing on it, and be worth a picture.

Tom let out a chuckle, looked at Sam, and whispered, I bet if we come back to this spot in a few days all the plant life will be dead, and look like it was baked by the sun. The place will be teeming with snakes and wretched creatures.

Sam whispered, Don’t rile him up. He’ll pull that damn gun out again, and start waving it around.

Tom gave Sam the I-don’t-care look, and didn’t say much from then on.

Holiday climbed back into the car adjusting and zipping his pants. What’s the name of the camping place? he asked, and grabbed a beer from the cooler.