Teach Me New Tricks

Christopher

The big truck rumbled down the highway, the diesel engine the only sound filling the tomblike quiet in the cab of the truck. I glanced over, checking to make sure my sixteen-year-old son was still breathing, and had to smile. He had passed out. His head was leaning against the door, his mouth hanging open and looking anything but cool.

I was tempted to snap a picture to use as blackmail for a future date but resisted. I didn’t need him to be pissed at me for anything else. I seemed to be able to piss him off with the simple intake of breath or the dreaded, ‘what’s going on’ question that put him on the defensive.

It had been a long drive. It felt much longer due to the lack of conversation. The radio had gone in and out, leaving me in silence while he listened to his headphones. The stretch of highway in front of me seemed endless.

We were close. So close to the end of our journey from our home in Minnesota to what I was declaring a fresh start to life in Conroe, Texas. My real estate career had turned me onto the area long ago. I had dreamed of retiring to the growing city just outside of Houston for a while now. My wife, Carlie, and I had been checking out property in the area for years.

It was still hard to believe she was gone. She wasn’t going to get to spend her days sitting on our back deck and sipping sweet tea. Life was unfair. My wife of twenty years had been killed instantly in a horrific crash that turned my life upside down. Olin’s life had been forever changed as well.

It was crazy that one person could make one bad decision and change the course of life for complete strangers. I had to let go of the anger. The anger had driven me into a very dark place for months after she’d been killed. I couldn’t go back there.

I was running away from the memories. It probably wasn’t healthy, but I felt that Olin and I needed a change. Staying in the house in Minnesota was only making it difficult to move forward. At least for me it was. Olin didn’t seem to give a shit one way or the other. He was a typical teenager with the usual angst. Add in the loss of his mother and things were even more difficult.

“Hungry?” I asked, knowing he could hear me, but doing a really good job pretending he couldn’t. “Olin, I need gas. I’m going to grab something to eat. I hear these Buc-ees have some great food, real Texas style.”

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled.

“Suit yourself. You’re old enough to know if you’re hungry or not.”

I flipped on my blinker and pulled off the freeway. It had been a long two days of non-stop driving. I was tired of sitting on my ass and couldn’t wait to be home. Our new home.

“Can I get one of those pork sandwiches?” I asked the young man behind the immaculately clean counter once I was inside.

“Sure thing,” he said and quickly filled my order.

I looked around, suspecting Olin had decided to come in, and found him in front of the Slurpee machine, a bag of chips in his hand. Not hungry my ass. I took my sandwich and grabbed a bottle of water for the road.

I waited, giving Olin plenty of time to browse the massive food selection. I pretended to be occupied as well, not wanting to pressure him to hurry up. The kid was prickly at best, and any little thing I said or did threatened to piss him off and send him storming out of my general vicinity.

He looked at me, his blue eyes reminding me of his mother. His thick black hair was all me. He was the perfect combination of the two of us. “Ready?” I asked him.