This series is a little bit biographical and a little
bit imaginary about my dad and a road trip he took in the summer of 1946, when
he turned fifteen. He and a friend hitchhiked from Loring Park to Duluth, into
Canada and back again. He was gone from home for a month. I was astonished and
fascinated by the tale. So, I added some speculation about things I've always
wondered about and this series is the result. To read earlier SHORT LONG
JOURNEY NORTH clips, click on the label to the right, scroll down to and click
OLDER ENTRIES seven or eight times. The FIRST entry is on the bottom of the
last page.
Edwina Olds, Lieutenant, WACS
(ret.), “Ed” by choice, reached across Tommy Hastings and patted Freddie
Merrill’s knee, “If it weren’t for Arnie, I’d take you up on your offer, son.”
She sighed, “But you know how truck drivers and cops are.”
“I don’t know!” Freddie
exclaimed.
“Rock solid, son. Rock solid
through and through.”
Freddie sighed, closed his
eyes and pretended to sleep. As they drove on into the night, his fake sleep
turned real; and Tommy wasn’t far behind. Ed smiled at the boys fondly and
whispered, “But I sure hope I have some boys like you two someday.”
It was still dark when they
woke up, but as Tommy looked around blearily, he said, “Where are we?”
The truck was slowing, Ed
down-shifting as they approached an intersection. “Milaca.”
Freddie groaned, stretched
his arms, elbowing Tommy’s ear. “Ouch! Watch where you’re poking that thing!
Like you got a bayonet for a elbow!”
“Sorry,” he muttered, not
meaning anything by it.
Tommy elbowed him back.
Freddie twisted sideways, his hands going for Tommy’s neck.
“Stop,” Ed said suddenly, her
voice soft – but cracking like a whip of a lion tamer. Both boys froze in
mid-motion.
“What’s wrong?” Tommy
whispered.
Ed turned to them, and by the
green light from the dashboard, she looked like the Bride of Frankenstein. Both
boys shrank away from her. The tractor trailer drifted into the tiny town. Four
lights lit the main street, backlighting for just a second, a round shadow. Freddie
began, “What’s that…”
Ed’s hand lashed out. Cupped
over his mouth, her fingers exerted such pressure that they squeezed his jaw
closed and pressed him against the back of the trailer window. The glass
groaned.
So did Freddie.
She released him and his slid
down the seat and into the well. Tommy did the same as she geared the truck up
slowly, passing the island of light in an otherwise inky darkness. The drove
for what seemed like an hour before she said, “You can get up now.”
His voice weird, Freddie
managed to say, “I can’t. My jaw’s broken. In six places.”
“It’s not broken,” said Ed. “If
it was, you wouldn’t be able to talk at all and you’d be screaming in pain.”
She paused, “I know. I’ve broken the jaws of several men. And arms. A couple of
legs and at least one neck.” She paused again, then added, “Besides, you can
still move – even if I had accidently broken it. Which I didn’t.”
“Then...”
“The Socialists were there.
Waiting for you.”
“You could have protected us!”
said Tommy.
Ed snorted. “I’m strong boys,
but not that strong. Certainly not strong enough to take on fifteen armed men
by myself.”
“You got us!” Freddie
exclaimed.
Ed barked, cleared her throat
then said, “I do, and we could probably take them all on.” She jerked her chin
to one side, “But we now have a bigger problem.”
Both boys said together, “What?”
“We’re running out of gas,”
she gestured through the windshield, “And there’s not a gas station within
miles.” She paused, “And the tank is almost empty.”
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