Grown Fast and Hard Read online

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  Early winter was not the time to be out on the road hitchhiking, but J.T. Starett had no choice. It didn’t take long for him to piece together his situation now that his absent brain had decided to start working again. He bided his time, giving false information and correcting it when their calls did not pan out. They had considered him to be mentally handicapped and so easily accepted his contradictory stories. J.T. waited until early one morning before Earle and Jolene woke, he walked out of the motel and headed north back home. He caught a ride just after dawn with a Flathead Indian named Victor.

  J.T. was just twelve miles from home when Earle and Jolene showed up along side of them in the southbound lane, with the front passenger window rolled down, and Jolene screaming for them to pull over. She was only about three feet away from Victor and real angry, her eyes were humming with intensity.

  “Pull over or else, dammit, pull the hell over!” She screeched.

  Victor looked at J.T., searching his face for an explanation. J.T. just shrugged, like he had no idea. Victor swung his eyes back to look into Jolene’s fierce gaze, she looked crazed. Victor stomped on the gas pedal.

  It took some time for Earle to maneuver the truck back along side Victor’s car, he had to drop back whenever oncoming traffic appeared on the two-lane road. This time there were no words. Earle attempted to ram the car off the road, nearly succeeding a couple times.

  Jolene looked Victor in the eye, wind rushing between them and said, “Listen here you damn injun, pull over! You gonna pull over one way or t’other boy. You hear me! Now pull the hell over, he’s ours!”

  Victor looked at J.T. “You steal from these people?”

  “Exactly the opposite, if you want to know the truth,” J.T. said.

  Then they were bumped again, hard, but Victor maintained control on the shoulder of the road and regained the northbound lane. Jolene was shouting, spittle flew from her mouth. Up ahead was a logging truck, fully loaded, headed south. Victor let Earle ease ahead. Earle took the bait, but couldn’t line up his target properly and decided to let the farm truck pass first, then go on up and finish the job.

  Earle slowed to fall back behind the Indian’s car and let the heavy truck pass, but Victor slowed too. They were two abreast filling both lanes, the oncoming logging truck leaning on its horn in long frantic bursts. Earle slowed more, so did Victor. Earle sped up, so did Victor. The farm truck whooshed past, horn blaring.

  J.T. looked back and saw a cloud of dirt and rocks flying through the air some hundred feet off the southbound lane headed northwest. Earle had taken that old truck off the road to avoid a head-on collision, and from the looks of it, that truck would never see any roadway again.

  “That was some fine driving there, Victor,” J.T. said admiringly, “Yes sir, some fine driving skills displayed right there.”

  “Those people were trying to kill us!” Victor said breathing heavily, still looking down the road.

  “Naw, they were kidnappers and they wanted their kid back.” J.T. relaxed in his seat. “Don’t think we’ll see them again.”

  J.T. explained the situation generally as he knew it, leaving out the details, he figured Victor deserved to know.

  “I ought to let you out right here, boy. I wasn’t ready for no action like that there.” Victor was only mildly annoyed, more proud of the role he played in the outcome, and J.T.’s praise.

  “I owe you, Victor, when we get home, my momma will make us tacos,” J.T. said, “I owe you that much.” J.T. was giddy with the thought of his mother’s relief when he walked through the door. He yearned for his mother’s warm embrace, her sweet smell, and the overall softness of her. They were only a few miles outside the turn-off that led to his home.

  “Aw, ‘preciate it, but I got to get to work. Got a job cuttin’ trees up north of the lake, pays good, got to have it,” explained Victor, who was only a few years older than J.T. “New government project and they’re hiring everybody, if you’re an Indian anyways. You need a job?”

  J.T. had never considered a job; he was still in school and not old enough for serious work. The thought of returning to school, though, had less appeal to him now than it did back in the fall before all this trouble started. Maybe he would get a job, help his mother out with the bills, and contribute what he could, although he knew his mother would never let him drop out of school.

  “Thanks just the same, but I’ve got schooling to do yet.”

  The Flathead Indian pulled his car to the side of the road in front of a whitewashed clapboard house. To J.T. it seems like years since he was here, not the month and a half he was really gone. Victor pushed in the clutch with his foot, switched the ignition off, and glided up to the house. He pulled on the handbrake and they skidded to a stop on loose gravel. The two boys exited the car on opposite sides and together they walked up to the front door, J.T. almost laughing out loud, so strong was his anticipation.

  The yard was unkept, so unlike his mother, thought J.T., but I’m sure my disappearance was a hardship for her. Nonetheless, he was home, time to celebrate! The front door was locked, they knocked but no one came to answer. “She must be running the bath or out back in her garden,” J.T. said over his shoulder to Victor as they rounded the corner of the house heading to the back of the property.

  “Too late in the year for a garden, don’t you think?” Victor said following.

  “She’s probably at the schoolhouse then,” J.T. answered when he saw the backyard and the abandoned garden, which was entirely logical he supposed, it’s just that he though she’d be there to welcome him, that’s how it always played out in his head these last few days. The back door was locked too.

  “Over here, I can get in the bathroom window.” J.T. beckoned.

  Victor helped J.T., gave him a boost up to the window that J.T. knew was never locked. He opened it and slid in headfirst. J.T. walked into the hallway and down towards the kitchen and the back door. He glanced into his mother’s room as he passed and was startled to see her lying peacefully in her bed. He ran to her, “Momma! Momma! I’m home! I’m home!” She didn’t move.

  She lay on her back wearing her Sunday dress, best stockings and her shiny black dress shoes. In her hands she clasped a picture of a smiling Jonny in his school clothes. On the table beside the bed was an empty pill bottle on its side, the cap lying on the floor. She was beautiful. More beautiful than any person he had ever known, or even seen. Even in death, her beauty was obvious. J.T.’s heart sank, a force gripped his insides, and he wanted to scream or smash something.

  Victor was banging on the back door. J.T. stared down at his mother. There was no pain in her expression, perhaps relief, now she lay still forever. J.T. sighed mournfully, leaned over and gave her a kiss on her cold cheek, “Goodbye, momma, I love you. I will always love you.”

  He stood up, the banging louder now at the back door. He walked out of her bedroom without looking back. He reached the back door, opened it but didn’t give Victor a chance to enter; J.T. pushed his way out and closed the door behind him.

  “On second thought, I think I’ll head up to that job site north of the lake,” he said, “if that’s okay with you?” J.T. Starett didn’t stop walking, he headed straight for the car, “maybe they’ll have something for me up there.”

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