places: alice

As I was finishing up with my call, a semi pulled in the gravel drive.  The truck driver stepped out and approached the phone. I turned and made eye contact. He stood back so as to let me finish my call. I hung the phone up and stepped aside, “She’s all yours mister.”

“Thanks.”

I walked away from the area and headed on down the road.  About ten minutes later the same truck passed me and pulled onto the shoulder.  He idled there.  I was expecting some sort of encounter.

The fellow rolled down his window and peered down at me.  “Say mister, do you need a ride?  Which way ya head’n?”

“Sure. I need to get to the Cove area. Ever heard of it?”

“Sure thing. Climb on in.” 

The driver swung the door open and slid on over to his place behind the wheel.

“Say fella, you look like you’ve been through the ringer.”

I nodded, “You can say that again. It’s been a hard couple of days, but I’ve seen worse.”

“Ain’t we all pal.  I was gyrene, spent the war picnicking with the Japs, hopping from island to island.  That’s all behind us.” 

I wish.

“What about you?”

“Average joe - mud dog in the other theater.  After V-E, we were heading your way.  Me and the boys on that boat sure were glad that bomb dropped.”

“You’re tell’n me mister - you’re tell’n me.  Me and my best buddy came back stateside and went into business together. We’re doing pretty good.  By the way, my names James Allison.  My friends call me Alice."

“Johnny.”

“So what’s your business?”

“Nothing much.  Jobs here and there.  I sure would be nice to tie down somewhere.”

Alice pointed over to the glove compartment in front of me.  “Open her up. Grab a card.”

“I usually have openings for drivers.  How’s that sound to you?”

I put his calling card in my pocket and thanked him, smiling from the irony.  “I’ve got some things to finish up around here.  You might just be hearing from me..”

“Hope I do.”

Alice must spend a lot of time alone behind that wheel, cause he didn’t quit talking to company.  Not that I minded.  It helped keep my mind off my troubles.

“So Johnny, mind if I ask what happened to you?”

“A car accident.  I don’t remember the details, I was asleep at the time I drove off the road.”

“Lose a finger?”

“Yep, pinky finger.  It hurts, but could have been worse. I made it through the war with hardly a scratch.”

Alice laughed.  “I know what you mean.  I got wounded a couple of times myself, but nothin’ to write home about.  Six months after I was was back in the states, I jack-knifed my first rig and lost a leg.”

“Go figure.” I replied.

“Go figure.” said Alice.

Alice continued, “I can’t complain.  I’ve seen a lot. . .a lot of things...bad things I’m not going to mention back here. Sure, I can’t help but think about them, but why dredge it all up?  Most of us scrounged through the depression, to later find ourselves beating back Nazis and Nips. It’s not just my story, but all of our story.  I don’t have any room to belly ache.  It’s because you and me have seen a lot of good men dealt a lot worse than us.  Losing a leg or a finger ain’t nothing in the scheme of things.  A lot of joes didn’t make it back.  No matter what we suffered marching to hell and back - you and me got to come back. I got no complaints brother - no complaints.”

I may not have seemed to be listening..but I heard every word.

A few minutes passed and Alice said, "Home".

I looked over at him.  He was looking at the road, and then glanced over at me.  "I'm still not used to being home.  I wake up and look out the window and I'm home."

I looked back out the window, at the passing houses.  Home.

"Ever heard of Cincinnatus?" Alice continued.

"Ohio?"

Alice chuckled, "No, Cincinnatus was a farmer that lived a long time ago.  He was nominated dictator during a real bad time in Rome. A group of Senators were sent to tell Cincinnatus that he supreme power over the land. When they found him, he was out plowing his field. So this guy Cincinnatus goes and puts on his toga and rules. He also personally led infantry into victory. Cincinnatus took on the role that his nation asked him to and then left it as soon as he could - to go back to plowing his field again."

I caught myself gazing at the truck driver as he rambled.

"That fella lived a long time ago, and yet,  I know just how he felt.  I bet he looked out his window everyday, just like I do. I'm still glad to be home.  That's me alright."

Alice looked over at me. I smiled, though I don't know why.  Normal people have fields to plow, a place to go. That's what I want, but it seems so far from here.

We were almost at my destination, a mile or two away from the inn where I left her.  I asked Alice to go ahead and drop me off. I thanked him as he reached over and shook my hand.

Alice was a regular guy - one of those kind of men I admire.

The truck pulled back on the road and drove off.  He gave a blast from his horn. He was gone. I walked down a short dirt drive and stepped up to the front door of a little farm house.

An older gentleman answered the door.

“That car by the road - the one with the for sale sign ...is it yours and how’s it running?”

The old gentleman grabbed both straps of his overalls. He stepped out onto the porch with me and looked over my shoulder at the car.  “It runs fine. It was my brother’s car.  He passed away last month. It runs just fine.”