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  The clatter of the bell tied to the front door brought me back to reality. It was Jimmy. I hadn’t heard him drive up because for a moment I had been mentally transported to Woodstock. Jimmy slammed the glass door hard and without hesitation walked straight behind the counter to put his head on Sarah’s shoulder and his arms around her waist.

  At first, she giggled until he lifted his head. “Jimmy,” her eyes widened at the sight of his swelled and lacerated lips below the purple and red bruise surrounding his right eye. “Your eye.” She cradled his cheek with her hand. “Was it your dad? Did he hit you again?”

  Roger, Michael, and I stood in shock. I guess I’d never thought of Jimmy as a victim. Bullying and fighting the way he did, it wasn’t uncommon for him to show up with all kinds of bruises. Not once had I thought it was his father’s doing. Suddenly, with Jimmy standing there battered and bruised, I saw him in a different light. I turned away, an unsuccessful attempt to not stare. Strangely, Jimmy seemed almost human as he wiped at his cheek.

  Feeling a good deal of intimidation, I turned to face him. “How long has this been going on?”

  He gave me a go-to-Hell look, and I thought he might charge at me, fists flying. But Sarah grabbed his arm and hugged it tightly. We briefly made eye contact before he dropped his gaze to the floor. “I don’t know. I can’t remember when my old man didn’t hit me,” Jimmy sighed. “Usually, he only does it when he’s drunk because when he’s drunk he gets angry. This morning he had a hangover and didn’t feel good. I said the wrong thing, and he was on me.” He bit his lip. “I hate him. I really hate him.” Jimmy’s expression changed. He gritted his teeth and said, “You don’t tell anyone about this—hear me? I’ll make you wear two shiners and a fat lip.”

  Roger grimaced, saying, “I ain’t telling. You can count on me.”

  Wide-eyed, Michael vigorously shook his head. As I said, he had always been more afraid of Jimmy than the rest of us. Jimmy whirled around and focused on me.

  Before he could speak, I held up the newspaper and said, “Looks to me like you could do with a few days of peace and music.”

  “What the hell are you talking about, Loveless?” Jimmy demanded.

  “Here, look for yourself.” I handed him the newspaper.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Jimmy whispered as he read the article.

  In a rash moment fueled by personal angst, I said, “Let’s get up a road trip.”

  “We can all pile into your Mustang,” Roger added, “and be there before the festival ends.”

  “What?” asked Sarah. “Just take off and not tell our parents? We can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” I responded. “As if they care about us.” Jimmy and I locked eyes and it might have been my imagination, but I’d like to think, for a brief span-of-time, we both understood our home lives sucked. Whatever happened in the split second our eyes met, to my mind it somehow forged an unspoken bond from an awkward friendship.

  Michel stammered, “Buuut, but….”

  “I’ll buy the first tank of gas,” I offered. “At thirty-five cents a gallon, it shouldn’t take over five dollars per fill-up.”

  A smile, or something as close to one as Jimmy ever allowed himself, grew across his face. “Why not? Let’s do it.”

  “Some of us have responsibilities, ya know,” Sarah complained, “I have to stay and watch the store. I can’t up-and-leave without notice.” Sarah pushed her flipped-out hairdo with both hands. “And, I haven’t packed or anything. No. I’m not going.”

  “That’s probably for the best,” I soberly said. “Someone should be here to tell our parents we left.”

  Jimmy pulled his thick, swelled lips into a grin. “I’d like to see my old man’s face when you tell him, I left town with Loveless and the Reynolds boys. He’ll be furious and he won’t have me to knock around.”

  “Maybe I’ll just call to tell him the news,” Sarah thoughtfully added.

  “But, no—no, no, no,” Michael blurted. “I’m not spending three days cooped up in a car with Jimmy Dugan.”

  “Count me in,” said Roger in a giddy tone before he strutted around the store chanting, “road trip, road trip….”

  “We better pool our bread if we’re going to do this,” Jimmy demanded and threw a twenty-dollar bill on the counter. Roger added fifteen to his twenty, and I threw in the fifty Dad gave me to pay for my diving lessons.

  “If we sleep in the car, we’ll have enough,” I said.

  Jimmy added, “If we get there in time we’ll have to drive round the clock. One sleeps and another drives.”

  “I can,” the lie effortlessly flowed from my lips. “I’ve driven lots of times.”

  Roger complained, “Don’t look at me. I can’t drive. I’ve never driven before.”

  Pointing his thick index finger at me, Jimmy said, “Great. I drive then you drive.” His grin hadn’t receded since he saw the newspaper.

  Michael threw ten dollars into the pile. “I’m not going, but I can help you guys get there.

  Jimmy punched Michael on the arm before he had a chance to dodge. “Thanks, man.”

  Michael backed away, rubbing his arm and shoulder. “Leave me alone or I’ll take it back.” He spat the words.

  “That’s ninety-five dollars. This is going to happen, guys,” said Jimmy jubilantly.

  “And,” Sarah pouted, “you’re going to leave without me?”

  Jimmy grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close. “I understand you can’t go, but I’ll be back before you know it.” He leaned in to kiss her and she turned away, causing him to land his lips on her cheek. “I need to get away from here for a few days. I need to put some space between me and my old man.”

  She turned back to face him. “I know. I wish I could go too.” Then she kissed him. Not a first date kiss, but something like I once saw in a drive-in movie.

  My eyes widened. I looked at Roger and shrugged. He rolled his eyes at me before retreating to the back of the store. I whispered, “Those two need to get a room.”

  When they finally unlocked their lips. She pulled a metal box out from under the counter. “This is Dad’s petty cash box. He won’t miss a couple of bills. Not if I replace them by next Friday.” She quickly dialed in the combination and lifted out two twenties. Tiptoeing, she stretched up to give Jimmy another kiss as she stuffed the bills into the front right pocket of his tight jeans. “Make sure you save enough to get back home.”

  It took a few moments for us to realize if we were going to do this wild thing, then we had to leave. Jimmy slid behind the steering wheel, I called shotgun, and Roger claimed the back seat. We filled the tank from the pump at the Serve-U, pointed the car north, and without a second thought, left for the Woodstock Music Festival.

  Chapter Two

  Road Trip

  Leaving the city of Western on Interstate 27, Jimmy headed north. Casually, he pulled a pack of Doral cigarettes from where he kept them rolled in the sleeve of his white T-shirt. He slid one out and lit it with his Zippo lighter before he tipped the pack toward me. I gave it a nonchalant wave.

  Jimmy shrugged and said, “Suit yourself.” In 1969 we didn’t know about the long-term effects of smoking, not that it would have stopped us. In a fast one-handed motion, he flipped the lighter shut and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. He joked, saying the Mustang had a powerful air conditioner called a 2-70, meaning both windows down going seventy miles an hour.

  I chuckled. With the wind blowing through my hair, I felt kind of weightless. I’d been stressing and every muscle suddenly relaxed, leaving me with a floating sensation. I flipped off my flops and put my bare feet on the dash. The sunlight felt warm and welcome on my bare chest, darkening my copper-toned skin.

  Roger tried to stretch out on the small bench seat in the back, but he couldn’t, his legs had to bend to fit. Still, he didn’t complain. He lay there in his cut off Levis and baby blue plaid shirt with his knees tucked up onto his chest in a fetal position. Unlike his b
rother Michael, he hadn’t reached the six-foot mark—yet. From what I knew about Roger’s home life, he had no reason to want to run away. Roger was my best friend, if I could honestly give anyone the title. I always felt he understood me, even better than Michael, but in truth, it was our parents who pushed us into being friends.

  Mom didn’t socialize with many people. Most who knew her were acquaintances who thought she was a doll, always dressed up. She wouldn’t be caught dead in public without wearing her white gloves; she epitomized manners by never taking them off until seated at the table. She oozed politeness and style, always so friendly to everyone, but it was a front. She had this slick plastic personality she let everyone else see, and another one, grainy and rough like sandpaper, she saved for her family. Her alter ego was afraid of people and questioned everyone’s motive for everything they did—even waving at her.

  She didn’t let anyone get close, and she didn’t want me to be close to anyone either. Her motto, repeated over and over, was “You can’t trust people and friends are the worst. Every one of them will betray you.”

  She went as far as forbidding me to associate with any of my friends outside of school or the pool—well, almost. Roger’s parents, Edna and Renny Reynolds, were the exception to her rule. Edna and Mom were close. For as long as I can remember we would spend every Thursday night at the Reynolds’ house, the adults played Bridge, and us kids wreaked havoc. That’s right, unsupervised, raw, anything goes havoc went down in the Reynolds brother’s room. It’s no surprise we three became friends.

  There, in the car, we were flying along the interstate, when Jimmy gave me his intimidating JD stare and asked, “Okay, Loveless, why are you and numbnuts Reynolds being so nice to me? I know you couldn’t resist my sparkling personality,” he jeered. “And, I’m a funny guy too. Don’t you remember the pokes I gave you with my icepick in the gym shower last year?” He reached over, poking my side with his elbow. “Damn, you sure looked funny, all naked and dancing around trying to keep away from me.”

  “Yeah, that was a shitty thing to do,” I exclaimed.

  Jimmy stomped on the brake—tires screaming. Cars blared their horns as they drove around the Mustang. Roger slid off the shallow bench seat and landed half on the floorboard and half not. Jimmy had gone from a good time guy into an instant rage. He bellowed, “Get your asses out of this car. I’ll go alone.”

  “You’re not leaving with my money unless I’m coming along,” I bellowed back, sticking a thumb in my chest for emphasis.

  I was tired of always coddling Jimmy, the bully. Before our reckless decision to run away to a rock concert in New York State, I had always brown-nosed him, manipulating him. I learned from the best, my mother manipulated everyone she met. To be blunt, I was stepping off the merry-go-round of emotional horse shit. Even if he beat me black and blue, I’d decided to speak my mind.

  I yelled, “Hell no. You stabbed my naked butt with a frackin’ ice pick. How the hell do you expect me to feel? You’re crazy if you think I’ll laugh about it? Dugan, I have a shit-load of reasons not to trust you. If I had any sense at all, I would get out—right now.”

  “What’s stopping you? And take numbnuts Reynolds here, with you.”

  An ear-shattering scream came from the back seat. Jimmy and I all but jumped out of our skins. “Shut up, just shut the hell up.” Roger’s face had turned bright red. His trembling hands were over his ears and he stared at the mat under his feet as he shrieked, “Stop acting like idiots. Jimmy Dugan, you’re a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. You know we didn’t like what you did. Asking us to laugh at it is… Well, it makes you look dumb, and you know it.”

  I sat there in shock. I’d never seen Roger be so aggressive before. Jimmy and I looked at each other, not sure what to do next.

  In a quieter voice, Roger exclaimed, “I can’t take it.” With quivering intensity, he looked up at us. “Either, we go to Woodstock and you get to gloat to your old man about how he couldn’t stop us, or we don’t go and tonight you two-step back into your boxing rings. Dugan, is your pride so important you can’t admit Arland’s right and just go on?” He turned from Jimmy to face me. “And, you, Arland James Loveless, stop bitching. You’re acting like your mother.”

  Was it true? Had I gone from mimicking mom’s manipulative behavior to duplicating her anger and bitterness? For an instant, a brief moment taken out of time, I looked at myself and hated what I saw.

  Jimmy got quiet. His eyes narrowed. He stepped off the break-pedal, and we were moving again. After several minutes of silence, Jimmy spoke, “So, numbnuts, what’s your story? Why do you want to run off to Woodstock?”

  “You expect me to open up to you? Let’s just say. It’s time for the invisible man to make his appearance.”

  “Whatever, dude.” Jimmy rolled his eyes and looked my way. He was wearing his menacing, wide-faced grin again. It made me wonder if no one had ever stood up to him before. He possessed this awesome power of intimidation and he lorded it over us. Then his expression changed. For once, he gave me a smiling glance and the feeling behind it was genuinely friendly. Maybe he had been waiting all along, hoping someone would speak their mind. For whatever it was worth, I did it, and it felt good to sit there as equals. I was also glad Roger stepped in when he did; otherwise, Jimmy would have beat me to a pulp.

  “James, huh? I never pegged you for a James. Maybe a Betty, but never a James,” Jimmy smirked.

  I sighed and ignored his crude jab—his remark was amateurish. My mother could have sarcastically diced him up into chopped liver by the time he got out one crude remark. I was used to taking verbal blows from a world-class contender. “I think I misjudged you, Jimmy. I mean, I’ve always blamed you for your badass behavior, but I think I understand you better now.”

  He laughed it off, “And, now you’re suddenly some frackin’ psycho genius?”

  “No. I’m just a guy whose parents continually hurt him.” I looked over at Jimmy. His grin faded into the most serious expression.

  He contemplated my statement. “They box you around?”

  “It’s different,” I explained. “They hit with words. Jimmy, a fist leaves a bruise, and bruises fade away; words cut deep and take longer to heal. I get sliced to bits every time I walk into the house.” He wouldn’t look my way. I said, “I’d rather my mother hit me than make me feel like dirt every time she looks at me. That kind of thing messes with your head and makes you crazy.”

  He swallowed hard. “I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah. Like I didn’t know your dad uses you for a punching bag.” I shrugged. “Roger is the only one I’ve ever talked to about it.” I made it a point to look out the window. I couldn’t make eye contact with Jimmy right then. “I guess we both have family secrets we’d rather keep to ourselves.” I reached over and took the pack of cigarettes out of his sleeve, popped one out, grabbed the lighter from the dash, and lit the cigarette.

  “Since when do you smoke?” Jimmy’s smile returned.

  “Since now.” I took a deep drag on the cigarette and exhaled in a fit of coughing.

  Jimmy pulled a drag deeper than I had and held his breath for a while before he slowly blew the smoke in my face. “That’s how it’s done.”

  “I guess it takes practice.” I looked at the cigarette and tried again, and again I exhaled in a fit of coughing. “Maybe I’ll start tomorrow.” With my middle finger, I flipped what was left of it out the window. “Jimmy, tell me, do you have any friends? Other than Sarah, I mean.”

  He got a sour look on his face. “Who needs friends? They always stick their nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “Like I said, we all have things we don’t want anyone to know about,” I agreed.

  He nodded and looked back at Roger brooding in the backseat. “No joke, what’s his story? Why’s he so all-fired hot to get away from his parents?”

  I shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I have a hard enough time with my own crap.”

&nb
sp; Roger said, “You can’t even talk to me directly. You’re just like my folks.” Usually, Roger let everything he was thinking fall out of his mouth. But this time, he bit his lip and stewed over what to say. The few words he spoke were golden, “It’s worse being ignored than mistreated. At least your parents know you’re there. The only one who sees me for who I am is Arland.”

  In all the years I knew Roger, I never learned more about how he felt than I did there in Jimmy’s car. He usually covered up his true feelings with sarcasm and quips—most of which were ignored by the cool crowd. I’m not sure I’d call him invisible, maybe overlooked would better describe him.

  Over the next couple of hours we talked, I mean really talked. I found myself telling Jimmy all about my psychotic mother and more. He drove listening, nodding, grinning back at Roger, and giving me the occasional smiling glance. Then he would share something about his life and what it was like to live with a drunkard for a father. His mother had left with another man when he was six-years-old, or so his father told him. He hadn’t heard from her, not once.

  It seemed supernaturally strange how I was bonding with the school bully. We had a connection even Roger and I didn’t share. We understood what it was like to live with parents who hurt us. I can’t say I completely understood his situation because my mom didn’t physically hit me like she did my dad, but she wounded me with words and actions. I carried the emotional scars to prove it.

  As for Roger, I don’t know if I believe being ignored is worse. It was true, his parents rarely had any time for him. The Reynolds were all about Michael. I can just hear them saying, Michael got this award, Michael never causes trouble, and Michael is so good at everything. It was kinda sickening. I glanced in the back seat. Eyes closed, he lay there, either sleeping or pretending. Probably his way of ignoring us for a while.

  In Amarillo, we turned onto Route 66 toward Oklahoma City, stopping at a Texaco station once for a badly needed break and a fill-up. After that, Jimmy and I continued to talk for another couple of hours. When the conversation died down, as it will do when two people no longer know what to say to each other, Jimmy reached over and turned on the radio. At first, it crackled with static until he dialed in a station.