A Ticket To Departing (7)
Synopsis: Roger Kiser is traveling with his crude country family from Arkansas to the state of Montana, which they mistakenly call Mount Anna. They are traveling in an old school bus(the Ark) that’s seen much better days. Roger is miserable and would love nothing more than to escape them forever. Roger takes some time to reminisce on his history with the Boykin family.
From somewhere to his right, Roger could just hear Cecil shouting for his snuff can. It reminded him of the first time he met the Boykin family.
Mother was rendered infertile sometime after her seventh or eighth child. Father’s laziness determined that the labor force these parents had bred would be insufficient to maintain the homestead. Roger was added to the family census count to ease the work and further lower Father’s income taxes. To avoid wayward glances from the sisters, Roger professed complete relation.
Nevertheless, it was apparent that he was developing differently from the rest of the family. The parent’s behavior reinforced this fact. Affection afforded to the brothers and sisters flowed like spilt beer, while Roger was relatively shunned.
The Ark either hit a large animal or Father switched gears. The resulting jars forced Kiser back into the present.
Father was speaking, “The way I imagine it, we will buy a mobile home. Then, when you kids are old enough, you can buy mobile homes, and move next to your mom and me. Soon, when we have enough mobile homes, I can open a bar. Then we will be real town, and I will be the mayor. Let’s chose a name for our town.”
One of the spawn said, “How about Armpit?”
They all agreed that Armpit is a name no one has used yet, would attract tourists from all over the world, and make great bumper stickers like, “Sweat Happens”.
“Yea, that’s right, Armpit, Mount Anna here we come!”
*******************
Disaster struck in the snow-covered land of what might have been Michigan.
Previously, the second youngest child had torn up the map. A team of the three oldest repaired it by matching a few of the interstates together. If some of the roads didn’t match up, they used a pen to bring them together.
Father had been swatting hopeful fingers from his unrefrigerated jumbo pack of baloney, when the view before him became awash in darkness. The bus, having borrowed its last second, began billowing thick pillars of smoke from both ends. Father brought it to a halt at a bus stop in nearest small town.
The family’s arrival garnered the attention of just about everyone. People with backpacks and carry-ons froze or at least slowed their walk. Their chilled breaths rose and spread much like the exhaust coming from the idling gray buses. Several homeless men reclining next to a dumpster jeered as the Ark’s momentum expired and it came to a stop in the parking lot.
Father was less amused. “It’s (bad word) impossible to drive with all this (potty mouth) smoke! The (evil speech) wipers don’t even help!”
There were a few moments of quiet peace while each considered how to repair the wipers, and what this delay meant. Roger groaned and looked out his window for a Help Wanted sign in any of the nearby establishments. One of the younger siblings started to cry.
“Paw, are we going to make it to Armpit by Christmas?”
Father scratched himself for a moment and spoke to the mother in hushed tones. She turned, and waddled into the bus terminal. During her absence, father tried to entertain his children by spreading assurances and wasting time flipping unlabeled switches on the bus’s dash. Roger rubbed his arms in an effort to stay warm.
Soon, mother returned with boxes wrapped in a seasonal fashion. Large bows of red and green brought joy to the offspring’s faces. The older children received six packs of their favorite ale, while the younger set acquired jumbo cartons of night crawlers. Noticing that each gift was case specific, Roger held hope that she had purchased something that was geared towards his own wants and desires.
Roger’s gift was the only one to bear his name, but that was not the singular factor in its being unique. While the other gifts issued happiness from every obnoxious, inexpensive ribbon and foil wrapping, his was far less festive. In fact, it was wrapped in nothing but toilet paper and used paper towels.
“Well, open it Oatmeal.”
Kiser lifted his fist overhead, and punched through the exterior to the treasure within. For a moment, he felt nothing. Then, he found the prize, and his clinched hand drew forth a blank bus ticket and an impressive set of executive pens.
The pens were encased in one of the most beautiful plastic enclosures yet observed. It was clear as crystal with sharp edges and a taped enclosure. Each pen appeared to be covered in different precious metal. One pen resembled silver the other held a strong likeness to gold.
Mother seemed exceptionally eager. “The pens will help write where you are going.”
She snatched the pen case from a now confused Roger, and unsheathed the one similar to gold. Utilizing the full extent of her second grade education she began to print a location on the surface of the ticket.
She prompted herself, “Let’s see … one consonant…. A vowel here…. Two more consonants… another vowel… done.”
With just a bus ticket in hand and the backpack he had been carrying since Arkansas, Roger was pushed onto the nearest bus. He had wanted to take his crate with him or at least secure it against his siblings but mother would not hear of it. She assured him that the contents of the crate would be fine.
Kiser turned and glanced at the ticket. It was difficult to read what she had written but this was not uncommon. He could only guess that she had written in a random location in Montana.
Roger was still confused, “But why was I chosen to ride the bus, and how would they complete the trip? They hate me.”
The answers did not hide long. Roger peered out of a window to surmise their strategy. The family had gathered to raise beers, presumably his honor. The toast was brief, and then they shuffled to the rear of the bus where the Ark had been parked.
This behavior gave Roger a hint of their latest, asinine plot. He guessed they planned on hitching their bus to the rear of the bus he was riding in. Soon, they would find themselves in Montana at a fraction of the cost, but why had he been chosen to ride in relative comfort?
Roger turned an surveyed the half full bus. The variety of people was somewhat surprising. It appeared that someone from every corner of the globe was present. Their only common trait was the look of impatience directed at him.
“Uh, can I see your ticket please?” Roger awoke from his induced stupor. The driver was standing in the isle directly behind Kiser.
The driver stared at it sometime before grunting, and giving Kiser an odd look. “Uh, yeah, I know where that is.” He returned the ticket. “Ok, you just be sure to pay close attention in case I forget.”
Roger was still standing as the bus pulled away from the bus stop. As quickly as he could, Kiser moved to the bus’s rear. He grabbed the nearest seat in order to keep from losing his balance.
The bus’s rear most windows were slightly coated in frost and haze, but after wiping the inside with his sleeve, it became clear enough to see through.
Regrettably, Roger then discovered what plan had really been hatched. A sheet had been spread across the parking lot with all the contents of his crate laid out for sale. There was his stereo and his wristwatch and everything else that he owned that might have some worth.
A stunned Roger could only conclude, “ I guess it is now presumable that a mother’s love is indeed conditional.”
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