"HEY, Pougles, there's Jack Becker," Murray shouted as he pointed to an old Chevy sitting in the parking lot of the drive-in restaurant we were passing. "You got any money?" he asked. "Yea, that's Jack alright," I replied as I glanced over at the drive-in restaurant we were passing. "And what do you need money for?" I asked Murray, still looking at the drive-in restaurant we were passing. You can carry on quite a lengthy conversation as you are passing a drive-in restaurant, especially if you are passing it on foot, as Murray and I were.
"Well, I just got a good idea," Murray answered excitedly. "Ol' Jack will let you drive his car if you buy him some gas, that's what I've heard anyway." I reached into my front pocket and found that I had about a dollar and forty-seven cents. Actually, I found that I had exactly a dollar and forty-seven cents. "I've got a dollar and forty-seven cents," I told Murray, "but I don't know that I want to drive Jack's car. Wouldn't mind getting a ride home, though, but I'm not sure it's would be worth every cent I've got."
Murray turned and started walking rapidly towards Jack and the Chevy. Though there were only about 20 yards between Jack and us, we were worlds apart. Jack was seventeen years old; I was fourteen and Murray only eleven. Jack and I were in the same grade at school though. He said it was because they had held him back since he had the mumps or something. I didn't realize that the mumps lasted two or three years but I never argued the point with him. Jack was not only three years older than I was; he was also twice my size. He was a pretty good-natured person if you saw things his way. His way was that if you had any money he knew you well and was willing to share it with you.
Anyway, I followed Murray as he approached Jack's car. Jill Maler, a short, dark-haired girl who was also in my grade at school, was standing next to Jack's car. She handed Jack a large glass mug of rootbeer and then counted out some change to him. Jill was a real popular girl, well liked with a very outgoing personality. She was a junior varsity basketball team cheerleader and worked as a carhop at the drive-in restaurant. She turned, smiled, and spoke to Murray and me as she walked away. We returned the greeting and then Murray walked up to Jack's car and asked, "Bought yourself a rootbeer, huh, Jack?" "Naw, Jill got it for me, but she could only spare about thirty cents in change after getting it," Jack answered, seemingly disappointed. "Guess that'll get me a gallon of gasoline and leave me a dime for another rootbeer later, though," he continued.
"Well, Pougles has got some money," Murray blurted, "and he sure would like to drive your car." I wanted to turn around and walk away at that point. What I really wanted to do was smack Murray and then turn around and walk away. But I figured I had two things against me right then; Murray and Jack. If I even tried to stomp Murray I was sure Jack would stand up for him since he had revealed where the treasure lay. Jack smiled and said, "Yea, I was just getting ready to pull over there and see if you boys needed a ride when I saw you coming this way." I instantly thought of all the times that Jack had passed us by when we were walking down the road. I searched my memory hard to remember even once when he had offered us a ride.
Murray headed around the car towards the passenger door. I followed him, contemplating tackling him from behind, but I knew it was too late to do anything but join in on his plans. He was kind enough to pull the seat forward and let me climb into the back and then seated himself in the front passenger seat. "How much money ya got, Pougles?" Jack asked, turning and leaning over the front seat. "Probably a dollar and forty-seven cents," Murray answered before I had a chance to reply. My, he was getting good with figures. Jack immediately turned the key on and pushed the started button on the Chevy. He pulled out of the drive-in and drove about a quarter mile down the state highway and turned into Gerald's Gas Stop. He stopped the car at the first of the two gas pumps, turned the engine off and leaned over the seat again. "You got that money?" he asked. I already had it in my hand and gave it to him.
Max Nebaugh was attending the service station and he came walking out to the car. "Howdy, Jack," Max said with a smile, "Need a gallon of petro?" "Better give me a dollar's worth today, Max" Jack replied. "You think that this old junker will pull that much weight?" Max joked as he headed for the pump. "What did you do, come into an inheritance?" he continued. "Naw, got a little driver's ed class today," Jack quipped, with a grin so big I could see it from the back seat. Of course, I was looking into the rear view mirror. Seemed like everyone was grinning today except me.
Max finished pumping the dollar's worth of gasoline, which was nearly five gallons, checked the oil and then washed the windshield. Amazing what a dollar would buy in those days. Jack paid Max, started the car and headed out of town on the two-lane state highway. About two miles outside of the city limits, he made a right onto a paved county road, drove about a half mile further and made a left onto a gravel road. He brought the Chevy to a halt, put it in neutral and got out. "Your turn, Pougles," Jack yelled as he walked around the front of the car. Once again, Murray was kind enough to pull the seat up for me. I got out expecting Murray to get into the back seat but instead Jack did. Though a little puzzled, I walked around the car and climbed into the driver's seat. I pulled the seat forward as far as it would go and attempted to see the road in front of us. I had a real good view of the steering wheel. Jack leaned over the seat and handed me a stack of his schoolbooks. "Here," he said, "sit on these." I didn't mind sitting on schoolbooks, but the layer of dust on the top one bothered me a little, so I took the bottom one and put it on top. It looked brand new. Now I could see the road by looking through the steering wheel and over the dash, but my feet just barely reached the foot pedals. I managed to push the clutch in far enough to get the gearshift lever into first gear and to put the gas pedal down enough to rev the engine up a little. I let the clutch out and the car jumped forward, sputtered, jerked all over and then died. "Ya got to let the clutch out a little slower," Jack instructed. Guess maybe he was earning his keep after all. I put the clutch back in, pushed the starter button and repeated my actions, this time somewhat more timely, and after only a minute or so of jerking we were rolling along pretty good. I took a quick look at the speedometer and noticed that it read about 20mph. That really didn't mean much to me but I decided it was time to shift gears so I pushed the clutch in and shoved the gearshift lever up to second. After some serious grinding it finally went into gear. When I let the clutch out the car sputtered once again but the engine finally caught hold and we were once again rolling along. At this point I decided that I had had enough fun for one day and eased up on the gas pedal, pushed on the brake and came to a halt. My forehead was wet, my palms were wet, my shirt was wet, and my pants were wet. I believe that my forehead, palms and shirt were wet from sweat.
"Pretty good drivin', Pougles, for starters," I heard Jack say from the back seat. I found myself grinning. Even I was grinning. I got out of the car and walked proudly around the front to the passenger side. I thought that maybe I owed Murray an apology and should take back some of the bad things I had said about him. Couldn't take them all back because I had to be home by dark. I opened the passenger door expecting Murray to pull the seat up again and let Jack out and me in. But the passenger seat was empty. Murray was sitting under the steering wheel.
"Get in," Jack ordered, "I told Murray he could take it for a spin." How prophetic, I recall now. I took a look around. Only three or four miles to town, five or six to my house, an hour or so till dark. Maybe if I jogged part way. Kidnapping wasn't real common in this part of the country and my parents would never believe a story like that. It occurred to me that perhaps I was being oversensitive to the situation and worrying too much about the consequences, so I turned and started walking towards town. "Get in the car," Jack demanded. Maybe kidnapping would be an excuse after all. As I crawled back into the passenger seat I noticed that Murray was grinning again.
An eleven-year-old kid behind the wheel of an old Chevy isn't a pretty sight. Jack had located a couple of more books for Murray to sit on and he resembled a little kid in a high chair. As I grasped for something to hold on to, he stretched out to put the clutch in and push the gas pedal, pulling on the gear shift lever at the same time. The books slid forward, two or three of them falling onto the floor, and Murray was hanging in midair. His left foot slipped off of the clutch, his right foot was against the gas pedal with all his weight on it, and the car lurched forward. The rear tires were spinning and throwing gravel everywhere as the G-forces threw me back in the seat. All I could see was sky. I realized how Navy aircraft carrier pilots must feel when the catapult lets go. When I was finally able to pry my head away from the seat I turned to look at Murray. He was still grinning and still hanging in midair. I couldn't see Jack but I could hear him well. He was attempting to come over the seat and I had my doubts that he was grinning now. In fact, he was yelling at Murray to get the car stopped. I saw Jack's hand reach for the key in the ignition switch. Just as his hand reached the key, the ride suddenly turned bumpy. A corn stalk smacked the side window next to my head and then several more hit the windshield. My whole life passed before my eyes, which at fourteen doesn't take very long. I heard Jack swear as he fell back into the rear seat. I believe he swore that he would never take money from a kid again if he just lived through this. My head struck the side window as we slid sideways, hit an embankment and then sideswiped a tree. I had an instant headache but it was nothing compared to the sudden pain that I felt in my left shoulder. Glancing to my left, I saw Jack's hand embedded in my shoulder as he pulled himself forward again. I could see his face too. He had a crazed look on his face, which really wasn't that unusual for Jack, but he was somewhat paler than I remembered him ever being before. With a sudden lurch, he grabbed the key from the ignition switch and we came to a grinding halt.
The doctors at the emergency room agreed that Murray and I were fortunate not to have been more seriously injured. I suffered a slight concussion and had a headache for some time but recovered within a few hours. Murray had a downward curved bruise across his forehead where he had struck the top of the steering wheel and a bruised chin where he had struck the bottom of the steering wheel. I believe the doctors said that was the result of "secondary impact," or something like that. It was evident to me that it was because the steering wheel caught him by the chin as he was thrown under the dash.
Jack wasn't quite as fortunate as Murray and I were, though. He suffered a fractured left arm and a deep laceration to his right cheek, and had to be transferred to another hospital. And he was also the only one to be arrested. None of this was directly the result of the accident though. If Jack had of just laid still while he was being examined, he would have been fine. But when he leaped off the examination table and attempted to get a hold of Murray, he tripped over Murray's IV pole, braced himself with his left arm and struck the metal frame of the table Murray was lying on, all the while expressing a desire to rearrange Murray's everlasting grin. The reason for the transfer to another hospital was that the local one didn't have a mental ward. And, according to one of the doctors, the charges against Jack may be dropped, depending on his progress. He said that it is actually difficult to convict someone for assault within intent to do bodily harm if they are found to be mentally incompetent, and Murray and I both have to agree that Jack has always been that; why else would we have been driving his car to begin with?."
pougles
