Limbs Akimbo: Chapter 2
Charlie leaned his head against the glass and watched the road glide past. As they picked up speed, the reflectors in the road flashed by quicker, blurring into one another. The last time he’d been on this road was the night before he left for basic. He thought it still had painted lines back then. Remembered watching them flash by one at a time as he and Lorraine drove back from the lake.
“When did they put the reflectors on the road?” There were always safe topics of conversation with his father. Driving was one of them.
His father tapped his finger on the steering wheel for a few seconds while he thought about it. “Last summer, I think. That sound right to you, Norma?”
“I don’t know. It’s not important.” She turned to face Charlie. “Maybe you could tell me why you were so goddamn rude back there. People went to a lot of effort to honor you. The least you could have done was show some gratitude.”
Charlie’s face flushed and he thought about how to respond. He chose to ignore her and exhaled audibly, turning his attention back to the road. His mother gave up as Charlie watched the reflectors mark their passage.
Back home, Charlie had his seatbelt off before the car had even come to a full stop in the gravel driveway. He looked at the faded blue tarp on the side of the garage shrouding his piece of shit car. He had no use for it anymore but no one had bothered to sell it. He should have gotten rid of the old Skylark when he enlisted. He definitely should have sold it off when he deployed to the Gulf. But he never could bring himself to get rid of her. He’d spent hundreds of hours fine-tuning her engine. He had to rebuild the carburetor the fall of his senior year and for five weeks was stuck taking the bus with a bunch of freshmen. That was when he met Lorraine.
“Charlie, take it easy. Let me help you into the chair.”
Charlie manhandled the chair from the backseat of the car. He brushed off his mother’s hand and pulled himself to the edge of the seat. His useless stumps dangled out the door. He huffed a little as he tried to get the chair under control. “Can you— Dad, can you just hold the chair still, please? Yeah. Like that.” Charlie grabbed the armrest with his left hand and pushed down against the car seat with his right. He swung himself over to the wheelchair and it started to tip. His father caught it and righted it.
“Careful there, buddy.”
“Charlie, you’ve got to let your father help you out of the car. You could hurt yourself.”
“Hurt myself how, mom? Break a leg? The fuck else you think’d even matter?”
Norma slumped her shoulders and dropped her head. Like a balloon with the air let out of it, she collapsed in on herself. Chalie saw. He saw the mother with the iron will and the stick up her ass slouch in defeat. The woman who used to smack his behind if he didn’t stand tall like an oak. He didn’t mean to hurt her like that; didn’t mean to attack her. She was already hurting for her son. She knew what he’d lost. She raised her eyes and made contact with his.
Charlie spun his chair around and rolled toward the garage.
After twenty minutes he had the tarp moved enough to open the door. The effort of leaning over and moving the weights holding the bottom of the tarp in place left him soaked and gulping air. He lit a cigarette and drew deep. The nicotine soothed his jangling nerves and Charlie started to feel guilty about the way he’d treated his mother; she was just looking out for him. But there was time for that later. Now, he had his car.
Charlie opened the door and pulled himself inside, twisting his shirt in the process. The medal, still pinned to his chest, scratched his cheek as he dropped into the bucket seat. He gripped the steering wheel, so thin in his hands after the one in the transport, and yanked his shirt back in place. After a brief struggle, he pulled his keys from his pocket: one oval and one square. Pinching the square key between his fingers, he slid it into the steering column and turned it, smiling at the familiar sensation. The starter ground a few times and he remembered when the engine was cold he needed to pump the gas.
He pulled out the key and threw them out the door and onto the driveway where he saw his mother approaching with two bottles of beer. She glanced down at the keys but didn’t pick them up.
“I hope you don’t mind. I was watching from the kitchen and it looked like hard work getting in there.” She passed one of the bottles to Charlie and he took a swig.
“Thanks.”
Nodding back toward the keys, Norma asked, “Trouble with the engine?” and took a swallow of beer.
“Can’t reach the fucking pedal to fucking pump the gas.”
His mother choked on her beer. Then she did something Charlie hadn’t seen since before his deployment: she smiled. It made him smile too.
