Driving a Truck Full of Money

See I wasn't straight when I wrote that

I was carving a name

And I was praying that no one was ever gonna love me again

And I was late for somethin'

Every hour of every day

And completely lonesome out on the prairie

With a truck full of money

(Truck Full of Money by Donovan Woods) 

I have discovered that life is a whole lot better when you are driving a truck full of money.  How that came about is still beyond me, because, you see, I am not known as the lucky kind.  But just this once, God shined His light on me and here I am about an hour from the Colorado border after spending most of the day driving across Kansas on Interstate 70. I have a hotel reservation in Colorado Springs for the night.  

If someone were to ask me what I am doing, I’d have to be honest and say I am fleeing for my freedom. I’ve got the radio playing Donovan Woods' song “Truck Full of Money.” I can’t think of a more accurate summation of what is taking place in my beat up old Chevy pickup.

When I started driving from West Jefferson near Akron, Ohio, I had just won the Ohio State Lottery.  When I went to claim my prize, I asked the state official at the Ohio Lottery Commission for small bills, Franklins, Grants, and Jacksons mostly, he directed me into Mr. Pat McDonald’s office.

“We could put it into your bank account.” Mr. McDonald folded his hands over his chest as he leaned back in his chair.

“Sorry, but I do not have a bank account.” I explained.

He tilted his head and directed his clerk to count out my winnings in the small bills I had requested.

An hour later I had filled my duffle bag with the requested money totalling just a tad over ten million dollars.  They gave me a wheeled cart, because my bag was too heavy for me to carry.  Me and three other guys wearing ties, helped me get the bag into the bed of my pick up.

“What are you gonna do with the money, Mr. Kayson?” Henry, one of the three clerks, asked.

“Get the heck out of Ohio.” I answered.  I had my reasons. 

“Well, good luck, Mr. Kayson.” He smiled and nodded.

“Thanks.” I got in the driver’s seat and started up the aging engine.  I waved to them as I drove off to get on Interstate 70 west. 

You know most folks would start their story at the beginning, but leave it up to a dyed in the wool Buckeye to not follow the rules of convention.  Driving on the open prairie gave me time to think and reflect on why after nearly forty years, I decided to leave my home state.  As I look at it, it was a no-brainer.  My luck had run out about the time I bought that ticket.

“Wayne!” Suzanne shouted as she balanced my son on her hip.

“Yes dear.” I smiled running into the house from my workbench in the garage.

“We need some food.” She said when I came into the kitchen. “I made a list.” 

“We don’t have no money.” I shook my head.

“Wayne, we gots food stamps over yonder.” She pointed. “I need a case of Bud Light and a pack of Marlborough.”

“Honey, they won’t take food stamps for beer and smokes.” I shook my head again.

“You gotta get Gretta for your cashier.” She put little Drake down on the floor.

“What if she's not working?” I asked with a shrug.

“She is.” Suzanne tilted her head as if I was a fool for thinking such a thing.

“Alright, I’ll drive down there right now.” I kissed her on the cheek, but she pulled away as if she had been bitten by a rattler. 

“And get some ice cream, too.” She called after me as I walked out the front screen door.  It was a warm midsummer afternoon complete with sweltering humidity and a cloudless sunny sky with a sun that would drain you in a mili-second. 

Greatlands was a convenience store about a mile from our trailer in the Lazy Hacienda Trailer Park where we lived for the past four years.  The trailer was paid for thanks to her father, Abe, but the lot fee was coming due in a couple of days.  Mr. Berkeley, who lived on the lot, was very prompt about collecting the fee, so I was expecting him then.

Gretta was behind the counter.  Old enough to be Suzanne’s mother, Gretta had a bouffant with a lot of gray hair sitting on top of her head. When she saw me, she said, “Hey Wayne.” 

“Gretta.” I nodded as I headed for the cold drinks where there was a case of Bud Light in the far left compartment.  I slid the door open and latched onto one of the cases.  After which I went to the freezer and grabbed a half gallon of Hagen Daz.  Taking the food stamps out of my overalls pocket, I placed them on the counter requesting a pack of Marlborough. “Here ya go.” 

“Wayne, that ain’t enough.” She picked up the food stamps.

“How short is it?” 

“About ten dollars.” She squinted.

“If I put that back, how are we now?” I picked up the cigarettes.

“Still about three dollars short.” She sighed.  I picked up the ice cream and put it back in the freezer.

“That’ll do it.” She said, “With about four left over.”

“I’m gonna buy myself a lottery ticket.” I announced.

“Good that will do it.” She rang up the sale on her register. “Now, don’t tell my boss about the beer.” 

“Never.” I grabbed the beer knowing that I would be back shortly for the cigarettes and ice cream.

“Wayne, here’s your ticket.” She handed me the lottery ticket.

“I never win anyway.” I smiled as I took the ticket and stuffed it into my pocket.

“Have a good day, Wayne.” She waved as I hauled the beer out of Greatlands.

“You, too, Gretta.” I was unable to wave back as my hands were full. 

“You left the cigarettes and ice cream?” Suzanne stared at me with her cold brown eyes.

“I didn’t have enough.” I explained.

“She has a voucher right under the cash register, you moron.” She scoffed. “And your son pooped his pants again.  This potty training is not going well.” She made it sound like it was my fault.  

“Shall I go back?” I asked.

“I ain’t got no more stamps, fool.” She huffed.

“I’ll use the voucher.” I stuck up my chin to show her my determination. 

“Naw, you need to get a job, Wayne.” She hissed.

“I’ve been trying.” I whined.

“Not hard enough.  Old half wit, Sonny got a job down at Brewsters.” She was always bringing up her brother with the implication that if he could do it, anybody could.  Sonny was what the teacher called intellectually challenged or what in my day we called retarded.  Sonny graduated from a special school with his kind.  It was a special diploma, but Suzanne was always ready to point out how Sonny always managed to get hired.

The truth is hard sometimes, but in my case, I had been unemployed for over nine months and my state unemployment benefits had run out.  Suzanne ran a quasi day care, but did not have a state license.  It was all hush-hush since the penalty was very harsh.  Jailtime, if you know what I mean.

I did odd jobs since I was good with my hands, a Swiss army knife or jack of all trades, as it were.  What I was able to bring in was all hush-hush, too, because we did not declare it on our taxes.  

Little Drake came into the trailer leaving muddy footprints on the worn out carpet in the living room.  When he saw me in the kitchen, he ran in with his muddy cowboy boots out shouting, “Daddy look, I got me a worm.” 

It wasn’t a worm, but rather a garter snake that had long given up the ghost in my son’s dirty hands. 

“Drake, that is amazing.  C’mon buddy, let’s get you cleaned up.” I picked him up as he squealed with delight.

“What a mess!” Suzanne came inside and pointed at the mud.

“I’ll clean it up.” I told her as I held my squirmy son. 

“I hope so.” Suzanne declared. 

“Mommy, look I found a worm.” He held it inches from her nose.  Seeing the dead snake, Suzanne reeled before falling into a dead faint on the floor.  When she was a young girl she found a rattlesnake who bit her three times and nearly ended her life at a very abbreviated stage.  Since that time, Suzanne has been deathly afraid of snakes, deadly or not. 

I spent the night in my Chevy pick up which was becoming more and more the norm for me.  

The next morning with a crick in my neck from sleeping with my head against the steering wheel, I hobbled into the trailer. 

“Morning sunshine.” I said as I entered, nearly tripping over the bags in front of the door. “What’s this?” 

“What does it look like?” She was sipping on her morning coffee.

“Suitcases.” I picked one up, “Are we going somewhere?”

“Not we, you.” She clarified.  

“I was planning-”

“I don’t care.” She stopped me, “I need a break from you, Wayne.  You are not holding up your share.” 

“I’m sorry, but this is all very sudden.” I had three bags packed.  I had no idea I had so much stuff, because in our four years, everything we got belonged to her. “Where’s Drake?”

“With my mama.” She lit a cigarette on the stove. “I did not want to traumatize him when you left.” 

I could feel a lump forming in my throat along with a stinging in the corner of my eyes. 

“How could you do this to me?” I sobbed.

“It’s time we parted.” She blew out a thick cloud of smoke. 

“No, no, I’ve pulled my weight here. I’ve done my share.” I stomped my foot, raising a small cloud of dust from the carpet. 

“I’m afraid not, Wayne Kayson.” She walked toward me from the kitchen, with one elbow on her hip and the other holding her half smoked cigarette. “You have messed everything up since we got together according to my mother.” 

“Leave Shirley out of this.  She has never once said anything positive about me.” I stuck my lip out.

“That’s because there is nothing much to say.” She blew smoke in my face.  I waved it away with my hand. “You have been fired four times from good paying jobs.  You knocked me up when we went to your friend’s beer bash.  You have made poor choices about childcare for Little Drake.  So tell me, Mr. Big Shot, what have you done that was good in the four years we’ve been together?”

I stood there with my mouth open, but the words I wanted to use were failing me at such a critical time.  Instead, I just closed my open mouth, scooped up my bags, and walked out the door without saying another word.  She just stood there on the stoop that was leaning to one side watching me in her bathrobe as I drove out of the unpaved driveway.  

Mr. Berkeley was weeding in his garden in front of his trailer.  I waved as I drove by.  He looked up squinting through his coke-bottom glasses and waved without having a clue who had just waved his last goodbye to the Lazy Hacienda Trailer Park.  

I stopped at Greatlands to top off my tank before heading to the open road on Interstate 70.  I didn’t pay for the gas, but I’m sure Gretta amended it to our voucher which was becoming nearly unpayable. 

I stopped in Huber Heights, north of Dayton, to say goodbye to my dad, Rusty Kayson who was in a small retirement community where he went after mom died.

“Dad.” I hugged him when he came out of his room with his walker.

“Wayne, so good of you to stop by.  What’s the occasion?” He had his Cleveland Indians ball cap planted on his head where it had been since 1969.  

“I’ve come to say goodbye.” I sat with him in the common area outside his room where they had a variety of out-of-date magazines on the end tables. 

“Oh son, that’s hard to hear.” He bowed his head.

“I want you to know, I love you very much.” I sighed trying not to get strangled by my tears. “I’ll write and call.  I’d text, but you have no idea how to do that.” 

“Naw, that new fangled stuff is beyond me.” He chuckled, but I could still see the hurt in his dark brown eyes.  Rusty had been the top automobile mechanic wherever he went.  His clothes were usually covered in grease and smelled of diesel fumes.  Mama always complained about the smell, but he was earning top dollar wherever he went and she liked to shop.  He had managed to keep some of her favorite knick-knacks that he displayed on the limited shelving in his room he shared with Calvin Omphrey. 

“How’s Calvin?” I asked.

“Still the same…his old ornery self.” Dad laughed.

“I heard that you, you old fart.” Calvin called from the room. Dad laughed even harder.

“Can you stay for dinner? We are having Beef Wellington.” He smiled as he nodded.

“Sounds like a plan.” I agreed. 

“Good.” He sat back beaming. 

“Dad, I got kicked out.  Suzanne packed my stuff.” I shrugged, “I had a few bills stashed because I could feel it coming.  It’ll pay for the gas and some meals.” 

“Where are you headed?” He asked.

“I hadn’t figured that out yet.” I shook my head.

“Son, you have always just driven off without thinking about where you are going.” He commented. 

“I know.  This is my last time.” 

“Then what?” He held out his hands.

“I dunno.  Seems like there’s always a reason to go.” I admitted.

“What about my grandson, Drake?” 

I sat there stung by his question, not knowing what to say.

“It’s alright son, you’ll figure it out.” He patted me on the shoulder.

Dinner turned out to be one of the better meals I had eaten there.  Dad and Calvin kept the dinner conversation lively and humorous with the antidotes from the past. 

“Hey, we’re gonna go to the rec room and watch the lottery show.” Dad glanced at Calvin who nodded.  “Why dontcha watch it with us.” 

“Sure.” I agreed, remembering the lottery ticket buried in my overall pocket. 

Dad had a television in his room.  It had been in their bedroom until my mom died.  When he moved in, he brought it with him for sentimental reasons. He once told me he saw her shadow on the wall, knitting as she always did when they watched television in bed. 

I sat in the chair as the two of them got comfortable in their beds.  The show came on at seven, but by then both Calvin and dad were ready for bed.  Dad got his ticket out as did Calvin.  Joining the party, I pulled my forgotten ticket out.

“I feel it, Calvin.” Dad declared, “Tonight is my night to win.” 

“Oh you old poop, you are delusional.” Calvin shook his head. 

The announcer always tried to make it sound dramatic, but in about ten minutes all the tension was over as six numbers were displayed on the screen.

16-49-64-7-55-17

“Dang.” My dad had already ripped his ticket into tiny pieces.  Calvin had done the same, but when I read the numbers, I saw all of them on my ticket.

“Son-of-a-bitch, I won.” I held out the ticket.

“You did, Wayne, you have won!” Dad began jumping up and down as Calvin sat there like a Rodin statue of the thinking man.

“What are you going to do?” Dad asked.

“Go to Columbus and collect my winnings.” I was numb.

“Why go all that way?” Dad asked.

“I have my reasons.” I nodded.

“Suit yourself.” He hugged me as Calvin cheered.

“You two, keep it down, Mrs. Higgins has taken her evening meds.” Nurse O’Dell stuck her head into the room with her finger on her lips to shush us. “Oh Wayne, I did not know you were here.” 

“I just won the Ohio Lottery!” I stood up and fist-pumped the air. 

“High five!” Nurse O’Dell shouted.

“Keep it down please!” Someone shouted from the hallway.  

So that’s the story minus a few details.  Since you have been gracious enough to hear my story, I will fill in the blanks.

When I was at the office in Columbus, as well as getting the smaller bills, I also deposited five million in Drake’s account which he will not have access to until he turns eighteen years old.  I have made sure that Suzanne will not have any access to the money.  Somehow she did find out and was angry enough to kill when she found out she had no right to it.  

As I drive west on the interstate, the duffle bag is on the bench seat next to me.  Five million is a lot of green and there is no better feeling I have had in my life when I open the bag and run my fingers through it singing along with Donovan Woods about riding in a truck full of money.