HIS

This story is by William Wedgwood Hawkesworth and was part of our 2024 Fall Writing Contest. You can find all the writing contest stories here.

 

David, with a heavy heart, walked out of the Flying J truck stop in Evanston Wyoming as the sun was setting and the snow began to fall. When he noticed a young man, under the hood of a red dodge caravan, shouting directions to his wife in the driver seat.

Their van was going click… click… Jumping from one row to the other, their children were poking and pinching one another while laughing uncontrollably.

A long-distance truck driver with an impeccable driving record, David spent the lonely hours of driving, listening to audio books and classical music. He was a well listened man.

On the road while his son Jeremy was growing up, he missed birthdays, holidays, and the formidable years. But his family never lived in want.

As luck would have it, or divine intervention, his employer offered him a local route from Green River Wyoming to Salt Lake City. The drive was less than three hours each way.

David jumped at the opportunity. Thrilled to be spending evenings with his family, making up for lost time, all was well. Until a month ago.

“I think your battery is dead,” said David.

“Yes, sir,” replied the young man.

“Sir, I need to get my family home to Salt Lake City, do you know where I can buy a battery?” asked the young man.

David paused and evaluated the situation. Looking at the children going wild in the van, unaware of the gravity of the situation, he reminisced, happy chaos, I was young once with a family like that.

“The shop is closed. Your battery cable is loose and corroded, I could clean it up and give you a jump, probably all you need for now. Do you have jumper cables and a wrench?” asked David.

“No sir,” replied the young man.

“Ok… I have cables and tools,” said David.

Minutes later the van was running.

“How much do I owe you?” asked the young man.

“Nothing,” said David.

“God bless you, you are our guardian angel,” said the wife wrapping her arms halfway around David’s bulky frame.

The family was back on the road. David climbed into his eighteen-wheeler and broke down in tears.

He had been reliving the incident over and over in his mind. The young family triggered his feelings. The dam broke. A wall of emotion washed over him. The bulky brute buried his head in his hands and began balling.

A month before, his son Jeremy and his friend were waiting in the living room for him, wearing matching black t-shirts that read HIS and HIS.

“Father this is my partner Abraham,” said Jeremy.

The words sent a shockwave of disbelief through David’s body. A sense of betrayal engulfed his mind. Blood rushed to his head; he lost his temper.

“Your what!”  he screamed.

The two young men stiffened upright in horror. Not daring to say a word.

My Jeremy, the embodiment of moral fiber… is queer? the thought overwhelmed his senses.

It was unthinkable, defying his staunchest convictions, shattering the tenets he treasured.

Betrayed. The thought sent a sharp pain into his stomach, a dual betrayal by Jeremy’s act and the crumbling of his own perceptions.

The weeks passed and not a single word was spoken between them. It was akin to grieving. Deep in thought David drove down Interstate 80 subconsciously. Navigating the switchbacks and steep inclines of Parleys Canyon without thinking about it. His mind was consumed by his conscience.

A god-fearing man he prayed, attended services and was an active member of the church, but he realized that his actions were not Christ like.

Turning the key, he started his truck.

“How can my son do this to me, he is one of those awful gay people. Why me Lord?” he cried aloud.

Sadly, slowly, shifting gears he thought, it is on the wind now. The humiliation of having to face the congregation and my friends is too much. Why did I lose my temper. I am ashamed of myself. It is all my fault. I was never home. I was never there for him; his torturing thoughts were relentless.

“God, how can I reconcile my religious beliefs with the love I have for my son, this cross is too much to bear,” he pleaded aloud.

Then the idea crept back into his mind.

I can end this pain tonight, he reasoned.

“Yes, I will make it look like an accident,” he whispered in a reassuring manner.

David went over the scenario repeatedly in his mind. It will work, truckers are always losing their brakes in the Canyon. No one will be the wiser.

Resolute in his conviction a loud voice in his head said, “just do it, it is your only way out!”

I will keep my foot on the brake pedal as I descend down Parleys Canyon. Riding the brakes will cause them to overheat and fail. I will build up enough speed, fly over the guard rail and crash into the abyss. My family will get the insurance money and all would be right with the world, he thought.

He searched through the CDs and found Ravel’s Bolero, popped it in, and turned the volume up. The music played. The light snow turned into a blizzard. The big rig entered the top of the canyon, ready for its descent into hell.

David kept his foot on the brake pedal. Pushing it hard to the floor. While at the same time keeping his other foot on the gas pedal.

Within a few minutes, the foul smell of burning brakes and smoke permeated the rig. A retread tire at the front of the trailer separated. Thump, thump… a chunk of tire was gone.

I need more speed; he though pushing the pedal to the floor.

When he passed the Lamb’s Canyon exit, the steepest part of the decline, there was a pop and the sound of rushing air. The music rose to a crescendo. The brake pedal went to the floor.

Seventy-five miles per hour. Eighty-five miles per hour and I can clear the guard rail.

“This blizzard is perfect,” he whispered, calmly…then.

“Oh my god what is that?” David yelled, lurching forward in his seat to get a closer look. Squeak-thump, squeak-thump—the windshield wipers continued their relentless battle against the blizzard’s fury.

“Oh My God, No!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, while punching the horn, and flipping on the four-way hazard lights, hoping to get the attention of the driver in front of him.

Panic set in. A few hundred feet away was the red dodge caravan. David was on top of it.

His headlights lit up the inside of the van. The children were frozen in their seats. Two pairs of wide eyes were pressed against the back window, staring in disbelief and shock.

David could see the terrified look in the young man’s eyes in the rearview mirror. His wife’s head was turned around. Her mouth was wide open. A look of horror was on her face.

“Oh, my God what have I done?”  he sadly sighed.

Eighty-five miles per hour and gaining speed, the forty-ton monster was careening out of control, swerving like a snake on the slippery surface. Barreling down on the terrified family.

Just as he was about to slam into the van, he saw the runaway truck sign. With both hands and all his strength, David pulled the steering wheel as hard as he could to the right.

The cab and trailer tilted on its right side and the left wheels went into the air, miraculously missing the van. The semi shot up the runaway truck ramp.

The ramp’s arrester bed, filled with loose pea-sized gravel, three feet deep, brought the monster to a jolting stop. David’s head slammed into the back of his seat.

The music stopped. The wipers played on, squeak-thump, squeak- thump.

In the silence of the cab, a soft voice in his head said, judge not, lest ye be judged. All are made in my image.

In that moment, a cold breeze washed over him as the soft voice continued, follow your heart. Let your concise guide you, not other peoples’ beliefs, or dogmas.

“I will get to know my son, if he will give me a second chance,” David said aloud.

Then he hurriedly looked around the disheveled cab for his cell phone, to make the call.

There was no answer. The call ended. He tried again. A long delay…  finally, his son answered.

“Jeremy, forgive me,” he begged. I am so sorry for how I treated you. I want you and your partner to come to the house for Sunday dinner,” he added.

A long silence. Sniffling. Then his son cleared his throat,

“Sure, dad we would love that,” said Jeremy.

“See you and Abraham on Sunday,” said David.

The next day David went into Salt Lake City and bought a black t-shirt to wear to Sunday dinner.

It read, “HIS.”