Time Really Does Fly
But people were crying. A lot of them. They sat quietly in rows of white chairs on a bright green lawn. A giant white pergola projected over them, providing shade. The lattice of wooden beams cast intricate shadows over everyone’s faces. The scene itself looked like something out of a photograph. Rows of black suits and dresses, all neat and tidy.
Someone spoke from behind a podium, addressing the crowd in a soft but firm voice. The audience looked, but only half listened. One man in the front row looked particularly lost in thought, his dark brown eyes staring blankly. He looked Asian American and had a Jesus-like appearance, with wavy black hair that cascaded down his shoulders and a full beard. He seemed very wise and honest, which aligned well with his historical doppelgänger. The only thing that set him apart was a large, circular mole on his left cheek.
The speaker said something important and the crowd perked up with interest.
“Does anyone else want to speak?”
The man in the front row came back to his senses. He looked around intently, but the crowd went quiet and nobody showed any sign of budging. He took a deep breath and rose from his chair.
Toshio walked the final few steps to the pump with a sigh. He carefully placed the red 2-gallon jug on the floor. It rained lightly, with ominous storm clouds forming in the distance. The hills that surrounded the gas station were dotted with trees and broke up the monotonous farmland.
How had he been so foolish?
He unscrewed the cap, removed the spout, and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. He went through the motions, selecting unleaded regular and placing the nozzle inside the jug. With a click, the gas began to flow. A few seconds later, another click, and the jug was full. $6.14. He replaced the nozzle and screwed the spout and cap back on.
With another sigh, Toshio picked up the filled jug, now several pounds heavier, and began his return journey. As he took his first few steps, he heard a loud honk. It came from an old Dodge Ram, chipped red paint and all. A classic image in rural Tennessee.
“Ya forgit to fill up ya tank o’ somethin’?”
An older white man peered out at him. He sat in the driver's seat with his window rolled halfway down, wearing a weather-beaten straw hat, a red and white checkered flannel, and blue overalls. His beard was salt and pepper colored, and his skin looked slightly sunburned.
“Yep. That’s exactly what happened. I, uh, zoned out a little and ran out of gas,” Toshio replied.
“How ‘bout ya hop on in and I give ya a ride? She ain’t fast, but she faithful,” the man said, gesturing at his truck.
“Ah, no thanks man. My car’s just a few miles down the road.” Toshio pointed. “I’ll be fine.”
“Ya sure? I’m headed north anyways, wouldn’t be no trouble. Plus, it looks like a storm’s formin’. I’d reckon ya don’t wanna git caught up in that, do ya now?”
Toshio paused and mulled it over. The man had a point. He was already damp and didn’t want to get soaking wet. This trip had taught him to appreciate the random acts of kindness done by complete strangers.
“Actually, why not. If it’s no inconvenience to you.”
“No inconvenience whatsoever! Hop on in, we’ll be there in no time.”
Toshio thanked the man and strode over with his jug of gasoline. He opened the creaky passenger side door and pulled himself into the truck. He was greeted by the smell of tobacco mixed with an earthy, grassy smell he couldn’t quite place. Hay, perhaps? There was also the smell of old age that perpetually follows all elders—the smell of time itself.
The interior of the car was what Toshio expected. A single, bench-style seat with worn-down fabric and classic metal finishes throughout. The bed of the truck was aged and rusted in parts, but otherwise empty. It had the feel of a rickety, old telephone booth.
“What’s ya name?”
“Toshio. Toshio Matsuoka. And yourself?”
“Richard Grant. Nice to meet ya.” The pair shook hands.
“Are you from here?” Toshio asked.
“Yeah, I’m from around yonder. Me and the wife have lived in these parts for some-thirty-odd years. Built me a farm in ‘86 and haven’t looked back since. I was actually just headed into town for some groceries.” He paused. “I’d like to git everythang from mah farm, but the earth don’t grow batteries. The wife’s been up mah ass ‘bout them damn batteries lately. A man caint catch a break.”
Richard started his truck and rolled up the window with a few clockwise spins of the handle. The engine coughed and sputtered like an angry old grandpa, but started nonetheless. He pulled out of the gas station and signaled a left turn. There weren’t many cars on the road, and he had no problem merging onto the two-lane highway.
“She wants the ones with the pink bunny,” he continued, “Double-A somethin’-somethin’? I told her, ‘that’ll be easy to remember, it’s ya bra size!’” Richard chuckled and seemed to remember the interaction fondly.
“I like to mess around with her and she loves to mess back. We sure do have a hoot going back and forth, lemme tell ya. All in good spirit, of course.” He looked at Toshio. “How ‘bout yaself? Have a lady back home o’ somethin’?”
“Not at the moment actually. I’m a free bird,” Toshio replied. “Funny you ask though; I just ended a relationship. It was sad, but our paths didn’t line up.”
“How’s that?”
“She was going to college and I was going on a trip. Long-distance wasn’t realistic. It’s just one of those unfortunate life situations.” He paused.
“We had plenty of good times and we ended on good terms, too. It was mutual.”
“Awh, I’m sorry to hear that. Sometimes thangs ain’t line up the way they’re supposed to. Happens to a lot of young folks as they grow and change.”
“Agreed. We both knew it was coming for a while.” Toshio thought it over. “I’ve kinda gotten used to being alone. If anything, I feel less lonely out here in the middle of nowhere than I did back home.”
“The middle of nowhere? Hmm.” Richard squinted his eyes in disapproval. “I guess that’s nice. Enjoy those solo years while they last. Good time to learn ‘bout yaself and do whatever it is ya wanna do. Say, I never asked, where ya from Toe-She-Oh?” Richard drew out each syllable slowly,
determined to get it right.
“Anchorage, Alaska.”
“Alaska? Ya mean to tell me ya from the belly o’ old Saint Nick himself? Aren’t ya a little far away from home?”
A car whizzed by going in the opposite direction. The first one in a while.
“Haha yeah, I suppose. I’ve been on the road for quite some time. I just graduated high school, and this is my senior trip or whatever you want to call it. I guess I just need to figure some things out...” Toshio trailed off.
“Geez, but ya just a kiddo! Don’t worry ‘bout figuring thangs out ‘til ya older. Shoot, I’m sixty-four and still don’t have a clue. Ya must be, what? Eighteen?”
“Yep. But I’m an old soul.”
“Oh, please! So lemme get this straight. Ya drivin’ across the US from Alaska? Any destination in mind?”
“I’ve got a couple stops I want to make. Just had some Kentucky Fried Chicken and I see Jambalaya in my future,” Toshio said with a laugh.
“Stop by Nashville first! Prolly find some cute ladies there.” Richard winked. “How long ya gonna be travellin’?”
“It’ll be around eight months by the time I get back. It took a while to save up enough money.”
“I bet, but why? Why drive eight months straight? Ya butt cheeks got a death wish o’ somethin’?” Richard asked.
“I just needed a change of scenery. I’ve lived in Anchorage my whole life and it was time to see what the world had to offer. We go our first eighteen years cooped up with no choice. School, school, school. This time I’m choosing what I want to do. Everything else can wait.”
“Well, I think that’s great. All these kids wanna rush through life but they have so much to learn. Once ya git to mah age, ya learn to appreciate the little stuff. Everythang slows down and becomes moh enjoyable. And by everythang, I mean everythang,”Richard said with another wink.
“Gross.”
Richard laughed. “I’m not kiddin’! Roses smell sweeter, coffee tastes stronger, and sunsets take longer. When ya older it’ll make moh sense, just wait.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Toshio said with a smile.
“Anyways, I was sayin’ all these youngins wanna rush through the world. Every time I make it back to town, I’m surprised by all these fresh-faced kids paradin’ around like adults. The lot of ’em look like they just got off their mother’s teat, but they’re workin’ a nine-to-five and payin’ taxes and doin’ adult thangs. Why? Y’all got the rest of y’alls lives to do that.”
Silence followed as the road curved gently. Toshio was lost in thought, thinking about the rest of his life. He looked out the window, distracted by the passing hills.
“Do ya remember the closest milepost to ya car?”
“What?”
“The closest milepost to ya car. What was it?” “Hmm, let me think.”Milepost? Car? Toshio remembered seeing a sign when he had begun walking. “It must’ve been 124 or 125. Why?”
“Perfect.” Richard smiled mischievously. He put on his emergency lights, slowed down, and pulled over to the shoulder of the road.
Toshio looked around. They nearest milepost appeared small and far away, but upon
squinting he could make out three numbers. 1-2-1. He tensed up with anxiety but remained silent. He surveyed the road around him and noticed another sign, this one homemade and much closer than the milepost. It sat adjacent to a muddy dirt road that led off into some hills. The wooden sign had big, capital letters carved into it.
KEEP OUT. INTRUDERS WILL BE SHOT.
As he read the sign, Toshio swore the sky grew a shade darker and the rain intensified. This proved to be too much for his nerves.
“What’s going on?” he demanded. “What are you doing?”
“Mah buddy John owns these hills. He won’t mind.” Richard shrugged. “Haven’t seen him in a few years but we should be okay. It’s a shortcut, kiddo. Relax.”
“Are you sure about that?” Toshio didn’t know what he’d gotten himself into. “I’ll just walk from here, it’s fine.”
“No bother, we’ll be there in a flash.”
Without another word, Richard slammed his foot down on the gas and the car lurched forward.
Toshio closed his eyes as the engine revved and mud began to fly. The car pulled onto the makeshift road, drifting the turn and sliding effortlessly like a figure skater after a fresh Zamboni. The rear wheels spun faster than the car moved, unrestricted by friction, shooting mud back onto the highway they exited.
With a roar of laughter, Richard let off the gas allowing the tires to regain some traction. When he felt them tug on the earth, he accelerated, and they were off on their journey.
The road, if you could call it that, appeared better suited for a motorbike race than a shortcut. It went up and down hills with dangerous curves and murky puddles everywhere. To make matters worse, the rain started to pour down, obscuring the view and making everything slick.
“Don’t ya young guns have a lick of fun anymoh? Enjoy the ride and let go!”
Toshio double-checked his seatbelt and gripped the overhead handlebar. The truck had begun a steep ascent, so he gritted his teeth instead of replying. The engine sputtered and growled, but the truck kept heading up the hill at pace. He felt like a fighter pilot pulling up from a warzone and experiencing multiple Gs of gravity.
“Can the truck even handle this?” Toshio asked urgently, his face contorted.
“Can ya even handle this?” Richard retorted. “It’s mah truck, whaddya have to lose?”
“My life.”
Richard grinned.
At the top of the hill, the road curved sharply to the right and went down the other side, impossibly slick and steep.
“This is the best part!” Richard called out. “Don’t let ya fear ruin it.”
Richard floored the gas again and drifted the turn with gusto. In a seamless transition, he straightened out the truck after the bend and headed straight for the precipitous drop down the hill.
Toshio watched in admiration, amazed that a man of Richard’s age could maneuver a vehicle so well. He must’ve taken this drive many times in his life. Almost as if he read Toshio’s mind, Richard yelled out over the sound of the engine and the violent pitter-patter of rain.
“I been driving this truck since befoh ya were born! Hold on tight.”
The nose of the truck plunged downwards, and time slowed to a crawl. They were falling. Gravity was pulling them faster and faster and they were hurtling towards the center of the earth with nothing to slow them down. Toshio knew this instinctively, but the world moved at a snail’s pace.
Here he was at the top of a sheer slope with an old farmer he had just met, about to plunge down to certain death. At this moment, something clicked inside of Toshio’s head. An epiphany of sorts, a warm, bright feeling starting in the back of his skull and moving forward to his temples.
He struggled to understand the sensation. His face felt hot and his ears tingled. Toshio felt as if he had just destroyed a dam in his brain and a river gushed forward explosively, breathing life back into the dry landscape.
Relieved! He felt relieved. Relieved of his inhibitions, his struggles, his worries, his past, his future. The only thing that existed was the present moment. Everything else was a fabrication, a subjective reality created by his psyche.
As he came to this realization, time unfroze, and the truck started careening down the slick mud at full speed. As they sped up, the car began to sway dangerously from side to side with a loud whooshing noise. Toshio’s stomach dropped and his knuckles went white from squeezing the handle above his head. He felt weightless and terrified, but something had changed—he was smiling.
The car rattled like a spaceship re-entering the atmosphere. The gasoline jug on Toshio’s lap sloshed around recklessly to the point that he worried it would rupture. The swaying was unbearable. To think this happened over a few seconds when it felt to him like an hour.
Near the base of the hill, the swaying proved too much for Richard’s balding tires. With the increased speed and slippery mud, the truck spiraled out of control doing counterclockwise 360s as Richard struggled at the wheel.
So this is the end, huh? Toshio wasn’t even mad. Not such a bad way to go out.
They quickly approached a bend in the road, which was flanked by a massive puddle. Richard tested the brakes, but the car kept spinning and they headed straight for the water. He began frantically turning the wheel, trying to do anything to stop the truck.
The tires didn’t catch in time and they hit the puddle hard. Both Toshio and Richard were thrown forward against their seatbelts as the truck created a huge splash, exposing the mud below. Brown water splashed up on the windshield, blinding them momentarily.
When it finally got wiped away and Toshio came to, he realized they’d come to a complete stop. The puddle stretched several yards and had served as a runway to slow them down to zero. He quickly rolled down the window and stuck his head out to vomit.
Richard took a moment to steady himself, not exactly sure what had happened. When his head cleared, he tested the gas, but the tires just spun in place. The car fell silent other than the sound of the wipers and the steady rhythm of the rain. They were stuck.
When Toshio finished, he wiped his mouth and leaned forward to rest on the dashboard, breathing shakily. They sat there quietly, listening to the
rain. Several minutes passed like this, with neither saying a word. Richard broke the silence first.
“Well...” He trailed off. “We’re stuck.”
Toshio looked up to see Richard staring blankly at the steering wheel. He turned his head and they locked eyes. The corners of Richard’s mouth curled up into a barely perceptible grin. Before they knew it, they were both smiling and laughing. Rich, whole-body laughter that was uncontrollable and healing in nature. Richard’s laugh sounded like that of a smoker: raspy and rough around the edges. Toshio’s was youthful and energized. They kept laughing for some time, pausing here and there. One of them would try to talk and they’d start all over again. Like two inseparable schoolboys laughing deep into the night.
After some time, the space between laughs grew longer. Soon just a chuckle every few seconds. Toshio was reminded of popping popcorn that’s ready to be taken out of the microwave. If they kept going any longer, things might start to burn.
At last, they stopped. Again, Richard broke the silence.
“In all seriousness, we’re stuck.”
The words hung in the air like a threat.
“We’re stuck,” he repeated.
“What should we do?” Toshio asked.
“Well, we’re ‘bout a mile from the highway. Ya car’s probably just over that ridge.”
Richard gestured at the gentle slope blocking their view of the horizon. “All this truck need is a lil push,” he continued. “A push from a strong young man.”
Toshio sighed. It was all fun and games until someone had to get their hands dirty.
“Listen, I’m sorry I put ya through this. But the only way out is muddy. Either ya git out in the mud and walk to ya car, o’ ya git out in the mud and push. No signal in these hills, so nobody coming to help us.” Richard looked feeble and helpless, practically begging for assistance.
“Sounds like I’m out of options then. Let’s get this show on the road.” Toshio thought about it and then corrected himself. “Let’s get this truck on the road.”
Richard gave a toothy smile as Toshio opened his door. The mud came about halfway up the front tire and about three fourths up the back. As he stepped down into the mud, he hesitated. Headlights appeared at the top of the gentle slope in front of them.
Toshio pulled himself back into the truck and waved from the open door.
“Hey, over here! We’re stuck in the mud!” he yelled.
The vehicle, another truck by the looks of it, drove down the slope and inched closer until it stopped about fifty feet away. The brakes let out a loud metal squeal as the car came to a halt. Toshio could barely make anything out because the car’s headlights were blinding. The driver-side door opened and out stepped a tall man. He held something long and skinny, like a baseball bat.
A bright flash of light. BANG!
The mud next to Toshio exploded and splattered the side of the truck. A warning shot.
“What in God’s green earth are ya doing on mah property?”
“What in God’s green earth are ya doing on mah property?” he repeated for dramatic effect. The crowd gasped in anticipation, eyes wide. Toshio continued.
“The man pumped the shotgun again and pointed it straight at us. It scared the living daylights out of Richard. He opened his door and hopped straight into the deep mud flailing about like a mad man. He screamed out, ‘John, wait! Don’t shoot!’”
Toshio surveyed the seated audience until he found John, whose face reddened like a ripe tomato. The crowd burst into laughter and applause.
“I love telling this story in front of John because he blushes like no other,” Toshio said with a chuckle. Everyone turned to look at John, which of course made the blushing worse. They all smiled, albeit teary-eyed.
“Anyways, that’s the story of the first time I met Richard. This must’ve been, what? Ten years ago?” He paused. “Time really does fly...”
“Wait!” One of the little boys in the back row yelled out. “What happened next?” His mother quickly shushed and scolded him.
“That’s about it,” Toshio replied. “John apologized profusely and helped pull us out of the mud with his truck. I made it back to my car in one piece and later that night we all got dinner.”
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for several seconds, collecting his thoughts. The crowd went quiet. When he finally opened his eyes, he noticed they were moist. A lump had formed in his throat.
“Richard was... my mentor. He taught me a lot.” A tear rolled down his cheek and got lost in his beard. “He wasn’t perfect by any means, but his zeal and passion for life were unparalleled. That night on the hill and in all our other adventures he taught me what is most important in life. He taught me to focus on the here and now. To lose myself in the experience of being alive.”
Toshio took a moment to reflect on what he had just said.
“In other words, Richard taught me how to live.”
He turned to address the open casket for the first time that night.
“Thank you, Richard.” Another tear made its way down his face. “You will be missed.” The crowd applauded softly. Some people wept and held handkerchiefs to their eyes. As Toshio stepped down from the podium, he imagined a dusty red pickup truck speeding off into the distance.
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CANNEN BURGESS is a senior pursuing a Baccalaureate degree in Management with a minor in Spanish. Cannen describes himself as a lifelong Alaskan who is passionate about creating, loving, and exploring. After graduation, he hopes to join the Peace Corps and start a business.