A Random Image
 

Jett Superior laid this on you on || January 26, 2001 || 11:59 pm

I used to have this roommate named Ralph. Ralph seemed to be a friend when we agreed to split rent on a domicile. Just reading that last sentence makes me wild with laughter. After a few weeks, we were circling each other like starving coyotes, wary. ‘Twas financial necessity (or a general lack of funds) that kept me there longer than I would have preferred; finally my father intervened and allowed me to borrow –repayment with interest a key factor in this transaction– the necessary funds for regained [pride] solitude in the housing slice of the pie chart.

Ralph had a mean streak a mile wide, and a mischeviousness to boot, that he liked to keep sharpened. This was done mostly by slyly torturing me and my daily existence.

….now, here’s where I pull a 180 on you, hold on tight….

Funny to me that one of his misspent energies eventually became the one prevailing warm memory of our time together.

We lived way back in the boonies and both worked third shift at the same place of employment. We rode together every night, worked the same crew and returned home in the mornings to sleep the day away and get up to party awhile before clocking in again.

One morning I dozed in the passenger seat as we wound our way further up into the mountain toward home. After some time, we stopped and I began to slide into wakefulness. We were literally sitting out in the middle of nowhere, 8 a.m. sun glinting off of the expanse of fields and trees and quiet nothingness.

Ralph turned to me and said the following:

“We have an eighth of a tank of gas. Get us home before it runs out.”

I can still see the smarmy little tight-lipped grin on his face. Amazingly enough, I had no desire to smash it off of there, even though I am most decidedly NOT a morning person and AM one to be reckoned with no matter what the time of day.

A pale calm settled on me and I immediately trusted instinct. “Left,” I said.

I could not for the life of me tell you the series of lefts and rights that I issued thereafter, but I will probably always remember that first command. I sat serenely facing forward, my hands on my knees, relaxed. Left.

It became a weekly game. Thursday mornings, he would trail me out over the backroads that he knew better than oxygen, having been raised in the same mountain community all of his 23 years. With that one-eighth of a tank (and sometimes dangerously less) I quietly guided us to home base. He marvelled each and every time I encountered success, filled with wonder and telling me it would be a great act in a circus sideshow. Thursday mornings were the only mornings that we liked one another, I think.

After I moved out, he held my guitar hostage for a short time, for fear that I wouldn’t come back in three weeks to pay the impending phone bill. LOL…

Nobody worked it out »

Don´t be shy. Lay it on me.

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