Free Three Cans of Soup by Don Childers Page B

pulled the knot tight.
    “Now, you drive careful and be careful with this load! I checked everything out. The plugs are fine. The oil’s changed. Did you put in the box of tools?”
    “Yes, Dad,” said Bill with a little impatience in his voice.
    The car was ready, but for several moments they all stood looking at each other. It was Joyce who made the first move, grabbing Bill and hugging him so that his breath left. “Now you call us when you get there,” his mother said, tears flowing down her face. Bill had a stoic look. He was not going to get emotional, he kept telling himself.
    His two sisters each gave him a hug, almost acting bored with the whole affair. He was only going off to graduate school and probably would move back into the house after that, they thought. Milt stood off behind Joyce. Then Bill and Milt looked at each other, trying to figure out what to do. Milt thrust out his hand. Bill took it. “Take care, son, and drive carefully,” Milt said.
    With that, Bill climbed behind the wheel, shifted into “R” and slowly backed out the driveway. He slowly drove down the street, waving out the window, turned right, turned left, and caught the freeway for a new life.
    As Eugene faded into the background and the Dodge purred north toward Salem and Portland, Bill did not think of much of anything. He had decided to get to Texas by first going to Montana and meeting a friend of his that had also decided to pursue ministry. Paul Sinclair had been Bill’s friend all through high school. It was Paul who had invited Bill to his youth group and gotten him started back to church. It was he and Paul who had had hours of discussion about God, religion, music, politics, and Miss Wilson their strict high school math teacher. Paul had gone off to college at the University of Washington and Bill to the University of Oregon. They had kept in touch all through college. In their junior year they had taken a trip to L.A. and barely escaped being arrested because of some of their antics. It was a further strange coincidence that they had both come to the conclusion to go into ministry and had chosen the same seminary. So Bill was traveling to Red Lodge, Montana where Paul and his wife now lived. Together they would make the trek to Texas.
    The miles passed by. Bill turned east at Portland, crossed over the Columbia River and began the journey across the deserts of eastern Washington. Somewhere, Bill did not know where, he pulled over to the side of the road to have lunch. His mother had packed him a lunch of some of his favorite things. There was cold chicken, potato chips, and her famous potato salad. The latter was stored in a container filled with ice to keep it cold. Also in the container were several bottles of Coca-Cola, by now ice cold. Bill got out of his Dodge. It was a hot day and the desert made it seem even hotter. Eastern Oregon and Washington contain some of the most desolate land in the nation. Little rain made it over the Cascades to this parched area. To Bill it looked like the end of the earth.
    He found a rock to sit on and decided that shade was a luxury he was not going to enjoy. He spread out a blanket, sat down and unpacked his lunch. It was then that it hit him. He was really leaving home. Oh, he had been pretty independent during college and his folks were great in that they treated him differently after high school. This was different. This was real. He knew his sisters were already moving the rest of his stuff out and redecorating his room. He was surprised that he cried and cried. He slowly rewrapped the chicken, gulped down the coke, and got back into the Dodge.
    Noon gave way to afternoon. One mile gave way to another and the land looked as uninviting as ever. Bill had planned to pull off the road, throw out a blanket, and sleep by the roadside. As he looked around at the large expanse of nothing he told himself he would drive until he dropped before he would stop in this expanse of