The Yellow Jalopy

Part IV: The Finish Line

I’m so happy to share this final installment with you. I hope you enjoy reading it and of course, if you haven’t already, get caught up below:

Part IV:

An alabaster ceiling cracked into Bernie’s vision alongside a standing pole pronged at the top and strung with an intravenous saline pouch like diseased antlers sagging with velvet, deer blood filtering into his plasma. The heart monitor’s line jagged and pulsing and sounding off as his clammy and stiff hands grasped the linen blanket, clarion in its papery tangibility. Walls painted a Swiss coffee with dove white curtains that draped over the small square window on the seventh floor of Canton County Hospital like a Greek villa snowbound in Chantilly lace but of hardened plastic that reeked of death.

Mila had just entered the hospital room and flung the blue rung curtain back, the only color ripped away in a room of redundant hue. Her face melted with relief. She clasped her hands against her mouth and knelt down to hug him but was careful. She wept as her hands wrapped behind his neck, fingers caressed through his hair. She heeded the cotton-wool bandage wrapped around his scalp like a chiffon Turban overlooked in a world of bone it sat before. She dabbed her finger on a claret blotch on the left side, then wiped it off on the linen blanket. The blood seeped into the threads and spread thin of water like a red firefly smashed and spread over fibers.

She left the room and returned immediately with the doctor. Thin hair wisped back a receding hairline overtop his spectacles that were thick as table coasters. Bernie’s head was pounding, and he could barely see Mila’s face as she leaned in close.

“The kids are downstairs with your dad. He’s coming up right now. Your Mom’s coming right now. She’s on the freeway and will be here in five minutes. Okay? You’re so brave. Just keep fighting.”

Bernie could make out a rainbow of pens that sat snug in the pocket pouch of the doctor’s coat of frost as he stood at the side rail of the hospital bed that Bernie lay upon.

“You’re a lucky man.” The doctor said to Bernie. “How do you feel?”

“My head— it hurts.”

“What else?”

“Back, my ribs—”

“Well, you broke five of them. It’s gonna sting for a while.” The doctor said as he left his perch and walked over to check on the heart monitor. Satisfied, he took a deep breath and turned to Bernie. “You were t-boned by a Chevy C10 pickup that ran a red light going over fifty miles an hour. The first responder thought you were for sure dead. Your TR6 was completely demolished. Almost cut in half from what the police said. Not a single piece of metal was left unscathed were the words he used.” The doctor paused, pursed his lips, and looked to Mila, then back to Bernie. “Except for the driver’s side.”

“Oh my god.” Mila whimpered.

“Sir, and I don’t know how else to say this, but— are you into off-roading?”

“What? No- no, I’ve never done anything like that.”

“I see.” The doctor unfolded the police report. “It says right here that you were found in what they called an iron cocoon.”

Bernie and Mila looked at each other with confusion.

“Look, I’m not a car guy; I’m a doctor, but I know there isn’t a single TR6 manufactured with an iron cocoon or whatever.”

“I— I know. I bought it brand new. There was nothing like that— I saw it in pieces when my father-in-law—” Bernie’s eyes simultaneously caught the realization in Mila’s. They stared at each other in stunned silence. Mila’s hands grasped her mouth.

“Jesus Christ.” Bernie muttered to himself.

“Someone wanted you to live a long time, Bernie.” The doctor said as he smiled. “Maybe we get a bigger car next time?”

“He’s getting a goddamn tank.” Mila said.

The doctor gave them each a wary smile. “One more thing.” He reached inside his white coat pocket and pulled out a tattered, ripped envelope. “The police officer on scene found this,” he paused and smacked it in his hand, “Said it was tucked away and duct-taped to the inside frame of the car. It’d be impossible to get to. Unless your car was demolished, of course. The weirdest thing about though, is that it’s also addressed to you.” The doctor said as he handed it to Bernie, facedown. A black, greasy fingerprint streaked along the gum strip like a comet flaring across an ivory empyrean.

The road cut through twisted hills where northern beech and scarlet oak stretched in sheets upon boundless acres that bled with rustic foliage and choked away the blue Ohioan yonder. Outflows of narrow gravel rivers jetted up to overlooking estates hidden with those who wished to remain behind the dense shadows of hollow lands that paced their pastoral lives with the seasons.

A pothole rattled the interior of Benedetto’s ’65 Ford Cortina and shook him in his driver’s seat.

“That was a big one. The car’s getting thrashed going down this road, Pops.”

“It’s fine. Car’s fine.”

“Where are we going anyway?”

“We’re taking a little scenic tour down the back roads.”

“Yeah, I see that. But for what?”

Benedetto looked over and smiled, “For a drink. Capisci?”

“Yeah. Capisco.”

Deciduous buckeye overtook scarlet oak as the backroad careened around a bend and over a small wooden bridge that crossed a brook.

“You carrying it, Bernie?”

“Carrying what?”

“You know what.”

Bernie grinned, reached into his back pocket, and slipped out his wallet. From the back fold, he pulled out a jumbled piece of paper. He laid it upon his knee and spread it flat and true. A tear fell from his cheek and splashed on the first word.

To Bernie,
If you’re reading this, chances are you’re a bit sore. Walk it off, you’ll be fine.

I must confess, I lied to you. There was nothing wrong with your car except for the gearbox which I could have hired a monkey to do. Nothing wrong with it at all. But there was everything wrong with how my daughter looked at you. Everything wrong with how she loved to talk about you at dinner and to her friends about you. Now I don’t know much, but I do know my daughter. I know things men know because men before me lived to know it. I knew in that shed you’d be my son-in-law, so I had to make sure I hooned your hunk of yellow metal sound and true. And I didn’t just pick on you, no. You’ll be happy to know I put the same steel reinforcements in Mila’s first car as well. She was lucky enough to never find her letter. Call me crazy. I don’t care. I want you to live. I want you to love. I want you to drive that god damn jalopy all over Canton with that top down. Truth be told, it never was a jalopy. I just needed it to be perfect. I needed it to save your life. I think it did. I hope it did.

Lastly, if I’ve past yonder before you read this, know I crossed well. I’m playing cards again with my friends, only this time, it’s nowhere near the Imjin. Tell my wife I wasn’t late when truth north lead me back and away from Tuscarawas County. Tell Mila I’m on the road with her every mile, and there ain’t a single tire revolution she spins that I don’t feel in my heart. And to you, Bernie, my future son-in-law, know this - it don’t matter which way you drive through life, just make sure you’re looking out for people along the way. And of course, Familiga su tutto.

I’ll see y’all when you get here.

-Ross

Bernie folded the letter back up and wiped his eyes dry. His father reached over and grasped Bernie’s shoulder, shook his head proud and grateful as the car rolled to a stop.

“We’re here.” Benedetto said.

“Where?”

Benedetto motioned out the window to undulating knolls beset with stone tabs. A smile cast across Bernie’s face.

“You listen to me now, Bernie. You listen good.”

“Here we go.” Bernie said with a smile.

“You come here every week, you understand? Every week. You owe him everything.” Benedetto said as he put the car in park. “Go on, take as much time as you need. I’ll be here. Go.” The trunk popped. “And there’s something in the back for you twos. Enjoy, huh? I’ll sit in with you next week.”

Bernie walked to the back of the Cortina, and in the trunk, a small ice chest filled with two frosty blue and gold Hamms. He smiled and grabbed them. “Thanks, Dad.” Bernie said as he passed by the window.

“Su tutto.” Benedetto replied.

Bernie felt Ross’s tombstone before he saw it. The foreboding feeling he was being watched never left until he stood over his grave. Bernie sat down next to the Ross and cracked the Hamms open. He placed one against Ross’s gravestone and held the other.

“To the first of the day,” Bernie said as he clanked the cans together and took a gulp. “To the rest of my life.”

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