Never the Same IC#11: Just the Same

After Kirk graduated and back home, he's just in the same rut as before. Did he make a mistake with Bonnie? Now what?

 

Cue: “Silent Lucidity” https://youtu.be/jhat-xUQ6dw

Back in his old farmhouse home, Kirk tormentedly laid in his old childhood bed just like his entire life up to this point. In a state of half-sleep, a torrent of emotion-wracking dreams roiled his subconsciousness. Bonnie’s visage reappeared in his waking dream. Kirk saw her again lying there in the bed appearing so beautiful, so sexy, so lovable.

Why didn’t we make love when you were right here in the next bedroom? Don’t cry. Bonnie! Sweet, fun, pretty Bonnie! Who’s that other guy with you? Why you leave me? Why’d I ever leave you behind? Please, don’t cry. What was I supposed to do about you? You’re a picture of sweetness in your waitress uniform, I love your pretty laughing face lit beautifully by a campfire. I can’t ever let the vision of sweetness go. Of you. But I did. Don’t cry, Bonnie. Please don’t.

Nothing. Blackness.

Back in college, stressed during a practical exam. Then�"the fuel injector misfired and tore and bore deeply into his skin, the flesh peeling away from the high pressure. I’m going to die! He fell to the floor in the college shop his flesh torn from the bone.

Then�"black, nothing.

Driving the highway. He drove his Bug too fast onto a decrepit old bridge. With a jolt, a bang sounded. I’m crashing! The Bug’s front suspension had broken and the wheels fell off! On the tall, broken bridge, his Bug broke the railing and careened over the edge. He helplessly gawked down into a bottomless abyss. The rocks on the riverbank rushed up to meet him. Bang!

            The bed bounced from his real physical reaction to the dream. Kirk’s eyes flew open. He laid there calming his pounding heart. The visions subsided. He rubbed his wet eyes. He blinked several times.

Slowly, Kirk gazed about in the dim light. He took in his old bedroom, the wallpaper, his over-soft bed. Kirk heard muted noises downstairs. There on the shelves sat mementos from growing up: books on courageous people, a parking lot of plastic car models, a stack of comic books, the participation trophy from the Troubleshooting Contest, and his hard-earned, yet unmerited sports letter jacket hanging on the closet door. His eyes spied the old BB gun. He rubbed his neck where a BB had bounced back from a close range shot at the barn wood siding. He remembered how he kept the wound concealed.  He recalled that he used the low-power gun primarily for shooting at the metal dome on the tall silo. Boom! It made a nice loud sound. There were hundreds of dimples in the metal. Thoughts from so long ago, just like yesterday. He wondered after his present life situation.

            Where did all the time go? Did I squander it? He pondered his transition back to this house, this bedroom where he had grown up that he, for the most part, had left behind for college. So, I’m back with the situation just the same as before. Now what do I do? Has my future changed at all for me? Has my future prospects improved? What does my future truly hold?

            Kirk laid there but could think of nothing, nothing at all to address possible prospects, what his fate held. Dark thoughts that he hadn’t thought since before Bonnie seeped back into his forebrain. I have no prospects, no different expectations than before college. Where had the college year gone? What did I do at college? What did I accomplish? Did I learn anything because I don’t remember anything�"or do I? The unceremonious certificate presentation at ‘graduation’ replayed in his foggy mind. Now what can�"

            From downstairs Kirk heard his father’s characteristic raving about something to Kirk’s mother. He couldn’t hear a sound from his meek and mild mother not knowing if she replied or not. Kirk smelled the whiff of burnt toast, his father’s all-time favorite snack, the smoke wafting up through the vintage heating grate, basically a hole in the floor.

            Kirk wondered what time it was. He never liked having a clock in his room when attending high school because he tended to look at the clock too often realizing it was too early or too late and screwing up his sleep habits. His mother used to pound on the ceiling below with a broom handle to wake him for school. And Kirk always needed a lot of time to wake up each morning. He laid still, holding his breath trying hard to understand his parent’s conversation. Kirk wondered if his father ached to yell at him for some reason. He expected it. The knot in Kirk’s in stomach cinched up a notch.

            Kirk pulled on his clothes, socks, and shoes. He threw open the curtains to see a bright sunshiny day. The sun angle told him it must have been about ten, though he also knew tht because it was snack time for his father as well.

            Stepping down the creaky stairs and shuffling into the kitchen his mother greeted him, “Good morning dear, she said.  His father pulled some stale bread out of the clothes dryer.

            “Mornin,’” Kirk muttered before going in the bathroom. By the time Kirk came back out, his father had speared a slice of bread with a fork and held it over the range’s open blue flame. The flame crackled and sizzled as it singed the bread. His mother picked at a scattering of scrambled eggs on a saucer in front of her. Kirk’s stomach turned at the smell and sight of the eggs.

            “What are you going to do now that you’re home for good?” His father asked minding his burning toast.

            The question hit Kirk like a rock aside the head and sent an electric twinge down his spine.

            “I don’t know,” Kirk said, getting out the cereal. 

            “Let him settle in a little,” his mother said gently.

            His father let out a breath. “Settle in! At your age I had been getting up before sun up and worked until after sundown for YEARS!”

            “Yeah, I know,” Kirk said, sitting down with his cereal.

            His father pulled the ladderback chair out with a loud scrape, sat down, and scraped a knife load of soft butter on his blackened toast.

            “Got quite a bill that you owe me for that little car of yours out there, you know,” he said, before taking a huge chomp out of his toast. 

            “Yeah, I know.” Kirk said, without looking up from his bowl.

            After a few silent moments, his father finished his toast and stood up abruptly pushing the chair back that teetered twice on two legs.

“Well, I cut hay yesterday in the big field. You can get the rake ready, go out and rake that hay up.”

            “Okay.”

His father stomped out.

            “Your father missed you, you know,” Kirk’s mother said after the room cleared.

            “Really? I doubt it. Probably just missed my help,” Kirk said.

            “So what are you planning to do now?” She asked.

He sat there a moment and shrugged. “I’ve been thinkin’ about all that. I just don’t know what I’m going to do at this point. I guess I’ll just help out here for now.” Kirk reminded himself that he had known all along that when college ended, he’d return to being an indentured worker for his overbearing father.

            Kirk strode out to the barnyard where the old green and yellow tractor sat on the small hill in front of the barn. This was the same tractor Kirk loved as a toddler imitating the “pom, pom, pom” sound of its loud exhaust. Now the tractor looked pretty sorry with its paint faded and bodywork dented and scratched. Dirty and greasy, oil sat in a puddle underneath from several leaks. Always parked on the hill, the tractor sat poised to roll down the hill because the electric starter no longer worked. Despite being a mechanic of sorts and now a certified heavy equipment mechanic, Kirk didn’t plan on working on the tractor any time soon. He climbed aboard, but before starting, he paused to scan the sky. To the west, he saw a leading edge of Cirrus. Mackerel Clouds he recalled from Earth Science class. He loved that class and thought he recalled that those clouds indicated a possibility for rain or storms in a day or so. He shrugged. It would serve his father right to lose the hay to rain.  

            Sitting atop the tractor, Kirk moved the tractor’s throttle lever to half-throttle position. He pulled the choke knob out. He selected 5^th gear for the gearshift position in the six-speed transmission. Applying the brakes, one for each foot, he reached down and released the brake latches, one on each side with metallic bang�"bang! He released the brakes and slowly the tractor started rolling, picking up a little speed as the tractor descended the small, short hill.

Just as he reached the nadir of the hill, he shoved in the hand clutch to engage it. The engine turned over slowly�"once�"twice, and the engine fired with a puff of blue smoke and the distinctive “pom!” After a hesitant second and third firing, “pom�"pom!” Kirk quickly closed the choke, pulled to release the clutch, and hit both brakes. As the engine decided if it was going to keep running or not, Kirk feathered the choke in and out while judging what the engine needed in the way of extra fuel to remain running. After a minute of choke fiddling, the engine stayed running smoothly and the exhaust smoke cleared. Kirk selected a lower gear and drove off accompanied by the ever-familiar distinctive “pom, pom, pom!”

            On the way to the field, Kirk stopped and grabbed the grease gun because he had no idea if his father was keeping up with equipment lubrication. Driving to the field, his mind wandered to less than cheerful thoughts�"again, but he had farm business to pay attention to. He backed up to the rake maneuvering to get lined up with the hitch. Knowing he backed a bit too far, he stepped off the tractor with drawbar pin in hand. He picked up the hitch from the rake and seeing he had indeed backed too far though found the alignment good. Bracing himself between the rake and the tractor he pushed with his legs. The rake moved a little�"enough. He wiggled the hitch a little, dropped the pin in, and secured it with a clip. Taking a look at the nearest grease zerk (fitting) he saw it appeared dry, so he greased the thirteen zerks. Done with that, he engaged the rake to begin windrowing the hay.

            Kirk saw right from the start that the hay seemed pretty cured�"dry, so he motored on. With the steady exhaust beat and the metallic clicking of the rake teeth: “tick, tick, click, tick, tick…”, he found it surprisingly relaxing and mood raising for his borderline depression. He had raked hay like this since he was twelve years old. Before that, he had ridden with his father many, many times, so he had a thorough understanding of it before driving himself.

            Early on when Kirk started on his own, in his father’s typical raving manner, his father criticized Kirk’s raking. The rows weren’t straight, the corners too sharp, two windrows together weren’t rolled together well enough. His father said it made it too hard for the baler driver to follow and catch all the hay. The baler driver was Kirk’s father because Kirk usually did the heavy lifting on the wagon. Now, Kirk’s raking produced laser-straight tight rows with wide gentle corners. In many things Kirk did, he aimed for perfection but couldn’t ever call himself a perfectionist because what he did was never quite perfect. Nevertheless, he motored on with nearly perfect windrows where his mind wandered again.

            Where did the year in college go? Living through it seemed so long though the time with Bonnie really helped to speed up time. I wished I had spent more time with her. Was breaking up with her the right thing just a couple days before leaving the college town? If I hadn’t asked for my ring back, I wonder�"would she have just put it in her college boy ring collection and started going out with someone right away instead of staying true to me? Memories of Dee’s cheating intertwined with his thoughts on Bonnie.

Kirk maneuvered carefully around a corner making sure the windrow made a smooth curve. He confirmed his previous thought on Bonnie.

Bonnie would surely cheat as soon as I drove away just like Dee did, after all, she had that reputation. And I wonder why I have such a problem with girls and relationships. There I was in such a good relationship with Farrah who was fair and pleasant enough, but then, I left Farrah in a lurch when I met Bonnie. How unfair is that? Bottomline: I’m a chicken prick. There’s no going back to Farrah with tail between my legs because I heard Farrah’s in a steady relationship, so there’s no picking up where we left off or defend my unexplained abandonment. On the other hand, what red-blooded American boy/man goes through college and is still a virgin? What is the matter with me? Too spineless�"cowardly around girls? Am I?

Kirk grimaced realizing he was fixating on Bonnie and his problem with girls in general�"again. What he did to Bonnie-was it right or wrong, he couldn’t decide, and if he didn’t go back to her, he would never know. He made another smooth windrow corner and glancing back saw   a straight as an arrow windrow He tried to think about other things. How he just got up and left the college town?

 Did I even say goodbye to the old weird couple that put up with me living in their spare bedroom? I can’t remember. When receiving my certificate of completion for my course did I even give my professors a thank you? Unknown. So, if I didn’t lose my virginity and didn’t hardly remember what I was taught, what did I actually gain for my year in college? Will I miss the college town other than Bonnie?  No. NOW, get off it!

**

Well, Kirk recalled his pink Baja Bug still had his tool box and the US Army-issued pontoon in the back. Nearing the end of the school year, in the college garage’s storage room, Kirk had spied a peculiar folded up three-foot thick rubber cube. He asked his instructor, Mister Blank, what it might be. Mister Blank said it was an US Army issued pontoon for a quick transportable bridge over bodies of water. He added that another instructor had left it there unclaimed. Kirk expressed an interest. Mister Blank said that if Kirk could haul it, he could have it. Kirk tried lifting the pontoon cube and couldn’t. He got underneath it and pushed. He lifted a corner estimating it probably weighed at least a hundred and fifty pounds.

On the day before graduation, Kirk got Jeff to help him with the pontoon. Together they heaved it down and out next to the Bug. Surveying the situation of cube versus the Bug, Kirk expressed a doubt. Anyway, he took out the passenger seat and shoved his tool box as far over behind the driver’s seat as he could. Jeff and Kirk wrestled the unruly chunk of rubber into the passenger door, and it appeared like it would MAYBE squeeze in.

The bug’s suspension sagged like two people sat down.  With Kirk on the driver’s side and Jeff on the other they heaved, pushed, and wiggled it farther inside the bug. Kirk’s doubts grew as he saw he’d have to take the driver’s seat out. With that seat out as well, they shoehorned the rubber cube in as far back in the bug as they could. Kirk looked at it in dismay. He picked up the driver’s seat to see if he could even get it back in place. With more wiggling of his tool box and pontoon with a lot of associated huffing and puffing, he got the driver’s seat back in at its extreme forward position. Kirk squeezed in behind the wheel. Uncomfortable, but doable. He just slid the passenger seat in sideways loose, leaning forward against the dashboard. Kirk, all ready to go after graduation, drove home like that with the huge unruly cube of rubber taking up most of the space inside the Bug and forcing his body against the steering wheel and his face almost against the windshield. He went through all that and didn’t even know if the pontoon held air.

**

As Kirk made one of the last corners in the hayfield, he remembered the pontoon still sat in his Bug just the same as when he drove home. Finishing up in the center of the field, Kirk got off the tractor and lifted the raking tines as high as they would go because he had to drive over his newly made windrows. Sitting back on the tractor, he surveyed the field that appeared very neat and tidy. He hated to drive across the windrows, but there was no other way out and there he went. After driving back to the homestead, he parked the rake, and parked the tractor in its poised position on the hill at the barn.

Glad to get off and walk around, Kirk heard his father banging around on something in the garage, but Kirk didn’t bother to see what he was doing. Still thinking about the pontoon, Kirk squeezed into his overloaded Bug and drove out to the farm pond. Pulling the lose passenger seat out and then taking the driver’s seat out and setting them aside, he set to work to get the pontoon out. With several minutes of pulling, wiggling, shoving with arms and legs, the large hunk of rubber tipped out of the door and onto the ground. After catching his breath, Kirk unfolded the pontoon. Laid out flat, it was amazingly over three feet wide and about twenty-five feet long. Of course, it had “US Army” stenciled on it with a bunch of numbers and nomenclature: “Pontoon, floatation. Do not overinflate.” Surprisingly, the pontoon looked to be in pretty good shape without any obvious dry rot or cuts in it, at least the side up that he could see. On one of the pointed ends, because it was longer along one edge, he found the inflation valve, which was easy enough to find because it was circled with arrows pointing to it.

Looking at the shear bulk, size of it, he wondered how many cubic feet of air it held. Not something you’d blow up with a hand pump, he mused. ’Course knowing the military, the Drill Sergeant could put a squad on it to blow it up as punishment or exercise. He thought about it a moment and knew the only way to blow it up without an air compressor especially out there by the pond. He went back, grabbed the tractor pump, restarted the old tractor, drove out to the pontoon, hooked it up, and sat back as the tractor did the work pumping away.

After ten minutes, Kirk wondered if the pontoon had massive holes in it because he couldn’t discern any real inflation going on at all. He just strolled around for a while to see if anything would develop. His younger sister, who still lived at home, walked down to ask what he was doing down there. He hadn’t told anyone about the pontoon and so explained how he got it and so on. As they talked about mundane subjects, Kirk thought he detected a bit of puffiness in the pontoon. The tractor just continued to noisily pump away.

Sitting there several more minutes, indeed the pontoon grew. A little after that, his father stomped down to the pond.

“You done with the raking?” He asked with an annoyed edge.

“Hmmm, hmmm, a while ago,” Kirk said.

“How’s the hay look?” He asked, looking up and down at the puffy pontoon.

“I would say cured and dry, but you should take a look.”

“Ah ha, what is this thing?” His father asked, gazing up and down again.

“An army surplus bridge pontoon,” Kirk answered, noticing the bulge growing faster.

“Where’d you get the money for that?” His father demanded. “More of my money?”

Kirk’s sister turned away as she cringed.

“NO, as a matter of fact. My professor gave it to me.”

His father paused to gather his thoughts. “So. What good is it?”

“Dunno,” Kirk shrugged. “Just thought we could float around on the pond with it if�"it holds air.”

“You don’t have time to float around anymore. You need to get a job.” Kirk’s sister started wandering away. His father pointed at him. “Matter of fact, I put a word with Wade about you going to that tractor school and asked if he might hire you. Remember that money you�".”

“Yeah, I know. I can never forget about that money.”

His father stood there a few more moments. “Well, I’ll go check that hay.” And he walked off.

Kirk and his sister silently watched the pontoon slowly grow rounder and fuller.

“An army pontoon for a bridge?” His sister finally asked. “Would that hold tanks and trucks up out the water?”

“I guess,” Kirk said, with shrug. “They probably lash a bunch of them together, put some kind of platform on them, like plywood, and they must be able to support a lot of weight. So. What’ya think, a pond pontoon�"pond-toon?”  He grinned. “A water dirigible?”

“Looks like a whale to me,” she said.

“Maybe.”

By this time, the “whale” had actually gained a round firm sausage shape. Kirk walked around and rolled it back and forth to see if he could spot any leaks. After a thorough inspection, he didn’t find any obvious leaks. After a few more minutes, he punched the rather big and round pontoon. He deemed it full enough, unhooked the hose, and disengaged the pump. Together with his sister, they rolled the huge “whale” into the pond where it floated slowly away to the middle of the pond.

“Pretty cool,” his sister said.

Kirk slightly smiled while watching it.

His father soon returned and stood there eyeing up the whale, but he didn’t comment.

“Hay isn’t dry enough today. We’ll bale tomorrow. Done with the tractor? Better go park it.”

“Just going to,” Kirk said, stepping up on the idling tractor

***

So that was it. Kirk just couldn’t believe that everything in his life was the same as before. After a year in college, Kirk felt like he was already, so quickly stuck in his proverbial rut again. Ruminating on it almost all the time, he had that old familiar sick feeling in his stomach, that sinking feeling that he should be preparing for his future, a future doing what, living where, he didn’t know, but he either lacked the motivation, the courage, or just needed a nudge, a significant nudge to do something. Like the guidance counselor in high school suggested for him to be a mechanic and then the invite to college, but neither had excited him enough to convince him to commit and press on with those professions. College�"was it just a wasted year under the bridge?

Cue: “Time” https://youtu.be/JwYX52BP2Sk  

So where did that time go? Lost to his personal space/time continuum?  Was he still killing time waiting for something or someone to show him the way? When will he realize that ten years can pass him by, and he didn’t act? At these especially rough introspective times Kirk’s head spun, but he always ended up returning to that dark place he knew very well.