by Bud Smith
I remember driving very fast down Double Trouble Road in Berkley Township. There had been a forest fire a few years before and all the pines were charred. But there was new sprigs of green coming up out of the last of the dirty snow and I didn’t have a job, I was in love. This is when I decided I was going to write a novel.
My brother was in the hospital because he'd fallen off the back
of a garbage truck and landed in a giant slush puddle.
I didn't know how bad he was hurt, just that he'd gotten hurt at
work and I had to sign the release forms at the ER for him, or maybe he just
needed a ride. I don't remember.
Double Trouble Road is just two lanes and there's usually no one
on it so you can drive as fast as you want. Around 80mph I decided when I got
back to my room downstairs I was going to make a real novel.
I’d written them in notebooks since I was fourteen. But I’d
never learned how to type and now I didn’t give a shit anymore. I was going to type
out the novel, skip the notebook. All the notebooks in all my life have never
gone anywhere. They’ve just gotten Hawaiian Punch spilled on them or left out
in the rain on a picnic table and that’s that.
When I got to the ER, Year of Our Lord 2003, my brother was
wheeled out by an orderly and he was holding this big plastic bag on his lap.
"What happened?”
He started to tell me this story: "I was jumping over this
slush puddle and my foot slipped when I landed on the back of the truck and ...
I cracked my head on the road and I was laying in this icy ass puddle and this
old lady opened the door and said 'don't move you might have a spine injury
I'll call an ambulance'.
"What's in the bag?"
"My trench coat."
The orderly busted out laughing and I started laughing too and
my brother was pissed.
In the car on the way back to the house I think I told him that
I was going to write a novel and he was looking out the window still really
pissed off at me.
We were on Double Trouble Road again and I was driving very fast
again. Pretty much the only road I ever drive recklessly on back in my hometown
was that road.
Except this other time when I was thinking about buying the car
I have now, and I wanted to take it for a test drive but my brother is much
more mechanical than me so he went along for the ride and it was pouring rain
and I got that car up to 125 mph on a rain slick road and my brother said,
"Please slow down you're going to get us fucking killed.”
"I'm just testing it out ..."
"Well don't ..."
"Seeing what it can do."
"Take me home.”
I did write that novel. I came home from the hospital and I
started that night. I was laid off of work at the time and I didn't have to go
to sleep. And back then everything was new to me and I didn't know a single
rule, I liked to drink Seagrams Seven and ginger ale. I’m glad I didn’t learn
too many of those rules. I’m happy they still make Seagrams Seven and they
still make Ginger Ale.
I just wrote and wrote and wrote and it was all garbage.
But Jesus, I had the best time.
When the novel was done, I was cool with being done too. I
didn't edit it past a first draft. I didn't submit it to any publishing houses.
I went to Staples and I got one copy of the book printed out and bound with
rings. Cost me $22 or something silly.
I looked at it and said, "Fucking A, I wrote a book."
I remember it snowed really hard and my friend who was living in
Seaside Heights called me up on the phone to come over and eat painkillers with
him, so I hopped in my car and drove across the bridge all icy like the end of
the world and when I got to my friend's apartment there was nowhere to park on
the street, so I put the car on this little basketball court that was around
the corner because I figured no one was going to play basketball with the court
that iced over. I guess the cops figured that too because they didn't give me
any tickets, which was strange because pretty much anytime I ever went to
Seaside Heights, I got a ticket. Once I got two tickets and one must have blown
away and I got my license suspended for not paying the other one.
When I walked up to my friend's door he'd grown a beard and I
guess so had I, so it looked like something you just automatically did when you
turned 20, no matter who you are. We sat on his couch and he asked what was new
and I said, "My brother fell off the back of a garbage truck and got hurt
pretty bad and I wrote a novel.”
"Holy shit, bro! You wrote a novel? You're gonna get
fucking rich.”
"Oh definitely."
"R, I, C, H."
We celebrated our good fortune that there were five Yuengling
beers in the fridge and one Rolling Rock and the Chinese food place down the
block would still deliver no matter how close the apocalypse came to the edge
of the cave. And we took the painkillers
and watched TV, and it was a Wednesday with nothing at stake and life was good.
_______________________________________
Tiger Blood at Hobart
http://monkeybicycle.net/jant/
Bud Smith wrote the novels F 250, Tollbooth and I'm From Electric Peak. He works heavy construction in NJ. budsmithwrites@gmail.com
Here's two stories I like:
Tiger Blood at Hobart
JANT at Monkeybicycle
6 comments:
Excellent reading! I even could not wink until I read it till the very end. I will definitely have to find more reading from this author.
I think I'm in love with Bud Smith. I wrote my first screenplay the same way. Had no idea what the hell I was doing. Didn't give a crap if it was good or not. Just wrote a scene and figured out what happened next as I went along. Yeah... Good times.
Jayne, I think we're all a little in love with Bud Smith. He's so original and fresh. Thanks for reading.
Great essay, Bud! and Gay, I am loving this series you're putting together. xo
Yes. Wednesday definitely rocks the house.
Loving this series, Gay.
In the words of Aleisha Keys: This MAN is on FIRE!!! So proud to call him friend. Love this series, Gay!
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