Last Ride In 1959

298 Words

Last Ride in 1959


“Gimme one of them brews,” Tommy commanded, pushing the gas pedal to the floor. Billy opened another can of beer with his church key and reached over the seat with it as the needle went from 70 to 80.

“How fast do you think this piece of crap can go, T-man?” Billy asked, his words drowning out the radio music.

“You ain’t seen nothin’, Billy, this old Buick is built to run.” The needle worked its way to 85 as Tommy downed a couple of swallows and cranked the radio up.

Riding shotgun, James sat silent, watching the road markers fly past the open window. He was glad T-man had accepted him as one of the guys. The honor student wanted to be liked by Tommy and his friends. He sipped slowly at the pyramid shaped hole, hiding his distaste for beer.

The fuzzy dice, dangling from the mirror, mimicked the rock and roll beat of the music, as the needle reached 90.

“Hey, drink up, James, there’s more where that came from,” Tommy ordered, as he blindly heaved his half consumed can of beer at a road sign.

The metal can hit the bold black letters that warned, “BRIDGE OUT – 1 MILE AHEAD”, and bounced to the ground, resting in the dirty snow along the highway.

“Good eye, T-man,” Billy laughed as he handed his older brother another beer.

The needle quivered at 95.

James saw the barricades first, and turned his head toward Tommy. From the back seat, Billy screamed, “Hit the brakes, Tommy!” Tommy dropped the beer between his legs and gripped the wheel as the Buick plowed through the wooden roadblock, plummeting into the Nishnabotna River.

The needle dropped to zero as the Buick sank into the cold, dark water.