mrzablowdowski

The Free Siamese

I was reminded of my father.

A blue hair set, two little old ladies, rolling the olds for a stroll down the road. An evening luxuriating in the glow of the bingo board, the pair, thier thoughs elsewhere. A rage. Behind. Flash through my mind. If you take your teeth out to drive. Don't come out at night.
______

A tale told the old man was a real terror. Time was he was younger. Trucker all his life, the old man drove the family Chev like he was dragging all eighteen wheels and thirteen speeds through the city. Harder than a tire iron, cruse and swear the traffic. People would cuss, shake thier fists, and pass him like he was standing still.

Stiff brush cut, real red neck, the hair was always an issue growing up. Return from the road another long haul, rest and relaxation a drunken brawl for the weekend. Respect in the end, he lived a life with two fisted justice.
______

The old man died on the road, half way back on the last trip to visit me. Picked up mom and drove back home, six hundred miles the next day, silent. The one and only time to drive the family Chev was that day. He was a hard man. All ways.
______

Aunt Laura and Audrey were both there that night. Both used the same words. After the war, he was never the same. Away a fun loving boy. In return a tough, mean, man. How he broke up the party, his own home coming. How so he broke my grandmother's heart. And the only one to make him stop, my mother.