ROAD
Uncle Billy’s innards appeared to have been squeezed out of his body just as toothpaste is squeezed out of the tube. His left leg twitched several times, the result of a fading misfire from the crushed remnants of Uncle Billy’s brain. Caleb stared in horror. As his uncle tried vainly to speak, to make eye contact, to regain his footing, all Caleb could see was his uncle’s life vanishing almost as quickly as the taillights of the hit-and-run driver’s Lexus. "Oh, Uncle Billy," Caleb moaned, his grief like a great crushing weight upon his shoulders. Why oh why had his uncle tried to cross the freeway in the middle of the night, in near-perfect darkness? When he awoke for a call of nature, Caleb had noticed his uncle’s absence from where he and other family members were sleeping. Curious, Caleb watched the hunched form of his uncle moving almost silently through the long grass. Caleb then followed his uncle to the edge of the highway, to his great sorrow.
Yet, Caleb knew his family would rather know the fate of his Uncle Billy, rather than not ever knowing what had happened to him. That was perhaps the greatest hazard of living in such close proximity to the highway. Uncle Billy was just the latest in a number of vehicle-related tragedies that had taken the lives of relatives and friends in residence within the entire region.
The next day at the memorial service, Caleb’s closest friend, a whole year younger but smart and vivacious, Vicki leaned close to Caleb and whispered into his ear, "I am so sorry for your loss, Caleb. This unbearable living situation of ours has got to stop." Caleb had nodded, almost unable to hear Vicki’s soft words over the pounding of his own heartbeat hammering against his eardrums. He was upset, and even a little angry. However, his heart beat so fiercely because he was maturing and the whispering of a female in a male’s ear will often have that effect, especially if that male has started to develop quite the crush upon said female.
Less than a week later, Caleb knew what it was like to have the heart crushed into a paste, for Vicki was killed by a Jeep Wrangler. She had lived long enough, in unimaginable pain, to drag herself off the road and into the grassy bank sloping downwards. There she slid slowly down to where the ground leveled out, and wheezed her last breath while staring through blue and black starbursts of pain in the direction of Caleb’s home.
Caleb curled up into a ball and sobbed throughout the night after he heard the news.
He invited some friends over for an impromptu meeting. "We should really do something about this living situation. It’s just- unbearable!"
"What is there to do?" Greg, the largest of them all, and one of the oldest, intoned in his slow, rumbling manner. "It’s always been this way, it’s just how things are."
"We shouldn’t accept that at all- no reason we can’t change things! Save the lives of those near to us!" Caleb retorted, his voice cracking.
"I know what Vicki meant to you, man, " Kevin interjected. "I’m really sorry, man. I was so bummed to hear about her." Caleb nodded his gratitude to Kevin, then turned to glare at Greg.
"Tell me why we can’t change things, huh? Greg just shrugged and shook his head fatalistically, his wispy white whiskers swaying slightly with the movement. Caleb pointed at the highway, his voice raising in pitch. "Time and time again, some driver hits one of us, and how often do they stop? Huh? I only remember seeing that once, and that was just because the driver wanted to take a picture!" Greg dropped his gaze and mumbled something no one really caught, but it was something about someplace the sun didn’t shine.
"What about our rights, our safety? Why should they get away with this?" Caleb exclaimed, gesticulating to emphasize his escalating fury. Murmurs of agreement arose from the crowd.
Later in the evening, as Caleb dined with his family, his father turned to him. "Greg tells me you’re talking about organizing some sort of rebellion?" Caleb rolled his eyes.
"No, Dad! It’s not a rebellion. It’s a protest. Big difference."
"Big difference, eh? You really think this protest thing will make any difference?" Caleb pushed his food away, all appetite gone. His cousin immediately dove into the discarded meal.
Caleb sighed. "We’d never know unless we try," he told his father as he walked off to be alone.
On the planned day of the roadside protest, Caleb was gratified to see several of his friends appear at the scheduled time, but he was also disappointed with the low number of people showing their commitment. Still, these few had come. He greeted each one cheerfully before he asked them all to assemble for the ground rules of the protest.
"Remember we just want to increase awareness of our plight," Caleb explained, "to get their attention, let them know we’re not okay with being treated like we’re no better than roadkill. Just get their attention, get noticed."
"Can we throw rocks at them?" asked Nellie, pushing her way through the others, to squint up at Caleb. Caleb blinked in consternation.
"That would be a no, Nellie. We want to foster an understanding here, not start a war. They’ve definitely got the advantage over us, in terms of heavy weaponry. As a matter of fact, do your parents even know you’re here, Nellie?"
"Aw!" Nellie complained, stamping a foot before marching away in a huff.
The next few hours, Caleb and his fellow protesters inhaled a substantial amount of dust as they jumped, yelled, waved, and danced around beside the road. All the drivers completely ignored them. The next day, Rick didn’t show up. The day after that, Caleb only had Davy and Kevin backing him up. When Nellie showed up later Caleb grudgingly allowed her presence, until she grabbed a pinecone and tossed it at an oncoming car. When the car screeched to a halt after the pinecone bounced off its hood, the protesters scrambled into the tall grass to hide.
The very next day, Caleb found himself standing alone by the roadside. Frustrated, he ground his teeth. How could his family, friends, peers not understand the importance of what he was trying to accomplish? He kicked what he thought was a small piece of bleached wood, but when it clanked instead of clunked, he took another look. It was a discarded, slightly rusty spray paint can. It had been exposed long enough that Caleb could not read the brand, but the violet crust on the nozzle sufficed to inform Caleb of the can’s function. A car sped by and dust surrounded Caleb.
Despondently, he picked up the can and pushed the nozzle. The puff-hiss of purple mist surprised Caleb and he almost dropped the can. He stared thoughtfully at the can, shifting it back and forth.
Several minutes later, Caleb stood in the road, with the words "SLOW DOWN SAVE LIVES" emblazoned in dark purple across his bare chest. He stood proudly, squinting against the sunlight. He would show them all, he thought fiercely.
But when the Audi SUV leaped over the horizon, barreling right at Caleb, his legs began to tremble. Then his body. Then his lower lip. Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer and his primal instincts took over. He dove to one side, and curled up into a ball, rolling scant inches away from danger as the SUV flashed past.
Vic glanced back through the rear window of the Audi. He turned to look at the driver, his buddy Dean.
"Dude," Vic said, "did that armadillo have graffiti shit on it?"
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