Boyd Loggins felt like a kid the day before Christmas. He was trying to be good, but it seemed like the universe was in cahoots to cause him grief.
Driving home from his first night at the Wagon Wheel in eighteen months, he realized how much he had missed these curvy, country roads. It had been raining most of the evening and everything smelled like it had just been washed clean. He kept his windows rolled down and let the rain spray his bare arm.
His radio didn't work, so he beat a rhythm on his steering wheel to the swoosh tada swoosh tada of the wipers. Squinting through the streaked windshield, he tried focusing on the winding road ahead. He drove slower than he once did, imagining someone watching what a careful driver he'd become.
All night he drank nothing but Coke, proud that he resisted the temptation to even taste a beer. Most of his old friends treated him as if he were wired with explosives, but he had expected that.
It took some prodding to get Tammy Lucas to dance with him. He had almost forgotten how good a woman smelled.
"So what's it like being locked up?" she asked.
At least she wasn't afraid of him. He thought carefully about what to say, afraid of saying the wrong thing. After a few moments, he realized he was still staring.
“Aw, it was all right. But I sure don't want to go there again.” He wanted to tell her about the doctors. Especially the young one with long hair who talked to him about enrolling at the junior college in September. Again, he realized he wasn't saying anything, just staring into her gray eyes. He had known Tammy most of his life, but he never knew the color of her eyes.
"What did you miss most?" she asked. The way she pulled back a little made it clear she was growing uncomfortable.
That's when he kissed her. He put his hands in back of her head and planted a good one.
"I sure missed that," he said. But she pushed away and ran back to her friends. They told Big Roy behind the bar and Big Roy grabbed his baseball bat and asked Boyd to leave.
He wanted to explain but decided he'd do better to just walk away, like the doctors had told him. At one time, he would have popped Big Roy in his fat face and told everyone to kiss his ass, maybe dropped trou for good measure.
But his meds had him in a kind of daze and it was too much trouble to fight through the fog.
He continued driving home, tapping out the rhythm of the wipers, thinking about going to college. Imagine that? Me in college. Maybe Tammy and the others wouldn't treat me like I was from another planet.
Just then, his tires felt like they slid from under him on the slick asphalt. His truck spun around 360 degrees, stopping just over the double yellow line. “Hoo-wee,” he shouted, but before he could ease his pick-up back into the correct lane, Sheriff Conroy's patrol car barreled around the curve and plowed into Boyd, head on. Their front ends locked, like two elks in combat.
The sheriff's first words as he squeezed out of his car were, "Boyd Loggins, you sorry ass drunken sonuvabitch. You goin to jail this time. No more that rehab shit for you."
"Merry Christmas," Boyd mumbled, through thickened fog.
The sheriff wasn't in a holiday frame of mind.
Driving home from his first night at the Wagon Wheel in eighteen months, he realized how much he had missed these curvy, country roads. It had been raining most of the evening and everything smelled like it had just been washed clean. He kept his windows rolled down and let the rain spray his bare arm.
His radio didn't work, so he beat a rhythm on his steering wheel to the swoosh tada swoosh tada of the wipers. Squinting through the streaked windshield, he tried focusing on the winding road ahead. He drove slower than he once did, imagining someone watching what a careful driver he'd become.
All night he drank nothing but Coke, proud that he resisted the temptation to even taste a beer. Most of his old friends treated him as if he were wired with explosives, but he had expected that.
It took some prodding to get Tammy Lucas to dance with him. He had almost forgotten how good a woman smelled.
"So what's it like being locked up?" she asked.
At least she wasn't afraid of him. He thought carefully about what to say, afraid of saying the wrong thing. After a few moments, he realized he was still staring.
“Aw, it was all right. But I sure don't want to go there again.” He wanted to tell her about the doctors. Especially the young one with long hair who talked to him about enrolling at the junior college in September. Again, he realized he wasn't saying anything, just staring into her gray eyes. He had known Tammy most of his life, but he never knew the color of her eyes.
"What did you miss most?" she asked. The way she pulled back a little made it clear she was growing uncomfortable.
That's when he kissed her. He put his hands in back of her head and planted a good one.
"I sure missed that," he said. But she pushed away and ran back to her friends. They told Big Roy behind the bar and Big Roy grabbed his baseball bat and asked Boyd to leave.
He wanted to explain but decided he'd do better to just walk away, like the doctors had told him. At one time, he would have popped Big Roy in his fat face and told everyone to kiss his ass, maybe dropped trou for good measure.
But his meds had him in a kind of daze and it was too much trouble to fight through the fog.
He continued driving home, tapping out the rhythm of the wipers, thinking about going to college. Imagine that? Me in college. Maybe Tammy and the others wouldn't treat me like I was from another planet.
Just then, his tires felt like they slid from under him on the slick asphalt. His truck spun around 360 degrees, stopping just over the double yellow line. “Hoo-wee,” he shouted, but before he could ease his pick-up back into the correct lane, Sheriff Conroy's patrol car barreled around the curve and plowed into Boyd, head on. Their front ends locked, like two elks in combat.
The sheriff's first words as he squeezed out of his car were, "Boyd Loggins, you sorry ass drunken sonuvabitch. You goin to jail this time. No more that rehab shit for you."
"Merry Christmas," Boyd mumbled, through thickened fog.
The sheriff wasn't in a holiday frame of mind.
