James Kelman - Dirt Road

The Tennessee Valley in a couple of days. Dad talked about it like it was exciting, and it was exciting. Friends of Uncle John and Aunt Maureen were going with them too; an older couple who were at the Gathering. If possible they would all stay overnight. Be nice if we did, said Dad.

Yeah, said Murdo. Although he wasnt going with them. Really. That was that. He wasnt. And it was relaxing to know.

Imagine horses and a wagon train.

Car after car after car, trucks followed trucks. But that traffic was okay, wherever it all was going: nowhere; round and round, back and forward; who cares where it was going except the people inside, the ones doing the driving, their families all waiting for them to come home.

It was true but. Murdo was not going with them: the Tennessee Valley, he was not going. That was that.

Dad was talking away. I felt a couple of drops, he said.

I didnt, said Murdo.

I think we should head for the mall.

Just now?

Yeah, said Dad, it’s not too far. We could grab a sandwich and you could check out the music store. D’ye fancy?

Eh…

It’s definitely going to rain. If it’s very heavy we can get a taxi home. Dad shrugged. Be nice to look about, get a coffee. Fancy it?

Eh…

You’re not that bothered! Dad smiled.

No I mean if you are eh just like if you think.

If I think?

Yeah well…

So you’re not bothered?

No but Dad if you are then fine, fine. If you want to go. I mean I dont mind. Murdo stopped walking.

Dad had stopped before him, and he said, So it’s not yer preference?

I dont mind.

So will we head back or what? I take it you’re happy to head back? Your preference son, what is your preference? Obviously ye’ve got a preference.

A preference?

What do ye want to do? Dad sighed. I’m asking what ye want to do?

Just whatever.

Right, okay. Dad smiled with his eyes closed. Okay, he said, and that was that, they headed back.

Close of day. Nothing. Murdo was glad. Not close of day but nearly. Close of day was Thursday evening when Uncle John returned from work, and after the meal, when everybody had gone to bed: that was close of day. The day after was Friday. Friday was Friday.

*

Early that Thursday evening Murdo was downstairs studying the Road Atlas book. Uncle John had phoned to say he would not be home until seven o’clock. So they wouldnt be eating until half past, at least. Aunt Maureen would have served the evening meal before then but Dad and Murdo were happy to wait. She worried about him. Not because he was ill but the life he led at sixty-eight years of age: up by 6.30 every morning, out the door by 7.15; a fifty-mile drive five days a week and every other Saturday, plus emergency call-outs. But that was that and if ever he retired what would he do? He laughed about it but Aunt Maureen didnt.

Most of the Tennessee Valley preparations had been done by her during the past couple of days. They planned to leave early and were prepared for an overnight stop; perhaps even two, Friday and Saturday, depending how things went. Dad told Murdo to pack extra in case they did. Of course he was packing extra but for where he was going himself. So when he said, Okay Dad, it wasnt ordinary conversational talking it was like a lie, an actual lie, each time Dad spoke to him.

Except the only thing: it was right what he was doing. He was not going with them. If he did that was him for the rest of his life. For everything. Although he was telling lies to do it, it was the right thing. So so right it was not even a decision. It fitted.

The route from Allentown to Lafayette missed out Mobile altogether. The road went down the side of the Mississippi River down through Vicksburg, small roads to Jackson where Sarah’s father wanted her to go to college. Maybe he could hitch some parts and save money. No. He just needed more money. $90 was not enough. He needed more, a lot more — another $100, maybe $150 like if it was an accordeon on top of the bus-fares. If he could save money he would but how could he do that? Unless if he hitched part of the way. Why not? People did. At home they did. They did here too; ye saw it on the movies although then it was like the Horror Channel; chainsaw massacres and vampires ripping ye limb from limb. It depended on Allentown. Everything was fine if he got a lift down with Sarah’s family, and the loan of an accordeon too; maybe the turquoise if Queen Monzee-ay thought it was okay. If not, it was just money, he needed money.

But like pocket money anyway. Imagine the pocket money Dad owed him! He never gave him any! Ha ha.

It was true but. Dad forgot. He wasnt mean, he was just like forgetful. It was a bloody fortune! Ever since Mum died. When ye thought about it. He would pay it back anyway. However much he took, it was borrowing, Murdo was going to borrow. It was just like a loan.

He shut the Road Atlas book. He stretched out on the bed. No music. Maybe he didnt want any. Not just now.

Aunt Maureen too, jeesoh, whenever he passed her she smiled or said something cheery about tomorrow. It was hopeless, acting like it meant something. And what did it mean? Nothing. He was just lying. Looking and speaking. Just everything. He lied and lied. Really, he was just a bloody liar. And the greatest people in the world, that was Aunt Maureen and it was Uncle John too.

He got up from the bed and opened the door, waited for the all-clear then upstairs to the bathroom. He shut the door and snibbed it. The bathroom mirror.

He didnt mean to see his face but he did. So he had to look, to really look and really just

jeesoh, his stomach. He splashed cold water on his face and the back of his neck, to get fresh.

He didnt like his eyes. What was his eyes? He didnt like them. His eyes were not, they were not something. He needed to smile. It wasnt a smile. Ha ha. Not a smile.

Strange about lips, that wee bit on the upper one shaped like a V and that wee valley bit up to between the nostrils. That was yer body and how it worked. Things fitted. That was like tunes and how ye made one up, this note came before that note, and ye just went with it and then looked at it later and shaped them all out, making it smooth, making “it” smooth. “It” was one urge all the way through.

Maybe he needed a shave. Maybe he didnt. He didnt have to, unless he thought so. Seeing his face. He wanted Eilidh and Mum to be there.

He made a smile. It was his smile.

He didnt have as many pimples. Probably the sun. His face and neck were red but hardly any suntan on his body. Maybe he had a body that didnt go brown. Some people’s bodies stayed white, or else just red.

He did a thing and everybody else was affected. Ye look in the mirror and see other people. They are seeing you. Ye see yer own face but these other folk too, how come they are all there? You make a decision but it is their life too.

They know what you are thinking. They say it to ye: Oh I know what you’re thinking. Nothing gets hidden. Nothing can be hidden. Ye cannay even tell a lie because the truth is always there and somebody knows, somebody knows. Dad is close and Mum is closer, yet both are further because Eilidh is inside, she is inside, so ye cannot hide, nothing ye can do is hidden, like no private access for anything, damn bloody anything, stupid nonsense shit and porn sites, and any damn anything not caring because who cares if everybody knows, ye just say it and do it like life if that is how ye live, who cares, who hears, everybody is nobody. Except the person left behind, always a person left behind. That is the plus one.

Then about lies too, how ye could say it wasnt a total bunch of lies never-ending, not like an infinity, because if ye took away that one most basic lie, then nothing else was there, it all just disappeared. A tissue of lies. One lie made the tissue. Take away the one and there wasnt a tissue. That bigger and bigger pile of lies was really just the one: he said he was going and he was not going.