Bud Smith - F 250

“Rightfully so,” Dale said flatly.

“I pressed the issue,” I said.

“Pressed the issue,” he laughed.

“I said, ‘That’s okay. I understand why you don’t want to do it. That kinda thing is an adult thing, ya know.’ I said, ‘When you get mature and you grow up one day, you’ll find out that you really like it.’”

“Get outta here.”

“She turned and looked at me. Gave me the dirtiest look. Then she leaned down, defeated, and said, ‘Alright, go ahead.’”

“Well, that is fucked up,” he said, driving the machine away.

“Where you going?”

“Lee, you’re an asshole. I can’t help you. No one can!”

He dumped the fork lift attachment, came back over the bridge with the bucket, gave the rack body three heavy scoops of stone, and sent it off on its way back to Steph in the weigh house trailer.

When Dale came back with the forks on the massive yellow machine, I was standing on the pile of moss rock like it was the mountain itself.

“You should let her take you out,” he said. “Let her fuck you in the ass. Only fair.”

“Oh Jesus.”

He spit too, laughed.

“We’re all jerkoffs when we’re 21,” I said.

“Some of us more than others. You win!”

“Oh fuck off.”

“Back to business, what do you want?”

I spun around in a circle pointing at everything. He lunged forward with the machine at the pile and almost knocked me over. “Enough of that crap you wacko.”

He backed up and I hopped off a boulder as it slid away. I started to show him the specific pieces of rock I wanted, because I liked the way they looked. That’s how this worked. I pointed them out, and Dale did his best to fish the exact boulders out of the pile.

I’d tap on one, and he’d lunge in with the machine and flip a ton of boulders up in the air, causing an avalanche and dust to fly everywhere. Then he’d bring the boulders to the side of my Ford and dump them in.

When my truck started to sag a certain way, I could tell that it was enough stone. I waved Dale off.

I went to his window, thanked him, Shook his hand, and gave him a five buck tip.

“It’s an adult thing …” he said, smirking.

“Sure.”

I went back into the weigh house trailer. Steph told me I had 2 1/4 tons. I nodded. It was plenty. I’d have extra. I signed the paperwork and passed her the cash.

I said, “I’m sorry.”

“About what?”

“You know,” I said. “By the way, I think that kid has the hots for you.”

“Dale? Gimme a break,” she said.

I shrugged. “He’s really alright. One of the few. Give him a chance.”

“We’ll see. Hey, almost forgot,” Steph said, “the other day a lady came in, wanting some work done. I recommended you for some unexplainable reason.”

“No you didn’t. Really?”

“Yeah, really. I’m not a total asshole,” she said. “I could be, but why?” She stapled the woman’s information to my receipt: a name, an address, a telephone number.

“Call.”

“I will. Thank you.” I waved and started to leave.

“Hey,” she called as I walked towards the door, “You want a soda? I saved you the last one.”

“What flavor?”

“Grape.”

“Sure,” I said. She passed it gently across the counter.

I left the quarry. As I pulled out into the road, the truck was sluggish and unresponsive. The springs screamed out; I turned the radio up.

I was feeling good.

Maybe I’d ask Steph out again.

I popped the soda. It sprayed everywhere, exploded all over me. I had to toss the damned thing out the window.

Then I was soaked and sticky and sitting in a parking lot. The yellow paper receipt from the quarry had a special message from Steph written on the back:

“Enjoy your bath, motherfucker.”

The dot above the ‘j’ was a heart.

The job was at a large cedar-shake estatewith a long, winding pebble driveway flanked by colorful gardens and lush green trees. I parked the truck as close as I could get it.

I was still soaked from the exploding soda. Stickier. The yard was full of bees thanks to all the gardens. They’d find me. I saw a dip in the ocean in my future.

I hopped out and looked at the white columns of the house in awe and in shame for what I, myself, had. The place was really something else. I’d never have a place that nice.

The house had an expansive footprint; it just kept going: four-car garage, separate guest house, exotic woodwork around everything, including the back deck with its infinity in-ground pool. There was a private beach too. All the residences around there had them.

I didn’t bother knocking on the door or anything; I’d already got as much money from the homeowners as I was gonna get until the job was done. Plus, they’d said they’d be gone for three weeks. Some European business. They were Scandinavian.

I had two tons of moss rock to carry, by hand, up a small set of wooden steps, through a tall back gate, and past the infinity pool and its mahogany deck. The homeowners wanted a stone wall built to separate their entertainment area from the dunes and dune grass that were getting closer and closer every year.

I took my shirt off and threw it on the bench seat. I left the truck running, adjusted the radio so it was loud enough to be heard but wouldn’t blow out my speakers when the commercials came on.

I was anxious to get started. The weather report said it’d hit 95 degrees by lunch. The humidity would be at jungle level. I was hoping to be done offloading the material by then.

I pulled the boulders out of the bed of the truck. They were heavy and had sharp, jagged edges, which made them awkward to carry. I struggled up the side steps while lugging one and saw my error when I got to the gate. It pulled open, didn’t push. A large barberry bush scraped my arms as I set the boulder down, opened the gate, and anchored it open with a small marble statue of a deer.

I picked the boulder back up, I lugged it to the far corner of the deck and tossed it down into the dune. I huffed, leaning over, out of breath. I wiped a bead of sweat off my brow, as an upper window opened and an old woman with bleached hair stuck her head out.

I waved. “How’s it going?”

“Be careful of the deck. It’s very expensive. Don’t you dare nick it up.”

She just kept staring at me. I kept staring up at her.

I laughed, “That’s it?”

“What,” she called out. Her mouth opened like she was going to speak, and then she closed it again along with her window.

“Hold on, lady!”

She looked at me again, just another shirtless moron.

“What?”

“What happens if I smash one of these boulders into the deck like I’ve just scored a touchdown?”

She slammed the window closed. I never saw her again. That’s the thing about working on those big houses. People were always warning you about things. Those people probably didn’t even live there. That woman, she was a housekeeper or something. She was probably dusting up there. Folding linen. Rotating ties on a tie-rack.

I went back to my truck, lugging boulder after boulder into the back yard and setting them where they all belonged. Within an hour and a half, I was completely drenched in sweat.

The infinity pool loomed before me like a fantasy.

I thought about it as I crouched down and drank water out of the garden-hose spigot. It was pathetic. I’d always remember to bring beer to the job (when I was in the mood for it) but never remembered to bring drinking water.

The sweat peeled off me. My head was soaked. The sun getting hot, and the air became more humid. I took my shoes off and stuck my feet into the pool.