Scene Two - Take 2
“There it is,” Ron said as they came down the quiet country road where a small bridge stood before them.
Ben brought the van to a stop about twenty feet short of the crossing, eyeing closely the steel and concrete panels that created the bed of the narrow passage over the mostly dry creek bed below; in a two-ton vehicle, it seemed harmless enough. His gaze continued on beyond the bridge and down the road about another 100 yards to a small red house that sat to the left; a short-haired black and white dog of medium height and with unknown ancestry stood attentively in the yard with his eyes locked on the stopped van. Immediately, Ben could feel his pulse quickening and a chill creeping through his skin, both of which he futilely tried to temper with a slow deep breath; he turned and looked at Ron who was still staring at the bridge.
“Let’s go ahead and park,” Ron said.
“Right.”
Ben lifted his foot from the brake and the van moved of its own volition across the bridge; the sound of tires on grate reverberated through the vehicle as it slowly made its way to the other side. Ben pulled into a dirt road off to the right and maneuvered the van into a position where he could park and lower the ramp on fairly level ground.
“I think this angle will be all right,” he said, more to himself than to Ron.
He looked toward the red house to see if the dog was still there but the trees blocked his view which only seemed to add to his anxiety. It wasn’t too late to use a trump card and insist a view from the van was sufficient but getting out was really not a good idea.
“Well?” Ron said.
“Yeah. Yeah.”
The sun was shining, the wind was mild and Ron’s spirits were on the rise. Ben decided he would have to store the trump card for another day.
He unhooked the straps that held the wheelchair in place, lowered the ramp and turned the wheelchair on.
“I got it,” Ron said, moving his hand to the joystick.
Maneuvering the chair in the tight confines of the van to align it with the ramp, involved several reverse and forward motions. The more tired Ron was, the more maneuvering; today, Ben noted, Ron accomplished the task with a minimal amount of moves. Still, Ben stood at the ready by the ramp in case Ron’s steering was errant as he went down, always prepared to use his heft to heave against the five hundred plus pounds of chair and flesh if it should begin to ride over the rim.
“Pretty good, huh?” Ron said as he moved flawlessly down the center of the ramp.
“Very good.”
Ben locked up the van and came around to see Ron looking down the dirt road that disappeared into the woods. A couple of times, while Ron sat and gazed at the hills from his living room, he mentioned that Ben could take him out for a Sunday drive, park, “fall asleep” and let Ron wander down a road to eventually succumb to the elements.
“And, what?” Ben asked. I just wake up, don’t notice you are gone and drive home?”
“Something like that?”
“You’ll have to come up with a better plan than that.”
Ben watched Ron now for a few seconds from behind trying to gauge if that is where his thoughts were leading him at the moment.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yep.”
Ron turned and bumped his way along the dirt road to the pavement with Ben walking right alongside, watching Ron’s head bobbing with every bit of gravel the chair rolled over.
“You all right?”
“I will be.”
They reached the asphalt and Ben suddenly remembered about the dog; he glanced toward the red house but the canine was gone. Ron headed for the bridge and parked his chair in the middle of the road while Ben kept glancing back not only for any approaching vehicles but the missing mutt. He was taken by surprise when he looked forward and there was motion to the right coming up from the creek bed. Ben was filled with a mixture of embarrassment and fear and as the dog headed straight for Ron. On the battlefield in Afghanistan as a medic, he never hesitated to use his body to shield a wounded soldier from incoming, to even race across the land under fire to do so. But, now, here, in this tranquil, most peaceful of valleys, he froze at the sight of this motley four-legged creature that was zeroing in on them.
“Hey, pooch,” Ron said, extending his hand out to touch the dog’s head.
The dog wagged his long thin white tail and slid his head underneath Ron’s hand.
“Good to see you.”
“Do you know him?”
“Just from when I used to bike ride down here. He would give me a friendly bark and then run alongside me for a few seconds.”
The dog moved from Ron over to Ben whose past fears of dog still prevented him from being at ease no matter how friendly the pooch was being to him. Ron moved forward, rumbling slowly across the grate leaving him alone with the dog.
“Hey,” he forced himself to mutter while reaching out to pet the dog’s head.
Ben watched Ron riding further and further across the bridge and feeling more and more abandoned. He found him paralyzed and afraid of taking a step, feeling certain that the movement would suddenly cause man’s best friend to lunge for his leg.
This was ludicrous, he told himself, and to ease his mind, he thought of himself back on the battlefield, under fire. He took one step, then another, his new companion walking merrily along and filling the gap between Ben and Ron. By the time Ben had caught up with Ron at the other end of the bridge, the dog was off sniffing the grass where the shoulder met the bridge.
Ron had turned his chair and was facing back to where they just came. Ben took up a position alongside him and once again resumed his duties of keeping an eye out for cars or trucks. He glanced at Ron and followed his gaze to the roadbed of the bridge. Walking over with the dog, he didn’t notice the gap between the metal grates and the concrete panels. But, now, there it was. Imperceptibly narrow at their end, the gap widened to just the right amount to trap the wheel of a road bike.
“What stupidity.” Ron said.
“What? The construction?”
“No. Me.”
“How can you say that?”
“It’s obvious. I know this bridge. I know how dangerous it is. How could I have let myself get distracted enough to allow a wheel to get trapped in there?”
Ben thought of the possibilities starting with the obvious of a vehicle passing on the bridge at the same time. Or, the sun in his eyes, like it was now. Then, of course, there were always dogs, friendly or unfriendly.
“So, no memory jog?”
“No. Nothing.”
The dog came back over and pushed his nose up against Ron’s hand for attention.
“Hey, boy.”
Ron struggled to pet his head for a few moments, then turned his chair away from the bridge and headed up the road.
“Where are you going?”
“This way.”
Arguing felt futile so Ben followed suit with the dog tagging along.
The road curved gently to their right while also slowly climbing. Every once in a while, Ron would stop and turn his chair to take in the new perspective of the bridge.
“You know, we have a van back there,” said Ben. “We don’t have to walk all the back to town.”
“Who’s walking?” Ron answered.
Ron continued his climb up the road until they reached the elbow of a curve which, if followed, would take them out of view of the bridge. Ron stopped and turned while Ben kept a very close ear and eye on the blind curve above.
“This was one of my favorite routes.”
“Yeah. It’s nice.”
“Look at this over here.”
Ron moved over toward the narrow shoulder, which was fine with Ben, and pressed as close as he could get to the guardrail that separated the roadway from the steep slope running down toward the creek.
“I love that bluff. Even though this was a descent, sometimes I would make a point of stopping to take a look. After a rain, there is a nice waterfall that runs down.”
While they stood quietly, a hawk flew into view and rode the thermals through the creek valley, soaring to their right then changing directions and swooping low and out of view behind the shrub trees along the creek.
“What’s that?” Ron asked.
“Where?”
“Down there. In the brush.”
Ben followed Ron’s gaze and caught sight of a glimmering reflection twinkling in the thick stand of creek saplings.
“Looks like some sort of gold chain,” Ron said.
“Hmm.” Ben wasn’t convinced it was anything so exotic but he was glad it seemed to engage Ron’s interest. He looked from the dancing light of the object back to the bluff, admiring a cedar whose roots clung tenaciously in a crack in the wall’s face with the trunk turning ninety degrees to grow parallel with the bluff and seeming to defy gravity.
“Why don’t you go check that out,” Ron said.
“What?”
“The chain.”
“You want me to go down there?”
“Yes.”
“Why? Are you missing one?”
“No. But my interest is piqued.”
“It’s probably nothing more than a fishing lure.”
“Maybe. But, I often picked up some interesting artifacts by stopping and investigating the ordinary.”
Ben thought of the bookcase back at the house that contained an array of objects that indeed made for stimulating conversation pieces. He took another hard look at the slope on the other side of the guardrail and another look at Ron, still looking intently and eagerly at the object below.
“Even if it is just a fishing lure, maybe it’s a very special handmade one.”
Ben glanced down toward the bridge and back up at the blind curve.
“Move closer to the rail.”
Ron parked more parallel to the barrier and Ben climbed over, cautiously making his way down the slope. His heart jumped at the sound of a thump right behind him; Fido had leapt over the rail to join him. The dog made his way easily back and forth along the grade but, more than once, Ben slipped in the thick grass and landed on his butt. Sitting and glancing back up, he could not see Ron but only when he stood back up could he spot him. Ben waved, the most he could see of Ron was a slight tilt of his head.
At the bottom of the slope just before the thicket which contained the priceless treasure, there was an even steeper drop of about two feet. Ben did not like that this now placed him in a position to only see the top of Ron’s head. He also didn’t like that intermingled with the river canes was a thick blanket of branches, clumped leaves and other debris deposited from when the creek flooded which made walking feel as if he was stepping stop a large booby-trap. Even the dog seemed to have trouble navigating the debris pile, though it didn’t seem to curtail his enjoyment of sniffing new terrain.
“What the hell am I doing down here?” he muttered.
“Ron!”
Ron called back but his voice barely carried.
“I’ll be right there.”
Ron said something else but Ben had no idea what it was.
He looked around for the dangling charm, surprised that he was having trouble spotting it. Then, he heard a vehicle coming down the hill around the blind curve. He stood quietly, listening until he knew the car had passed then he searched again through the thicket. A strong gust of wind blew and his holy grail revealed itself, dangling above and only a few feet away. Because of the hidden drop, from the road, the object did not look to be that far off the ground. But moving closer, and standing directly underneath, it was just out of reach.
“Great.”
He wasn’t certain how hard it would be to snare but he was sure it was not a gold chain and merely a fishing lure and not a very unique one at that. He surveyed the situation knowing that he couldn’t go back empty-handed. Pulling on one of the thin tree trunks, he managed to bow the branches and the lure within reach, having to give a mighty yank of the fishing line to tear it loose. Looking at the prize in his palm, and also now seeing the bead of blood that was beginning to emerge from where the line sliced into his hand, he wondered anew about the worth of his trip down.
“I’m coming!” he called up.
He took a quick step back toward the slope and his leg disappeared up to his knee in a tangle of branches.
“Aw, god al…”
From above he could hear another vehicle coming around the blind curve.
“Insanity. Just effing insanity.”
He worked to free his leg and gingerly made his way safely through the rest of the thicket. Getting ready to climb, he spotted the dog pawing hard into the branches after a rat or gopher or some such.
“Come on,” he called out, not wanting to abandon the dog down there; his new concern surprised even him.
Ben called to him a couple more times, the dog finally achieving his goal by dragging something out of the woodpile. He waddled excitedly over to Ben, proudly displaying in his mouth the skeletal remains of a human hand.
Copyright © 2012 Philip Zweig
