• • • • •
The weird thing about life is that it doesn’t ever plan itself very well. In fact, I think the universe is against plans. “Plans?” it says. “Who needs ’em?” Except, us humans tend to run with plans. And I had one for today, before my grandma died.
I have been saving work money and Tickles walking money and birthday and Christmas money so that I can buy my very own truck.
At 2:00 p.m., I walk to the guy’s house.
At 2:24 p.m., I’m sitting in my new 1975 GMC Sierra pickup truck. It’s gray with black trim, and it’s mine. I’m driving to pick up Seth. He knows all of the news, so I’m hoping things don’t get awkward.
Seth comes out of his house when he sees me pull up. I get out of the truck, leaving the door open. He nods. “Look at this baby.”
“What do you think?”
“I like it.”
The truck isn’t much to look at. The wheel wells are slightly rusted. It has dents and scrapes. But it runs. Or chugs, actually. Kind of coughs, too.
But it’s mine.
Susan walks out of the house. “Oh, Charlie.” She walks up to me and takes me into her arms. She smells so kind and warm and motherly, like fresh-baked cookies and candles and lavender laundry detergent all rolled into one sweet smell.
She rubs my back. “You poor boy.”
Seth takes a deep breath. “Are you sure you want me to go with you?”
I break away from Susan’s grasp and wipe my eyes and then nod. “I need you there with me.”
As I’m driving, he says, “I’m really sorry about your grandma.”
“Can we not talk about that today? I mean, there’s nothing to say. She fell asleep and never woke up. Probably had no idea what even happened to her.”
Seth reaches out and briefly rubs my shoulder. He’s been more touchy as of late, which is sort of annoying, but I haven’t said anything.
“What do you want to talk about?” he asks.
“Nothing,” I say.
I look over and see Seth fidgeting with his thumbs, and I think of my grandma. After a few seconds he looks over at me and smirks.
I look at him and then back to the road. Then back to him. He’s smirking at me, and I can’t help but smirk back.
He laughs, and then I join in.
Soon we’re laughing as I drive around town. Past old houses and more old houses and a few newer houses. None too big, none fancy.
“Truck works pretty well for being so old,” I say.
He nods.
I watch the road and feel the truck bump and bounce along. “Aren’t you going to say anything?” I ask.
“Oh. Am I allowed to talk?”
“Actually, now that you mention it, no. This is kind of nice. You just have to listen to me.”
Seth nods and purses his lips shut.
I smile.
Not seconds later, Seth says, “Screw it. I’m going to talk.”
I look over to him. “That didn’t take long.”
“Funny,” he says dryly. “So we’re driving in your new truck on the day your grandma died.”
We hit a bump.
Seth continues, “Have you ever noticed that the things we do after someone’s death—particularly the little things—have such tremendous importance and power? Almost like it’s a statement to the universe saying, ‘I’m still alive. Feel my impact.’ Like, you’ll probably remember everything about this truck ride years in the future.”
I pull the truck over to the side of the highway, and turn to him, mouth slightly agape.
“What?” he says.
“When did you become so philosophical?”
Seth chuckles. “Let’s just say I have a smart friend who has started to influence me.”
I smile. I put the truck into gear, and it sputters off down the road, and we continue our drive as we pass the tiny town of Waterloo.
We both wave, but don’t stop.