"Sunday Afternoons"

As the old GMC truck made its’ way down yet another forgotten road, the old man glanced over at the boy, and smiled. These are times he truly cherished, times when the meat grinder of life gave way and imparted him some joy, maybe a small token for a life lived with some assemblance of virtue. He reached over and ruffled the boys’ hair and they exchanged a gentle smile, and the love the boy and the old man shared was evident, no words were needed.

“Are we headed out to see Jimmy Gage?” the boy asked.

“Nah, just gonna beat around a bit. Thought you might like to see an’ old dirt track where we used to race when I was young. How’s that sound?

The boy loved going to old Jimmy Gage’s house after church to shoot guns and listen to the old men tell stories of the war, but he really liked to hear them cuss. It’s the only time he’d ever hear the old man drop an f bomb and speak freely and he thought it was pretty big stuff. The old men didn’t treat him like a child and shooting guns filled him with an incredible feeling of power and excitement. The old man was different around ol’ Jimmy Gage, and he liked to see that side of him very much. It was the only time he ever saw him laugh. Even if Jimmy Gage’s house wasn’t on the agenda today, it mattered not. He looked forward all week to his time with the old man, the company was all that was needed.

“Sounds good. “

These were the times the boy held dearest. The old man would pick him up in the morning and go to church, grab some grease bomb burgers or some fried chicken and just head out in the afternoon to god knows where, sometime to places the old man knew, other times just to drive. The old man referred to it as “leaving it all behind for a bit”. The boy didn’t know what the old man really meant by it, but he enjoyed it very much. Getting away from people seemed to bring out a very carnal and natural feeling for the both of them. They both were souls in search of something, something they would more than likely neither of them find in this modernized world, but when they were together, they seemed a hell of lot closer to uncovering it. Their bond was magical and powerful, and the old man saw himself in the boy. Their bond was one that all fathers and sons would be so lucky to discover, if only for a second, and as the old man looked over at the boy, his heart was filled with a pride.

“I noticed you liked the preachin’ today. You didn’t fidget around much.”

“Yeah, it was pretty cool. I like it when he talks about the old testament”, the boy replied.

“I know you do son, and so do I.”

The sermon had sparked some curiosity in the boy. He loved the old Testament by far the best because of the battles and heroes, it was a subject matter that young boys are naturally drawn to. Although he always had many questions, as any faith will undoubtedly produce in it’s young and old followers alike, but the principles seemed clearer in the old testament and were much easier to understand for him. It just seemed to focus on the oldest and most simplistic topic of all, the war of good versus evil. Given his youth he could still see things in their nakedness, see the truth and grim reality of a thing, not yet gripped by the never ending propaganda of civilized society’s need to have you believe what it wanted you to believe. The world was still black and white, so to him, the question of good and evil was just as clear. There was an abundance of good and an equal amount of evil. It was as simple as that.

The old man slowed the truck a bit and leaned over, pointing out the passengers’ side window.

“You see? Just there up over the hill.”

The boy glanced up and squinting a bit as the sun rays splintered through the trees saw the buck, ever so silently making his way up the hill above the road. The boy raised his right hand in a pistol form and fired away, letting loose a few make belief rounds.

“He’s a twelve point as sure Woody Hayes is a Saint.” The old man said.

“Yep, he’s a nice one.” He holstered his make belief 357 magnum only after giving his pointer finger barrel a little cooling off puff.

“Did you get him?” the old man asked.

“Got him alright.” The boy said proudly.

“That’s my boy.”

And the old man gently fed the old truck some gas and it sputtered back up to speed, slowly descending a small hill and in a forgotten land of back roads reserved for farmers and Amish. He pulled out his pipe and handed it to the boy.

“Can you fill it for me?”

“Sure, but not too full right?”

“Nah, go ahead and brim it out, it’s a good day for a smoke.”

As the boy pulled the tobacco out of the glove box and went about filling the pipe, the old man glanced down at him with loving eyes.

“I love you.”

“I love you too Grandpa.”

"Sunday Afternoons" by Orions Chariot

To anyone who took the time to read this, I hope you enjoyed it. And just maybe, it brought back a memory of happiness from times long ago. Go make today great!

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