Jake glanced at the old man sitting on the bench seat next to him. He cleared his throat and grabbed his Luckys off of the dash. He held them out to the old man. "Want one?"

The old man waved them away. "I quit those a long time ago."

"Oh." Jake pulled one out with his lips, then spoke around the cigarette. "Mind if I have one?"

"It's your life." The old man turned his head to look out the window.

A few miles later, Jake switched on the radio again. Static. He whirled the dial. Nothing but static. The old man watched him, then turned back to the window.

"Hey, I'm sorry about your hat. I'll buy you a new one." He turned and smiled at the old man. "Name's Jake, by the way."

The old man looked back at him and blinked. "This hat was my father's. It's not something you can just replace." He looked at the hat he was cradling in his lap and ran a tender finger over it. "It's the only thing I have left of him."

Jake cleared his throat again. "I'm sorry." He focused back onto the road.

A few minutes passed in silence again, then the old man spoke. "Mick."

Jake swung his eyes over. "What?"

"Mick." The old man grinned. His teeth were surprisingly white, and none were missing. "That's my name. I figured I should tell you since you told me yours. Y'know, common courtesy and all that."

"Oh. Uh'sure." Jake nodded. "Common courtesy and all that."

"Look, I know I was being a jerk back there, but I do appreciate the ride."

Jake laughed. "Hey, I'd be a jerk too if I'd just been hit. I'm actually amazed that you're not hurt." He rubbed his forehead. "Well, I mean, not seriously hurt."

Mick touched his own forehead. "Yeah." He rubbed the makeshift bandage like it was itching, and brought his hand back down. "Well, it's like life, y'know. One minute you're trudging down the road, and the next minute, something runs over you." He sighed as he touched his hat again. "And, I've had my share of run-overs."

Jake looked straight ahead. Run-overs, eh? He was sure this old man knew what he was talking about, but Jake had been run over plenty of times himself. Take Paula, for instance. This woman had been his whole life once. When his sons had been born, each time he thought he couldn't take that much love. It filled him, consumed him. His family became the pride of his life. Each goal he pursued was for them, each dollar, each deal. He thought he had what every man desired, and more! Then out of the blue, Paula left him, taking the boys with her. Each time he asked himself why it had happened, he came up blank. Did she leave because she wasn't happy? If so, why didn't she say anything? Why take the boys? She knew he'd be devastated if he couldn't see his boys, yet that's how the divorce worked out. She cited "irreconcilable differences," whatever that means. The boys would live with her, and he would only get them for a few weeks in the summer.

His hands began to cramp, and he looked at them to see that his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel. He mentally counted to ten, then one by one, he released each finger.

"I see you've been hit a coupla times, too, eh?"

He had forgotten Mick was there. "Yeah." He glanced over. "Hey, let's get you to a doctor, alright?"

"Sure, sure, if you want to take me." Mick rested his elbow on the door. "But I don't really need to go."

"You're going to need stitches for that cut."

"Nah. It'll heal." Mick just nodded in the wind and held his hat on his lap.

"Still, I think we shou'"

Mick held up his hand. He looked over at Jake and said, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

Jake looked at Mick. Really looked at him this time. He realized that Mick really wasn't as old as he had first thought. Through the leathery surface of the man's skin, Jake could see a vitality that the old don't often have. "Mind if I ask you a personal question, Mick?"

"Shoot."

"How old are you, anyway?" Jake shifted in his seat. His mother would've smacked him upside the head if she were here.

Mick chuckled. "Well, hell, that ain't all that personal! How old do I look?"

Jake grinned. "You look older than me, but younger than my grandfather. How's that?"

"Heh. Yep, I guess that's about right. I have good genes, y'know. My daddy was the same way." Mick smiled and looked at his hat again. "I remember my mama would get quite jealous sometimes, but that's just how it was. It's that Indian blood."

"Yeah, my mother would be the same way, I guess."

The car bumped over some railroad tracks, and Jake thumped his head on the roof. Mick bounced up and down until they were over the tracks and back onto the asphalt. Jake looked around the town they had just entered. To the left, there was an old train station that looked like a good wind gust could knock it over. Beyond that, a Texaco station that still had the old pumps. To the right, a community center that also doubled for the town library. Next was the town hall. Beside that was an old Spanish-style church, Our Lady of the Rose Catholic Church. The building was beautiful, and Jake thought he might like to take a look at it if he got the chance. Across the street was a small hardware store. The proprietor was standing at the open door, waving a fan over his face. Jake nodded and smiled, lifting his hand. The man just stared at him.

"Turn here," said Mick.

Jake turned left onto a residential street, and old man directed him to stop at the third house. Mick opened the door, and hesitated before he stepped out. "Well, I sure do appreciate the drive and the chat."

"It's no problem." Jake smiled. "You be sure to have someone look at that cut. It was pretty bad."

"Yeah, ok." Mick looked at the house. "This is my daughter's house. I'll have her look at it. Would that make you feel better?"

"Yeah, it would. Thanks."

Mick grinned. "Sure. Well, I guess this is the end of the road for me. Maybe we'll run into each other again, eh?" He held out his hand.

Jake laughed and shook the other man's hand. "Yeah, maybe."

"Alrighty." Mick stepped out and slammed the car door, squashing his hat onto his head. "Be seein' ya!"

Jake waved, and pulled away from the curb. He made a U-turn at the next intersection and drove by the house again. Mick was at the door, but he turned and lifted his hat as Jake went by. As the hat came off, so did the bandage that Jake had put on there. Jake grinned at Mick, then he slammed on his brakes, skidding several feet. He stared at the old man, who was heading back toward him. Where the bandage had covered a gash worth many stitches on Mick's forehead, the skin was now smooth. There was no sign of any injury.


[This is my feeble attempt to join Kris St. James and Kenny Blade in their writing. Please go to each of their profiles to read the first two chapters.]

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