River City Run

Abstract

wxmmsi äl! ?& \ ^¿m ? ?*·*·""' Uf H1-MlJ' W W '¦/tf/ * k ·*& " ni^y ? RIVER CITY RUN by Garry Barker Vernon Watts stood up too quick and smacked headfirst into the cobwebbed barn beam. He sat back down openmouthed, stunned, knees all weak and watery. "You all right, boy?" asked Harper. "Let me take a look at your head." "No." Vernon tugged his cap down tighter and fought to stop the spinning and flashing. He felt a seeping warmth from the cut, gritted his teeth and reached for another stick of stripped tobacco. "It ain't nothing," Vernon mumbled. "I ain't hurt." He shoved the tobacco to Harper. "He hit hisself on the head, Harper," chuckled Manual Cox. "Can't hurt a Watts, hitting him on the head. Let's get this stuff loaded up and hit the road." Working in the dim yellow light of a single bare bulb, Vernon and Harper loaded the sticks of tobacco onto Manual's truck and 18 covered it with a stiff dirty tarpaulin. Vernon ducked under the truck to snug the ropes and had to grab onto the wheels when the dizziness struck. "You sure you're okay?" Harper asked softly. Vernon nodded and licked his lips. "Just some dizzy is all," he said. Vernon crawled out and stood, almost six feet tall now, and rubbed his eyes. "It's from getting up so early ." "Boy's got growing pains," laughed Manual. "He growed a foot in the last year. Bumps into lights, trips over the doorsteps, can't even hold onto a glass of milk. Vernon's gonna be a big man, Harper. But just yet he ain't got used to standing six feet tall." Harper smiled. "I guess you're right about that." Vernon tugged his baseball cap down tighter. "Go set in the truck," said Harper. Dawn was breaking as the truckload of tobacco rumbled down the rutted roadway. Manual fumbled with the heater controls and light switches, flipped on the radio, cut a fresh chew, and eased slowly out onto the paved highway. The old GMC roared, backfired as Manual double-clutched and shifted, then picked up speed. After he had worked up to high gear Manual rolled down the window to spit, lowered the volume on the radio, and grinned at Vernon. "First time to the tobaccer market?" he asked. Vernon nodded. "I never even been to Maysville before," he said softly. The throb in his head was easing off some. "Momma let me miss school to go." "Elsie ain't no fool," grinned Manual. "She knows a pimplefaced boy has got to get him a look at the big city." "Some big city," chuckled Harper. "Maysville ain't nothing but tobacco warehouses and beer joints." "It ain't Paris, France," Manual agreed with a chuckle. "But it sure beats Finchburg." He slowed the truck and listened to the popping exhaust as they rolled down the long hill into the county seat. "Finchburg, Kentucky," intoned Manual. "The friendly town that hospitality built." He chuckled. "They do got a right friendly jailor, at that. Last time they locked me up old Willard went and got my jug out of the truck and me and him set in the cell and drunk it ever bit. When they let me out I had to sleep it off before I could drive home." He braked the truck to a stop at the signal, and pointed. "Jail's right up yonder." "You don't stop roaring that muffler," warned Harper, "that's where we'll all be." Manual eased the truck away from the light and upshifted gently. "Your daddy tries to act like he ain't never raised no hell, Vernon, but don't you believe one word of it. Harper used to be the drinkingest, fightingest little feller on Mauck Ridge 'til Elsie got aholt of him and tamed him down." "Shut up, Manual," Harper said with a grin. "The boy don't need no encouragement ." They crossed the county line and threaded through a row of dismal roadhouses, bleak in the foggy morning. "Now, a man can get hisself killed in this burg," said Manual. He downshifted for the hill...