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Show 129. JD wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve and snapped shut the duffel bag. He opened his wallet and counted thirty-four dollars. It was all he had, not enough to cover the overdue payment on his car. The yellow notice threatening repossession had come in the mail that day and now lay in a crumpled ball where he'd thrown it. Suddenly JD had no place to turn. He'd seen Dr. Burke and the man they flew in from Denver shaking their heads in the hall outside Chic's room, and he knew-he didn't have to be told by some specialist - he knew Chic would never see again. Our good friend Garth, JD thought as he got into his parka and started down the stairs, where' s h_e when somebody needs him so much? Or Stephanie, afraid to miss a minute of school to stand by Chic because her almighty grades might slip. Even his folks, working their lives away, too busy to care . . . JD slammed out of the house and drove to the highway. He had no idea where he was going. He just knew he had to get out of there. Away from Red Butte, Gayle, the sight of Chic in bandages and cast . .. away from the nightly reruns of his UFO terror that were driving him nuts just as surely as the guilt he now carried for that wild, irresponsible act of violence on Chic. "God!" he cried, letting the highway blur ahead of him, "What do I do now? What am I going to do?" It was nearly dusk when JD pulled off the state road into the Range Study Area on Skull Mountain. He wasn't surprised, though the car had been on automatic pilot most of the way, to be coming back to this place. Now he wanted to drive in, all the way to the clearing, even though the road was impassable. He shivered against the knife edge of the wind as he worked open the gate and then gunned the VW into the four foot drifts without stopping, trying to stick to the tracks made earlier by some mountain vehicle. He stalled, like he knew he would, still within sight of the main road. He couldn't go forward, he couldn't back up. He didn't even try to dig himself out. "It's just as well," he thought, putting the bag under his arm and starting off afoot, grateful for a good pair of boots, grateful for nothing else. |
