Some Shitty Vacation Pt. 1| A Short Story

Some shitty vacation, a story of war, drugs, and second chances. So you never know what might be coming next. Stay tuned, therefore, and keep your sheet firmly under your own two feet.

He was out early in the morning, as usual, plowing. Mrs. Turner though, his wife, and the matriarch of “the Turner clan” as they’re known, was in the kitchen preparing breakfast. Cooking, cleaning, and banging pots and pans for them, nothing unusual. Lance was in the bathroom taking a shower, preparing to go off to school within the next hour. Reggie was not there; he had long gone off to university. Lidia was probably still asleep. She’s never been the early riser type.

Out of the window, Lance could see the tractor or more like the headlights of the tractor. It was streaking along as it passed back and forth, like always. But then something caught his attention. Once, twice, how many times did he see it before he saw it? The tractor was there, in one position, sort of. It was shaking, the headlights plastered up against frozen evergreens partly covered under a patchy dusting of snow. But the tractor was not moving in the normal manner. It was, like, just there, shaking.

Lance rubbed the soft side of the clenched fist of his right hand across the icy cold pane of the glass window. While shading the corner of his eye from the glare of the interior lights with the left hand he pared out through the dawning. Ma… He shouted, at the top of his lungs, Ma, it’s dad… somethings wrong, something’s wrong with him.

Moments later, he was out of the shower chamber and quick in wrapping himself in a large bath towel he’d grabbed on the run, running down the stare. Out the back door behind his mother who was already halfway across the yard, oh dear! and heading towards the danger zone, yes, the place where the tractor was. With the motor still running, and the gears still engaged. This was made obvious to him by the effects of the still spinning wheel and the hole that was being dug into the ground by the said spinning wheel motion.

Lance was halfway across the yard himself when he realized that he wasn’t wearing any shoes to add to the improper mode of attire. To add to the partly naked rest of his body I mean. He was wearing nothing but the bath towel that he had wrapped around himself on the way out. For modesty rather than for protection from the cold. The cold, though, wasn’t wasting any time waiting to remind him what a big mistake that was. He was freezing off his buzz, and fast. But he could not turn back, “not now,” he’s got to get to his father, and to get him help. His dad was in trouble, he knew it, big trouble.

He got to the tractor and hence, to his father’s side before his mother. For which he did make a mental note to thank the lord, or somebody else, later. That’s because he didn’t want to even think about what might happen if she should get there before him. With the motor still running and the gears still engaged. Lance climbed up and that was the first thing he had to do; disengaged the transmission and then shut down the engine. His father was sitting there. Slumped over in the driver’s seat, seemingly, lifeless. “Dad! Dad! Are you okay, can you hear me?”

His mother by then, had climbed up onto the machine and was helping to bear him up into a sitting position properly. But his body was limp and heavy. She pinched his nose and slapped his cheeks, after which he managed to squeeze out a rather breathy, hmm… like this. “Let’s get him inside,” she said.

Not a bad idea at all, since Lance was by then feeling the full effects of his folly. He was freezing solid and fast. His feet were begging to cramp up. It felt to him as if he was walking on the outer sides of his feet with his toes curved inward and popping while being pierced with a very sharp knife from underneath. Lance had reached over and switched off the engine but the headlights were still on.

They managed to get him down off the tractor, foot first. Mrs. Turner held his feet while Lance’s arms grabbed the crooks of the armpits, they carried him inside. They laid him flat out onto the kitchen floor as Mrs. Turner got on the phone and called for the “never on time,” paramedics. Lance was shaking and shivering but he was still busy at work. He still wanted to be of help. “Go put some clothes on,” said his mother to him, as she reached across and turned the heater on and up to the full blast. Get me some warm towels and a blanket too while you’re at it.

The morning was clearing out, “soon it will be sunrise.” Lidia was up too, and she (seemingly) had no idea that she’d almost awaken to a situation where she would be as of now, as of this day even, she would be fatherless. After having gone to bed with both parents very much alive and kicking. She had was to make herself useful as soon as she was brought up to date on the matter too. Things were going from bad to worse. First, there was one, now there are two, as seen through Mrs. Turner’s eyes that she was seeing them through.

Lance was by then feeling as if his blood was turning to icicles inside him. Even though he had by then gotten himself dressed in some of his warmest clothes. Or more like, all of them, all of his warm clothes. From coats, scarves, and sweaters, all the way down to socks and boots, all at once and worn together. His body, though, seemed hell-bent on staying frozen. He was still very much into the task of caring for his father though.

With his shaking, trembling, shivering lips and cracking voice. He was telling them; his mother and sister who had, (by then,) joined in on the efforts to resuscitate, revive, and care for “dad.” What they needed to do as if he was the physician there. While they were there waiting for the arrival of the (never ever on-time) ambulance. Based on how he was feeling, or not feeling, (as it really was,) due to the numbness in his hands.

His feet too, and increasingly spreading throughout the rest of his body. He assumed that his father had been out there in the cold for much longer than he was. He most certainly would have been too cold for his own good too, he thought. But his mother was quick in reminding him that, “your father was appropriately dressed for the outdoors as opposed to you who had up and ran outside practically naked.”

Lidia, surprisingly, didn’t turn out to be half bad in her resourcefulness either. She quickly reached over to turn the stove on, but it was already on, thanks to Mom. She then reset the oven dial to 450 degrees and then popped the door open. That did help in speeding up the warmth in the living room. To the relief of Lance and, (if no one else,) his father, he was sure. Thank goodness. To be continued. Be sure to join us again, soon.

An excerpt from my book called “Collect Call.” A collection of short stories and poems of the times, available wherever books are sold. If you don’t see it, ask for it, they’ll get it for you.