Musings - July 6, 2011

Heath watched in helplessness as Radcliffe furiously packed the car. He was determined to cram every last article he could into that economy Honda SUV. They would not be lacking for a knife, a tent, firewood, or anything a survivalist Tenderfoot could not live without. It wasn’t even an hour into their drive when Radcliffe realized he had forgotten his little Weber-100.

Both brothers had been longing for this moment when the intensity of the world melted away, leaving them only their wits with which to survive; that and three cans of propane.

Heath could almost see out of the back window, but Radcliffe had no other place to store the sleeping bags since he had decided to bring his dog. So every once in while, Heath would crane his neck towards the side mirrors and into his blind spot to change lanes. Radcliffe felt visibly bad for his insistence to pack his brother’s car, but couldn’t muster an apology. After all, he was the one that used to camp as a newbie Boy Scout as a kid. Fifteen years later – including the two he always had on Heath – Radcliffe still knew better.

“I’m so glad we did this,” Heath pronounced.

“Yeah,” Radcliffe echoed with subdued excitement. He was still wiping the summer sweat from his forehead and chest. He glanced back at June, panting at the window as she watched the North Texas road fade into Eastern Oklahoma.

Planning was the bitch of the trip. Now that they had gotten all their junk on wheels, Heath was ready to enjoy the open road with some bonding time with his brother.

“Tell me about your job, Rad.” An easy enough question.

“What do you want to know?”

“What’s it like? Do you like it?”

“Yes, I guess. I’ve just been so buried for so long that I don’t think about it that much anymore. I just do.”

Radcliffe worked for himself, writing freelance copy for magazines, newspapers and advertisers. He fell in love with the beauty of writing, fancying a future as a Steinbeck or Twain. Instead, he found a labor of drolling formulaic blurbs and retread VW Beetles that never should have hit the shelves in the first place. He lied to his brother because he had tired of complaining and didn’t want to defend why he hadn’t done anything about it. Each day started with a cup of coffee at his parents’ house in Dallas and proceeded with a search for apartment-deposit funding, sapping what little creativity he had left. He attempted to break up the monotony by joining the rank-and-file of twenty-somethings who stayed fit and took up cool hobbies. Radcliffe’s was distance running and acting like he knew what he was doing whilst casting a spinner. He would never admit it, but Radcliffe loved his brother and missed him. It’s really why he invited his little bro on this camping trip.

Heath, on the other hand, had no problem saying, “I love you,” or giving people toothy smiles. He told his brother he missed him. And he had no problem with letting Radcliffe plan the trip as long as he got to visit home. He had moved to the City of Angels after college to become an actor. In other words, he was a waiter. Every spare moment he had he used to comb the message boards for bit parts. He was prepared to struggle some, but money had become so tight that he had to scrap his favorite indulgence, the L.A. Times. Once the Times went, his momentum followed. It was his window to the world; it was how he started conversations. Now he had to talk about the latest TV show, of which there was never a shortage of interlocutors. He hated taking calls from his friends and family back home because the question always came: Did you get the part? His consummate retort: You’ll know when I know.

Radcliffe indulged Heath’s probing a bit, then turned the question over to Heath’s verbosity. Fifteen minutes later, they came to a fork and missed it without even knowing it.

The Oklahoma highways are just what you’d expect. Ranches stretched for a mile before a tree along the barbed wire line gave a horse some momentary shade. Cows waded in mass at reservoirs – or fishing holes, depending the age of the person describing it. Every once in a while they’d spot a billboard for a prairie dog farm or a five-legged cow. It wasn’t until the sign for Caddo that Radcliffe had realized they had gone too far.

They bickered for a bit at who missed the exit, but ultimately winded through town East, towards the trees, towards the hills, towards the river. So far, they had lost two hours.