Peace Love Resistance Read online

  Taking one of my dad’s beers, I snapped the top and sat in the kitchen chair, taking five while I decided what to do the van. My mind went to several things Tristan and I had done and said throughout our day, an inevitable grin on my lips. She was so far out of my comfort zone it wasn’t even funny. Of course the blowjob comment came to mind, and I wondered whether or not she was just messing with me.

  My plan was to go out to the van and work on the inside, but it wasn’t there. Two slabs of three-quarter inch plywood, some two by fours, a bag of screws, and a speed square sat against the middle wall, but no van. I stomped out of the barn, unsure of whether I should be pissed or not, surely he hadn’t gotten rid of it. Why would the wood be there? In route to the old phone, I heard the truck, seeing my mom behind the wheel, and then my dad.

  I couldn’t believe it. It was running. He was driving it. The front fender was replaced with a black one, but not the same shade. The hood was replaced with a white one, the bumper looked brand new, and the shattered windshield was replaced. “Holy shit. You’re driving it,” I exclaimed, forgetting all about my mom.

  “Yup, I had it toed in while you were gone today. It really wasn’t that bad. A new water pump, some new wires and plugs, all new brakes, you should have seen these lines, I swear they were cut. Greg said he remembered before we bought this place some guy wrecked in it, but nobody knew who he was, some reporter or something. Kind of creepy, huh?”

  I don’t know why I was interested, but I was. “Did they live here?”

  “Yeah, I bought it from them. Sort of. The guy that I closed with had power of attorney. The wife didn’t even come back to clean the shit out of the house. A moving crew did it, packing and all. We got it for next to nothing. Did you see the lumber? I did a brake job for Harry Milton for it. You want some help?”

  “No, I want to take it up the road and back.”

  “Go, it runs better than my truck.”

  I couldn’t help it. He walked right into it. “That’s because you drive a Chevy.”

  “Get out of here.”

  My dad wasn’t lying. This thing was sweet. Eight cylinders of power. I only wished I could finish it before the weekend with Tristan. I had no idea how we were both going to live in her van for the weekend. That’s when my plans all changed. I know longer wanted a futuristic space van with shiny chrome, the blueprint I’d drawn up worthless. This van needed to be more family oriented, something we could all three comfortably hang out in on a rainy day or late in the evening, a baby bed maybe.

  My mom had her back to my dad’s chest and his arms held her while they both smiled, waiting for my return.

  “Thanks, Dad. It’s awesome,” I said, slowing to a stop, truly grateful for him sneaking behind my back to fix it. That was one less thing I had to worry about doing.

  “You’re welcome. I’ll take it in for a paint job when you’re ready. You just have to take me camping in it sometime.”

  “For sure,” I lied, my head out the window, pulling it back to the right side of the barn.

  Noticing my mom, walking toward me through the rearview, I jumped out and hid the beer can. Not that it was a big deal, but it would be to her. She’d make it one and I didn’t want to hear about it.

  “Where’d you go today?”

  “Morgantown. I told you that.”

  “I know, but you were gone all day. What’d you do there?”

  “Hung out in the city. What’s for supper?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Jesus, Mom. Nothing, I went to a couple stores, got some lunch, went to a skate park, nothing, just stuff I always do. What’s with the fifty questions?”

  “Did you go alone?”

  “Why? What’d you hear?”

  “Your Aunt Josie said she saw you picking up a girl with a baby in front of the drugstore.”

  I rolled my eyes, my head shaking back and forth. “My Aunt Josie? I don’t even know who that is.”

  “She’s not your real aunt. She used to babysit you.”

  “Well, she’s wrong. I don’t even know her. How could I? You took me away from here when I was seven, remember,” I added, my intentions to switch the focus from me to her.

  “Don’t give me that shit, Ty. She knows who you are, she knows my Jeep, and she saw you. Who were you with?”

  “Liz, give the boy a break. We going to the tavern or not?”

  “What? He’s still my kid. I still have a right to know what he’s into.”

  “Mom, go. I’m not into anything. God.”

  “Were you drinking? Come here. Why do you smell like beer? Seriously Tobias? You’re driving my car and drinking beer?”

  “I wasn’t drinking beer. Jesus, get off my back.”

  Maybe I did like my dad better than her. At least he called her off. “Liz, stop. Let’s go. Trey and Tammy are waiting on us.”

  “Buck, he was drinking beer and driving my car on my insurance. I’m not stopping.”

  “It was one beer, see,” I said, stepping through the door to the other side of the barn. “I just got it out of the fridge when I got home. Ten minutes ago. It’s one beer. I never drove your car drinking. Who’s the one not drinking so you both can go to the bar tonight? Huh? You going to DD, Mom?”

  “Tobias, you’re seventeen. You can’t just drink beer whenever you want, and I don’t know who this girl is with a baby, but I don’t like it.”

  “Liz,” my dad protested again.

  “Seriously, Buck. You think maybe you could act like you care just a little?”

  Great. Just what I wanted to deal with a cat fight between my parents.

  “I’m not doing this. I’m going to the bar.”

  At least she followed him out, screaming with a few cuss words to the back of his head, but she left anyway. That’s all I cared about. Jesus.

  I used it as my escape, closing the big wooden door and downing the last three swallows of beer in one gulp. Sometimes she was more exasperating than I could take, and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there.

  I climbed up to the loft on the other side, away from the van and my screaming mom. Sitting in the opening, I looked straight across to Tristan’s camp, an instant smile taking over my anger just by seeing her. Without needing binoculars, I could tell she was doing some sort of weird stretch thing, maybe yoga. Still yet, she made me smile. She made me happy.

  Even with the massive shares on my video, I was unable to be excited. Not like I would have been pre-Tristan. Over a quarter million hits and I didn’t even really care. My mind was on the new and improved plans and them. Just a short week ago, I would have been all over Facebook, posting a shit tone of selfies just to rub it in with my friends, especially Avery, but I didn’t care for whatever reason. I didn’t care when I strolled through my newsfeed either, realizing just how crazy people had gotten. Tristan was right. Political banner, someone who found their favorite chips at a gas station, a photo of a lunch, a meme meant to make fun of fat people, some idiot burning worms with the sun and a magnifying glass, and a couple guys from my old neighborhood dropping water balloons from the dock and filming it. It all seemed so superficial, like…Dumb. Even my mom. Her Facebook had a selfie of her and my dad, the caption reading, my second chance. Give me a break. Feeling sick, I closed out of it and went to my email. I read over the contract for one of the three stations who wanted my video and electronically signed mine and my mother’s name, agreeing to the seventeen-hundred dollar check for all rights. Sold to the highest bidder.

  Almost two grand would get everything I had in mind for the van and leave some for gas money. Thinking about hitting the road, being free, and being with her and Tobias was the only thing I cared about. I couldn’t wait. I popped my head out the window, seeing the truck head out the lane, both my parents in the front seat. Thank God. Now if I could just build this van in nine days.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I climbed down, went back to the other side of the barn and got busy. I lost myself, deep in work
and thought, country music playing through the speakers. I still couldn’t believe the thing was sitting there idling, purring like a kitten. Before I knew it, I had a long bed frame right behind the driver’s side seat. My plan was to make it expandable. A sofa by day, and a bed for two by night. Thinking about the old wooden baby bed up in the attic, I thought about how to modify it. Without thought, I backed my ass up between the seats, plopping to the passenger seat, my blueprint and pencil in hand.

  I sketched out the back of the van, hearing the tape clicking from my ass backing into it, shoving it into play. Although I hated the eighties, I didn’t bother ejecting the old homemade cassette tape, besides; there was a pretty good chance I’d hear some legendary ACDC. My favorite classic rock band. Just as my hand moved on a down stroke, sketching out spindles, I heard a male voice. My hand stopped, my eyes shifted, and my ears listened.

  “Hey, baby. I miss you guys so much.”

  A deep breath and a long sigh led a deep raspy voice. “Savanna, if you’re listening to this, chances are, I’m not going to make it home. I messed up, baby. I’m so sorry, but you have to listen to me, every single word. First of all, before I tell you what I’ve gotten us into, you have to promise me that you’ll raise our daughter right here at Turkey Ridge, Savanna, please. There’s a lot of bad stuff going on that people don’t know about. I don’t know what this job is in New York tomorrow, but I know it’s not good. I overheard Clay and Brant talking, and started doing some digging. As soon as you can, get Baby-T and get the hell out of there. Come here to the farm.”

  My frown deepened when I heard the name Baby-T. That was my name. I made it up.

  “They know I know. This wasn’t my lucky break, baby. It was a trap. Crisis actors have nothing to do with keeping peace during a catastrophe or terrorist attack. They’re paid to lie to the media. At first I thought it was harmless, you know, needed to help calm the public, but it’s not. Not even a little. I’m too far into get out, Savanna. I know too much. They’re not going to let me just walk away. Come back here, Savanna. It’s so important. Please. Stay away from Clay Wise. He’s not your friend. He’s not going to help you; he’s going to hurt you. Promise me you’ll take baby-T away from there and bring her here. Live on our little farm and do everything we planned. You can do it. Please, baby. Listen to me. You live our dream. Promise me, Savanna. Promise.”

  I reached up and turned the knob, my throat knotted and dry. What the fuck was this? What the fuck happened? My eyes shifted around the van, an eerie feeling suddenly blanketing me. One sneaker stuck between the console and the seat when I tried to jump out, needing a moment to figure out what the hell was going on. With my fingers running through my hair, I strolled toward the door, trying like hell to walk it off. All of a sudden I felt like the earth had shifted, and I’d just opened up a can of worms I didn’t want to open. The first logical thing that came to mind was to get rid of it, throw it away and pretend like it never existed. The second one was to burn the van, my interest in it a little tainted now. A lot tainted.

  Forgetting the guy’s name, I reached in and grabbed the papers between the seats. Shane Swan. I climbed back up to the loft for a better service and started surfing. Nothing. The guy was like a ghost. Nothing with the only West Virginia address I had anyway, but it was all I had to go on. The thought about the damage puzzled me. The window was smashed from the outside, the airbag deployed, and it really didn’t look that bad. Not bad enough to kill someone. Unless the guy wasn’t wearing his seatbelt. I supposed that could be the case. Maybe he didn’t die at all. Maybe this was all just a bad joke or something.

  I walked inside, wishing my dad were here to ask more questions about how he’d acquired the old house, who brought the van to the barn, and where the hell the obituary was? My quick shower was spent in a steamy daze.

  Once I’d showered and ate what leftovers I could find, I ran upstairs for the walkie-talkie, the photo of the bald baby with her parents catching my eye. I stared at it briefly, sticking it in my pocket. An old green sleeping bag I’d found from an upstairs closet, my Spiderman comforter, and matching pillow under my arm, and I was set. I grabbed a bag of chips for after I had gotten stoned, a cupcake, a couple oatmeal cream pies, and two cans of soda.

  I opened the doors where the van was and placed the photo back over the sun visor, feeling obligated to do so. It belonged there, but I wasn’t so sure I did anymore. Now what? It wasn’t like I could just change my mind, and if Tristan and I were really going to do this, we needed something better than what she had. Deciding to sleep on it, I sat in the opening and pushed the button.

  “Breaker-one-nine. Anybody got a copy? Come in, T. Do you read me? Over.”

  “I read you loud and clear. What’s your twenty?”

  “My twenty?”

  “You suck at walkie-talkies. Where’re you at?”

  “Oh, in the barn. What’s Baby-T doing?”

  “We just got baths. He’s lying on the bed just looking around. Whatcha’ doing in the barn?”

  “I don’t know. I like it here. It’s away from my parents.”

  “Tobias,” she chastised.

  “They’re not home anyway.”

  “Oh, where’d they go?”

  “To the bar. They’ll be gone awhile.”

  “I miss you.”

  “You could come down here. They’ll never know.”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’m going to read. You could do that, too.”

  “So, just out of curiosity, how did you and Tobias just get showers?”

  “You want to know how I took a shower? How do you think I showered?”

  “I don’t know, the little stream?”

  Tristan laughed, her voice cracking with the radio static. “No, I don’t think Baby-T would appreciate that ice cold water. I heated water for him, and I have a spray nozzle that I can pump up and use for me. Don’t worry. We’re clean people. We shower every day just like you.”

  “I don’t shower every day,” I teased.

  “Dork. I think I feel good enough to go for a hike on the Appalachian Trail tomorrow, maybe a mile or so. Want to come?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll carry Baby-T for you.”

  “For me or you?”

  “Me,” I confessed with a smile.

  “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning. I’m going to read for a bit. Threes and eights.”

  “Threes and eights?”

  “Come on, Ty. Really? You should brush up on your CB radio slang. Threes and eights. Love and kisses.”

  “And it also adds up to eleven,” I pointed out, my hand searching Google for truth in the matter, sure she was making it up.

  “It is, and I love that you picked up on that. Keep doing that. Night, T.”

  “Night, T,” I replied.

  Just like I’d presumed, once I’d gotten stoned, I pigged out, holding out for as long as I could. Despite the van craziness, I did light an old lantern and work on the new plans. Maybe Tristan was right. Maybe I should just let things flow, see where they took me. It wasn’t like I had options knocking down my door anyway. Plus, I already knew where I wanted to be. With Tristan and Baby-T. If that meant I had to go through a paradigm shift, so be it. I would. Needing a visual of the van, I paused my drawling to get a measurement, stopping to piss out the square window first. The new layout would be perfect, technically, a living room, a kitchen, a bedroom, a nursery, and bathroom. Although I glanced to the radio several times, I didn’t turn on the tape again, but I knew that I would. Eventually.

  I heard my parents come home around eleven, laughing and talking louder than needed as their drunk asses moved inside behind closed doors. Ridiculous. After messing around in the back of the van for a while, I called it a night.

  Lying on my hay bale bed, way more comfortable than my springy bed upstairs, I thought about my life, where I’d come from, and where I was going. I thought about Tristan and Baby-T, and then the guy that called his baby the s
ame name, wondering about what had happened to him. Deciding that I’d had enough of my alone time; two minutes of lonely thoughts, I flipped on my phone.

  Normally, I would have played a game, texted friends, trolled Facebook, surfed Instagram, or watched porn. I searched for Shane Swan instead. Nothing. The guy was non-existent, but there was no doubt he didn’t go down naturally. Although I didn’t really think it was the van, it was something. Something bad. That was evident.

  “Breaker-one-nine, anybody got a copy? Over.”

  An instant smile replaced the worry lines around my lips, the mysterious Shane Swan forgotten for Tristan. “Copy. Whatcha’ doing?”

  “Just now stopped reading. I couldn’t put it down. You have got to read this book, Ty. It’s so crazy.”

  “I haven’t read a book since like the third grade.”

  “That’s because you’ve been dumbed down.”

  Rolling to my stomach, I opened the door and looked out, seeing her dark silhouette in her van. “No, it’s because I hate to read.”

  “We’re going to talk about this, but not now. I’d keep you on here until our batteries died with all the information you don’t know.”

  I didn’t doubt that one bit, but I did wonder why. “Why, T?”

  “Because someone has to, Ty. Someone has to care enough to see what’s going on.”

  “But how’s that working out for you? I mean, you live in a van. Where’s your family? Who’s really listening? Is it worth it? People have to look down on you.”

  “You think like that because you’re asleep. You don’t know, and neither do other people. That’s why I do it. If you want change it has to start with you, right? It started with me a long time ago, and I’m going to straighten people out whether they like it or not. They’re just like you, and they can take it ever how they want. If I can just touch one nerve. One nerve, Ty. It’s not hard to find the truth. All you have to do is get past the first few pages.”

  “The book?”

  “No, the Internet. The answers are there, but you have to go deeper than the first few pages. They’re all controlled. They want you to read those. Like I said, there’s about six companies who own all of the media. They’re telling you what to read and they’re controlling what you immediately see. Try it if you don’t believe me.”