Some of you long term Sentinel News readers have seen this story several years ago. This is more directed toward Facebook friends who have never seen it. I found it again and I liked re-reading it myself. This story is a mix of fantasy, wishes, truth and whimsy. Take it for what you will.
The Final Voyage
Chapter 1
Escape
The farm was all I ever knew, except for a hitch in the navy and two failed attempts at a business of my own.
When I got too old to pull my weight on the farm, the kids decided I needed to go into an old folk’s home nearby. They needed space for a hired hand that could do more work than I could. I lost my room in the house and a young man from down the road took over my room and my chores.
I tried the retirement home for a month, but could not stand being cooped up with all those old people just sitting there waiting to die. By gosh I had a few more things to do before I lay down for the last time. One night as the last visitors were leaving and the nurse’s aides were busy putting all the old people to bed, I joined ranks with the visitors and walked right out the door. The girl in the office was busy filling out the daily reports so she never looked up. The night air was cool and refreshing as I walked back toward the farm. Lucky for me, I was smart enough to keep the spare key to my old truck in my pocket when they put me in the home. I was building up a sweat as I climbed the last hill up to the farm, despite the cool night air. It was after midnight when I arrived and the lights were out in the house. The kids, grandkids and hired hand were all asleep. Seeing the old house again made a tad of water run from my eyes. The little old truck was parked out by the barn and was none the worse for the time I was away. The kids had a newer, bigger truck so it had probably not been used since I left. I slipped the gear shift into neutral and began to slowly push the truck out to the road. I could not risk starting it and driving by the house. The little truck was very lightweight and was fairly easy to push out to the road, once there; I pointed her down the hill and coasted to the bottom before firing the old girl up. Lights on and I was headed west out of the county.
My lighter sparked and I took a full puff off my first cigarette since being locked up; I mean being put into the home. The glove box had several packs inside as I was the only one who smoked and the kids did not want me smoking around the grand kid. The thought process kicked up a notch and I began to imagine tomorrow morning’s scenario. The nurse’s aides would find my bed empty. They would do a search of the home and grounds and when they were absolutely sure I was missing, they would try to figure out what to say when they notified the kids. Once the kids were aware, they would look around the farm to see if I was there. When they found the truck missing, they would begin to wonder if I had retrieved it or if someone had stolen it. That would not take too long before they would realize no one would steal a beat up 30 year old truck. They would then call the sheriff and ask him what he could do. They would explain that I was old and perhaps not able to take care of myself, trying to get the sheriff involved and of course the truck might still be considered stolen. That being the case, I was heading out west on the old highways, thinking the interstate would be the place any patrol car would be looking. I was in no hurry, no time schedule, just heading west and looking to enjoy the scenery on the back roads of Missouri and Kansas.
Copyright Bill Weber 2019 and beyond.
The farm was all I ever knew, except for a hitch in the navy and two failed attempts at a business of my own.
When I got too old to pull my weight on the farm, the kids decided I needed to go into an old folk’s home nearby. They needed space for a hired hand that could do more work than I could. I lost my room in the house and a young man from down the road took over my room and my chores.
I tried the retirement home for a month, but could not stand being cooped up with all those old people just sitting there waiting to die. By gosh I had a few more things to do before I lay down for the last time. One night as the last visitors were leaving and the nurse’s aides were busy putting all the old people to bed, I joined ranks with the visitors and walked right out the door. The girl in the office was busy filling out the daily reports so she never looked up. The night air was cool and refreshing as I walked back toward the farm. Lucky for me, I was smart enough to keep the spare key to my old truck in my pocket when they put me in the home. I was building up a sweat as I climbed the last hill up to the farm, despite the cool night air. It was after midnight when I arrived and the lights were out in the house. The kids, grandkids and hired hand were all asleep. Seeing the old house again made a tad of water run from my eyes. The little old truck was parked out by the barn and was none the worse for the time I was away. The kids had a newer, bigger truck so it had probably not been used since I left. I slipped the gear shift into neutral and began to slowly push the truck out to the road. I could not risk starting it and driving by the house. The little truck was very lightweight and was fairly easy to push out to the road, once there; I pointed her down the hill and coasted to the bottom before firing the old girl up. Lights on and I was headed west out of the county.
My lighter sparked and I took a full puff off my first cigarette since being locked up; I mean being put into the home. The glove box had several packs inside as I was the only one who smoked and the kids did not want me smoking around the grand kid. The thought process kicked up a notch and I began to imagine tomorrow morning’s scenario. The nurse’s aides would find my bed empty. They would do a search of the home and grounds and when they were absolutely sure I was missing, they would try to figure out what to say when they notified the kids. Once the kids were aware, they would look around the farm to see if I was there. When they found the truck missing, they would begin to wonder if I had retrieved it or if someone had stolen it. That would not take too long before they would realize no one would steal a beat up 30 year old truck. They would then call the sheriff and ask him what he could do. They would explain that I was old and perhaps not able to take care of myself, trying to get the sheriff involved and of course the truck might still be considered stolen. That being the case, I was heading out west on the old highways, thinking the interstate would be the place any patrol car would be looking. I was in no hurry, no time schedule, just heading west and looking to enjoy the scenery on the back roads of Missouri and Kansas.
Copyright Bill Weber 2019 and beyond.
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