Dynamics of Chuck

Kyle drove to the hill he’d claimed for himself. He parked at the base, climbed into the backseat, and sat down on the makeshift bed. The Chihuahua sprang to life and followed. While Kyle sat taking off his shirt, the dog jumped all across the backseat and on and off Kyle’s lap.

“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together for the next couple days.” Kyle told the dog after it landed on his lap. Then it climbed up to lick his neck, and Kyle laughed, “So, I take it you like that idea. Alright then. You can be my travel partner,” he pulled it down off his neck and stroked its fur, “I should probably feel odd talking to you. You don’t talk back,” Kyle said as the dog licked his hand. “Speaking of which, I’m going to start writing that note to Ed.”

Hey, Ed, Kyle wrote into one of his school notebooks. As you can plainly see, I am sitting by my usual hill getting ready to set out early tomorrow morning.

He left space for Ed to fill in the blank and replied to the emptiness of it.

What do you mean “what hill?”

Of course I realize there are tons of hills all over the place. I mean the hill. The hill I’m always sitting at. Wait have we never talked about this hill?

See, I knew we talked about it.

Alright, forget about the stupid hill, Ed. That’s not the point. I’m a little freaked out!  That’s the point. But it’s in that like “this is going to be totally awesome” sort of freaked out. You know what I mean?

Yeah, the similarity to the plight of the Anaconda doesn’t escape me, but I think it’s time for me to sleep.

Well it’s like instant to you anyway. Pretend I didn’t sleep. Sheesh.

Duder, you’re right. We’ve totally invented time travel. Of course once you write down something on this note you can’t go back and rewrite it. So you still only get one chance to set history.

Totally.  I agree with that assessment. Anyway, time to be a vagabond in the back seat.

No. It’s not a euphemism.

Kyle fell onto his side and kicked his legs and twisted his torso until he felt comfortable. After unfolding the sheet and blanket he’d kept on the back ledge, he threw them over his body. The dog jumped onto his feet and curled up between them. He stared toward the front of the car and the Cherry’s toy sitting on the dashboard. His feet wouldn’t go straight in the ridiculously small bed, so he just lay there with his knees in the air. He nodded to himself and sighed, “how would vagabond even be a euphemism?”   He flopped over into a fetal position, throwing the dog to the floor. It immediately jumped back up to the spot between Kyle’s ankles and butt and settled in. They both fell asleep.

Kyle awoke the next morning just after dawn when the sun came up and poked him in the eye. Picking up his coffee can on the way to the front, he crawled out of the car. The ground was icy cold on his bare feet as he padded his way over to the public water fountain and filled his cup with water. Using the lighter in his car, he started a small fire nearby and cooked the water directly in the cup. The air was brisk and the contrasting warmth of the fire felt more comforting than normal. He added his coffee and stirred with the same old spoon he kept inside the can. There wasn’t going to be any cheese that morning, but Kyle didn’t imagine he cared. It hadn’t been so great yesterday.  Instead, he just squatted, holding the hot mug in both hands and watching as the sun woke up the city.

He stayed there looking down at the traffic until school started for them all… and Rachel.

But not you or me, duder.

Then, he finally stood and climbed back into his car. Throwing the can and cup into the back, he revved the engine and patted the seat next to him.  His dog leaped forward into it. “Alrighty, little co-pilot, it is time for us to cruise.” The gears grunted as the car worked itself into first, and Kyle slammed the gas and drove out onto Highway 99.