On the Road with Dean and God
Monday morning at 6:00 a.m. Dean was sitting in his taxi waiting for me outside of my mobile home. I didn’t want to go, but I had to. For Jean. She wanted me to go, she practically ordered me to go. So, I am going.
“Good morning, Dean,” I called from the porch.
“Morning Beatrice, just throw your suitcase in the back seat.”
“Dean! Get your ass out of the car and come get my bag.” He got out of the taxi and limped over to the porch. That’s odd I thought to myself, I never noticed him limping before. But then, he was almost always sitting every time I saw him. Either sitting in his taxi or sitting at the diner booth. He opened the trunk and set my suitcase beside his duffle bag. “What’s with the duffle bag, don’t you own a suitcase?”
“Nope, and it’s not a duffle bag, it’s a sea bag.”
“Whatever,” I said. I shrugged it off as he opened the back door for me. I said “No, Dean. I no longer want to sit back there; I want to ride shotgun.” He smiled and opened the front door for me and as daintily as I am capable of, slid right into the front seat. Plop!
Dean walked around the cab and resumed his position behind the driver’s wheel and said “Okay, which way?” He asked.
“What the hell? You don’t know the way?”
“Nope, never had to drive when I was in the Navy. Always flew to the ports.”
“Oh my god, what a trip this is going to be! Shit, I said, well we gotta go south, so just get on I-79 and we’ll stop at a rest stop to pick up a map.” We crossed the Mason-Dixon line in downtown Pittsburgh, drove out the parkway, and got on I-79 south. So far so good. I was feeling just a tiny bit more relaxed. Highway travel isn’t so bad. We just cruised along smoothly and easily. I almost lured Dean into having a whole conversation when I asked him why he had a strip of duct tape on the left side of the windshield. “Doesn’t that block your view?” I asked him.
“Nope, it blocks the dotted lines.”
“What dotted lines?” I asked.
“Those ones.” He pointed to the lane divider lines. I decided that was enough conversation for now and turned up the radio to listen to Willie Nelson sing “On the Road Again.” Seemed fitting.
We drove for about an hour until we arrived at a rest stop. I needed a bathroom break and Dean was getting tired and started twitching. I thought we should take a long break. I bought a couple packs of cheese crackers and a couple of candy bars from the vending machines. I was relieved to see a stack of free maps sitting out on the counter. Dean was outside behind the building walking around. When we got back into the cab, I could tell that he was more relaxed again. He smelled like smoke. But then there was nothing unusual about that. I never complained as long as he didn’t smoke around me. I was always afraid of getting busted because everyone knows that stuff is illegal. He started up the cab and looked over at the clock on the dash board. Then he folded his hands over the steering wheel and bowed his head and closed his eyes. Oh shit, he’s going to pass out, I thought. “Dean, Dean, what are you doing? Are you okay?”
“Shhh,” he said. He sat there quietly like that for a couple of minutes and then he looked at the clock again.
“Dean, are you ok? What the hell is going on?”
“I’m fine. 7:11 prayers. Ready to go?”
I tossed my head back and looked up at the roof and replied “Yes, please.” What a weirdo!
I think we must’ve stopped at every single one of the rest stops along the way. Dean got tired fast and easily and needed breaks often. Some of the stops had fast-food burger restaurants inside, but most of the time there were nothing more than restrooms and vending machines. I always replenished my cheese and crackers and candy bar supplies. Not at every stop, but maybe every third stop, Dean walked around to the back of the building and came back to the car wreaking of smoke as usual. I started to get used to it though. After several hours on the road, we approached an overhead sign with an arrow pointing to the left lane that read “Washington DC.” Dean switched lanes just as I was saying “we should stay in the right lane and keep heading southwest.”
Dean replied, “I want to swing by DC.”
“Why? I asked. DC is southeast, we’ll be going in the wrong direction.” He nodded and stayed in the left lane. Now we are off track. We’re going to get lost. I am certain of that.
Dean doesn’t talk much unless prompted to, so I asked him why we were going to DC. “To visit the wall” He replied.
“What wall?” I asked.
“It won’t take long, he said, you’ll see.”
Wow! D.C. was awesome! I couldn’t believe how big and beautiful and busy the city was. So many beautiful stone buildings and streets lined with well-trimmed shrubbery and flowers. We rode past the Whitehouse. It really is white. We rode past the domed Capitol building and the tall pointy Washington Monument. Actually, we rode past them several times because obviously Dean was lost. I was getting worried that he was going to start twitching but then when he saw a sign that said “Vietnam Veterans Memorial” he calmed down. We drove up to what appeared to be a walkway to a park entrance. I could see a lot of people milling around down the walkway. Dean pulled right up to the entrance and parked. I said to Dean, “You can’t park here, you’ll get a ticket.” He pointed to a sign: “Taxi parking only.” I just shook my head and laughed. Dean had to be the craziest but luckiest man I have ever met. “So, where’s this wall?” I asked. He got out of the car and pointed down the walkway. I didn’t even notice it until then because it blended in with the surrounding grounds. And there it was, a big long black granite wall built right into the ground. I told Dean I wanted to wait in the car. “I can see it well enough from here. It’s just a wall, right?”
“Okay,” he said. I watched him walk with a limp down the walkway, alongside the shiny black wall. I could see reflections on the glossy marble-looking surface as he passed by several people who were standing facing the wall. He continued down the walkway past the taller center section of the wall. He kept going till he was about 3/4ths of the way from the end. He turned facing the wall and just stared for a couple of minutes. Then I saw him moving his head back and forth as if he were reading something. He reached out and touched the wall, rubbing his finger tips over a small section. Then he took a deep breath, pulled his shoulders back, and stood up straight, tall, and rigid. He raised his right arm bringing his fingertips to his hat and saluted. He held the salute for a minute before lowering his arm to his side. He looked up at the sky as he turned to walk back to the cab. Dean sat back in the driver’s seat. We sat there quietly for a few minutes until he told me to open the glove compartment. I opened it and looked inside.
“Holy Shit Dean! You have an eight-track!”
“Yep.”
“Does it work?”
“Yep”
“There’s only one eight-track tape in here,” I said. “It’s Jimi Hendrix. Do you want me to play it?” I asked.
“Yep.”
I plugged in the eight-track cassette and we sat there and listened to Hendrix’s guitar strings somehow amazingly sounding out a magical rendition of the National Anthem, “The Star-Spangled Banner.” Dean sat there with his hat over his heart. It was the first time I ever saw him take off that peace-signed ball cap. I couldn’t help but notice two big scars on his scalp.
I looked away and said, “Dean, that was beautiful”.
Dean replied, “Ready to go?”
I said, “Yep.”
Outside of Washington DC, Dean pulled over at the next rest stop as usual. He said we should sleep there. “What? Sleep here in the taxi?” I asked.
“Yes, I do it all the time. Nobody will bother us.”
“No way Dean. No freaking way. We’re going to a hotel or a motel or whatever. We’re on vacation and I’m not sleeping in a cab!” He just nodded and started the car and we got back on the highway. It was getting late, so Dean pulled off at the next exit that had lodging signs. We stayed in the luxurious Motel 6. What a fancy high-class room it was. I’ve never seen such heavy drapes before. There was framed artwork on the walls. And there were two great big beds. One for each of us. The bathroom was brightly lit with huge mirrors. It was perfect. I decided right then and there that we would stay in a Motel 6 room each night of the journey.
Dean woke me up at sunrise. I couldn’t believe this; we were supposed to be on vacation. But I dragged myself out of bed, brushed my teeth, brushed my hair. At 6:00 a.m. he asked, “Ready to go?” And off we went. One hour later, Dean pulled off to the side of the road and parked the cab. He folded his hands, placed them on the steering wheel, and bowed his head. I looked at the clock, it read 7:11. Dean had his eyes closed. We sat there for just a couple of minutes; Dean didn’t say anything. He just started the car and we were right back on the road.
At the rate we were traveling, it would take us two weeks to get to New Orleans. If you ever want to get to know someone, I mean really know then, just try spending several days on the road with them, inside a taxi. But then, if you’re traveling with someone like Dean, you have to work at it to get to know them. Dean talks very little. On the other hand, I am the opposite. To carry on a conversation with Dean was like pulling teeth. And I pulled and pulled.
“Dean, can we talk?”
“Yep”
“I want to ask you about something. Actually, a lot of things.”
“Okay.”
I didn’t know how to broach the subject so I just blurted it out.
“Dean, what happened to you in the Navy?”
“We all got killed.” He replied.
Dumbfounded, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“Our swift boat hit a mine and we got caught in an ambush. There was a loud explosion followed by a firefight that killed all six of us.”
“You mean your six friends were killed?” I asked.
“No, five friends.”
“Dean, you’re confusing me.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“Is that why we stopped at the wall?”
“Yep.”
“So, you could see their names?” I asked.
“Nope, So I could salute them.”
“Five names on the wall?” I asked.
“Yep.”
“Who was the sixth guy that died?”
“Me” Dean replied.
“Dean, You’re not dead!”
“I un-died.”
“Holy shit! What a wacko!”
Then Dean uncharacteristically began to open up. “I was the sixth. We all died and were raised up to the light to meet God. Five stayed. God asked me to return, to complete a mission that he had planned for me.”
I was speechless, but managed to ask, “God spoke to you?”
“Yes.”
“You died, went to heaven, spoke to God, then un-died, and returned?”
“No, I wasn’t in heaven I was at the light. Nobody returns from heaven. No, I didn’t speak to God. Only God speaks.” Again, I was speechless. This is the true meaning of “blew my mind.” My mind was blown! We sat quietly for a few minutes. I was thinking to myself that he’s a real delusional wacko and I didn’t believe any of this bullshit. The radio was silent. Dead air for some reason, in between songs, I guess. Then I heard a familiar guitar strum coming from the speakers. “No way! my mind screamed, no freakin way.” The greatest rock song of all time came on. “Stairway to Heaven.” That’s it! I’ve spent too much time with Dean. I’m now insane too. I replayed that conversation over and over in my head. Not only that day but for years afterward.
RUCKSACK GRUNT - A Vietnam Veteran's Memoir 