---

 

This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN# / ISBN# issue/book “A Door is A Door is A Door” Down in the Dirt, v189 (the 11/21 Issue) Order the paperback book:

Order this writing that appears in the one-of-a-kind anthology Stardust in Hand the Down in the Dirt Sept.-Dec. 2021 issues collection book		get the 422 page Sept.-Dec. 2021 Down in the Dirt 6" x 9" ISBN# paperback book:

Summer of ‘64

Terry J. Allen

I rolled a car in the summer of ‘64
working for Bonded Audit
when I was eighteen
and on the road with another guy
who was about my same age.

We had worked all day
in Rapid City, South Dakota,
that place that has the dinosaur park
on a ridge of sandstone
that encircles the Black Hills.

That’s when we got a call
from our supervisor
saying we needed
to drive to Casper, Wyoming
that night, so we’d be all set for work
early the next morning.

So, we loaded up the company car
which was a 1960 faded-blue
Chevy Corvair, a stripped-down
2-door coupe with no radio
and no seat belts,
a vehicle that Nader later said
was unsafe at any speed,
and we headed southwest
on a four-and-a-half-hour drive
into the night.

It was dark when I was at the wheel,
twenty miles west
of the Nebraska border
at 5,000 feet above sea level
when the guy with me
said to wake him up
if I wanted to change drivers
and I said okay.

I was fine, but after a while
I was having a hard time
staying alert. Then I saw the lights
of a small Wyoming town
up ahead and I planned to pull over
and change drivers when we got there.

And that’s when I woke up
as the car lurched off the road
and plunged down
a steep barrow ditch,
bouncing over wormwood and sagebrush
as I tried to hold onto the steering wheel
until the left side of the car gave way,
and we rolled three times
bouncing around inside
until it finally stopped amid dust
and smoke rising everywhere around us.

And we got out to check
to see if there was any damage
and that’s when I saw the shattered windows
and a crease that buckled the car’s frame
from top to bottom behind the two doors,
and we knew we weren’t going anywhere
and that’s when we saw the flashing lights
from a police car at the top of the ditch
and a cop walking down toward us
with a flashlight asking if we were all right.

And I said I think I sprained my back
and the other guy said he thought he
pulled something in his neck
and the cop helped us to his car,
and we were driven to the local hospital
and because I was bleeding
from a head wound
they took me in first
and told the other guy
to wait in the lounge
because he seemed to be okay.
But the next morning,
I found I had three broken ribs
in my back and bloody stitches in my scalp,
and the other guy was in traction
with a broken neck.

After a few days, I was released
and stumbled around for two weeks
because I’d lost my glasses in the wreck,
and it took that long at the time
to get a new pair,
but I went back to work
and left my partner behind.

We were two recent high school grads
from different parts of the country
whose fathers considered us
grown men and sent us off
to make our way in the world.

So, in the summer of ’64
we drove 12,000 miles
and worked in ten states
before it was all over, and I left
and went off to college
and I never saw my friend again
who was drafted
and died at age nineteen
in Vietnam.

Copyright of written pieces remain with the author, who has allowed it to be shown through Scars Publications and Design.Web site © Scars Publications and Design. All rights reserved. No material may be reprinted without express permission from the author.

Problems with this page? Then deal with it...