Heart Of Gold

On The Road

"Jesus Christ, man!"

A shock wave rocked through the red 1980 Mustang. Will McLeod slammed its hood down, and the force sent the Rob Ford bobble-head on the dashboard tumbling into Jake O'Neil's lap. It bobbled idly until he picked it up and chucked it out the window at his friend's head.

"Nice aim," Will grinned, dodging the projectile.

Rob Ford landed, still bobbling, in a gutter ten feet away.

"This thing won't make it past Thunder Bay if you keep slamming the hood like that," Jake laughed.

Will stomped to the driver's seat and sat down heavily. "Remind me again why we're heading out now instead of in June, like all the other normal people in this country?"

"I've told you fifty times already."

"I need a reminder. It's freaking freezing out here, and the car has already stopped running twice. How do we know it won't die in the middle of Manitoba? We'd be stranded in the middle of nowhere. Our only option would literally be to become like that Mad Trapper they used to have up north, living in the middle of the tundra and slowly turning into an old nut job who-"

"Dude, shut up."

Will opened his mouth to argue and Jake took the opportunity to swipe his phone and grab a photo of the Rob Ford bobblehead lying in the gutter -- just in case he wanted to post it later.

A shiver ripped down his spine. The Mustang's heater was more than thirty years old, and iffy at best. Despite Wiarton Willy's prediction of an early spring, it was a downright frigid March morning: the kind where the frost clings to every spare surface, glistening in the thin morning light.

Jake closed his eyes and tried to remember the dry heat of a Fort St. John summer on his face. It was a shitty little town but he'd spent last summer there fixing telephone lines and partying the nights away. The hours had been long but he hadn't minded, and the job offer he'd gleaned from it made the potential downfalls of this Canadian winter road trip well worthwhile.

"Come on," he said to Will. "We've got a week to make it out west. Unless you want to go back and hug your mom one more time ... ?"

"You're not going to let that go, are you?" Will muttered. "It happened one time. I didn't say goodbye before and --"

"Hey, I wasn't teasing, man. I'm serious. I would too, if ... "

A fist twisted in his gut. Jake turned away, focusing on the flakes clinging on the other side of the window, and willing the hollow silence suddenly settling between them to disappear.

Just like she did, a voice at the back of his mind whispered.

Will's fist nudged the side of his arm. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to.

He just handed his phone to Jake, the audio plug already sticking out of the bottom and the screen open to his music collection.

"You pick."

"You sure?" Jake felt almost awed, even beneath the dark tremor still shadowing the back of his mind. Will was notoriously picky when it came to music, and Jake had been sure that his friend volunteering to take the first driving shift meant he would be fighting for control of the music.

"Just promise me -- pick something worthy of this moment, eh? No Neil Young."

"But he's a Canadian treasure!" Jake almost laughed.

Will rolled his eyes, fumbling with the keys. "He sounds like my grandma."

"Yeah, if your grandma was God's gift to music."