King of the Woods, or Trivial Pursuit

Part 3 - Jackhammer

Ray opened his window. The air outside felt no cooler than within, but the unseasonable warmth intensified Nature's perfumes. The wind tasted of honeysuckle and fringetree, though he had never seen either plant growing near the office. Spring and summer melted together on his skin, and he smiled.

Although the field unit was adjacent to a state forest, his window faced the parking lot. Ray closed his eyes and let the sounds of intermittent traffic sink away. He thought of the deep forest; no, of the trees; no, of one particular tree, the white fringetree that he had drawn that morning and many mornings before. He knew its every color, and every contour, although both changed each time he saw it.

It? That couldn't be right. Fringetrees are dioecious; male and female flowers grow apart. Why had he never considered that before today? 

He thought of the white fringetree's graceful trunk, elegant branches, and delicate clusters of drooping, creamy-white flowers, long-petaled but not too long, charming without being showy. She, Ray decided, although he could not be certain until fall, when deep blue fruits would confirm his hypothesis. And if he were wrong? What of it? The white fringetree was beautiful. The thought sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine.

At that moment, an image of that morning's deer sprang unbidden into Ray's mind — dark, mournful eyes, and an unchanging, somehow judgmental expression crowned by barely-visible, velvet antler nubs. At least he knew the deer's gender. Unless it was a reindeer? No, it was not a reindeer, Ray was certain of it. He banished the image of the not-reindeer and thought more of the white fringetree and of the portraits he'd drawn of her.

Even the composition of Ray's drawings changed each time, but he attributed that to the slow turn of seasons and to his poor sense of direction. Although he always found his way to her in the forest, he always seemed to approach from a slightly different angle. A matter of changed perspective, then. It was not as though someone had moved her, or moved the trees around her.

Ray thought of her wide green leaves, shaped like, what, hearts? No, like the iron point of a Greek dory. She wielded something fierce then, something dangerous. Was this the danger the deer warned him of?

"____ herself might still linger by this lonely shore, still haunt these woodlands wild," Ray thought. A long-forgotten fragment from a humanities course he audited while waiting on his master's degree. He struggled to remember the name that began the sentence. Was it Greek, like the leaf-spears that would fade to yellow as the deep blue fruits appeared (or didn't)? Or was the name Roman?

A jackhammer demolished his reverie and part of the field unit's parking lot. 

Ray did not recognize its orange-clad operator. He leaned out his window. "What are you doing?"

T-t-t-t-t-t went the jackhammer. 

Ray's teeth clicked. He waved to get the operator's attention.

The operator let off of the trigger. "What?"

Ray pantomimed removing ear protection. 

The operator did. "Yeah, buddy?"

"What are you doing?"

"You've got tree roots running through your entire parking substructure." The operator spread his hands as though catching a football. "Big ones. Better close the window, it's going to get loud."

"Wait-"

The operator put his ear protection back on. 

T-t-t-t-t-t went the jackhammer. 

Ray ran his tongue along his molars. They were still embedded in his gums, even if they did not feel that way. He waved at the operator again.

The operator removed his ear protection again. "What?"

"Are you sure you have the right place?"

The operator wiped his forehead. "That sign out front say Florida Forest Service, Jacksonville Field Unit?"

"Yes."

"Cheryl Martin your office admin?" 

"It's Carol. Like Christmas."

The operator's eyes promised death.

"Yes," Ray said. "She is."

"There anything around here for twenty miles but trees and mosquitoes?" 

"There's a gas station and convenience store up the road."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I've got the right place. I've just got the wrong work order." The operator traced an arc on the asphalt beneath Ray's window with the tip of his steel-toed boot. "You see this ridge?" 

Ray nodded.

"Sure you do. You have good eyes. But what about the next guy? Or some old lady? She trips, breaks her hip, bam!" The operator slapped his hands together. "Lawsuit." He spat. "Freaking lawyers."

"Can you fix it?"

"Can I fix it?" The operator looked at Ray as though he had asked the stupidest question in mankind's brief history.

Ray nodded.

"I can fix that ridge and that stretch of buckled pavement," The operator jabbed his finger at each problem he indicated. "I can fill in those potholes and regrade that surface and cut back those roots that are poking up. But that won't fix the problem."

"What's the-"

"I have never -- and I've been in the pavement business for a long time -- I have never seen substrate this bad. That's the foundation. Holds everything up or lets everything down. If your substrate is bad it don't matter what you put on top of it. Gravel, asphalt, concrete, Plexiglas, titanium, uranium, any other kind of anium, it will fail. Your substrate is full of roots this big around." Again with the wide receiver hands.

"I see. The problem is at the roots."

"Roots make cracks, and cracks let in water. Water is asphalt's worst enemy." The operator's nostrils flared and his wide receiver hands clutched at an invisible throat.

Ray leaned away from the window.

The operator chuckled and scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, buddy, I got carried away. I'm passionate about what I do for a living, you know?"

Ray shook his head. 

The operator shrugged.

"So, how would you fix the problem?" Ray said.

"Replacement. It's the only way." The operator removed a crumpled work order from one of his many belt pouches, placed the document on Ray's window sill, and smoothed it out. The work order was blank. "You gotta pen? You can tear all of this down and start fresh. Make everything new. Like spring."

"I can't make that decision." Ray handed the work order back to the operator. "I'm just a duty officer. I answer phones, or I would if anyone ever called."

The operator crumpled up the work order. "Great. I'm just a pavement engineer and construction equipment specialist. Let's just do what we're told." He spat again and turned his back on Ray.

"One last thing," Ray said. "Could you turn it down a little?"

"Turn the jackhammer down?"

"Yes, please."

"Sorry, buddy. This model doesn't have a volume knob." The operator put on his ear protection.

T-t-t-t-t-t went the jackhammer.