HE FORGETS NOT HIS OWN by Edward L. Woodyard

He Forgets Not His Own Part Three

It was almost midnight when the Bimmer's headlights bounced off a sign: Davenport 483. Scott and Kevin both knew that it'd be another eight hours before they crossed the Mississippi River. Scott was comfortable driving through the night again, thinking that they should get there a couple of hours after dawn.

"Thanks for sitting up with me," said Scott.

"My turn to keep the driver awake," answered Kevin. "It's okay, for sure. My mind's been way too restless. I ain't been sleepin' for days."

Scott hadn't been sleeping either, but he wasn't going to go into that. Instead, he avoided the subject, "So, you never told me where's your car."

"In Tampa. I flew to Idaho. And then I left Idaho in a hurry. Don't get me wrong. I'm not wanted by the police. It's just that my money's in Florida and. . ." Kevin let his thoughts drift and then caught himself, "It's a long story."

Kevin shifted in his seat, slipped his hands inside the sleeves of his hoodie and turned to gaze at the stars guiding them outside his passenger side window. Scott looked in the rearview mirror at Maya fast asleep, her mouth open. "I guess she likes your backpack for a pillow."

Kevin pulled his hands from the sleeves of his hoodie and stared out the passenger side car window again. "Is today still Tuesday?"

Scott glanced at a digital clock on the dashboard. "For about another ten minutes."

"Then it's almost not yesterday anymore," Kevin said. Scott was confused by Kevin's statement until Kevin blurted, "On Monday then, my father passed."

"I'm. . ."

Kevin immediately interrupted Scott. "My mother phones me last Thursday in Florida and tells me that he is going, for me to get to Idaho and I did. I panicked, man. I mean, I couldn't get there fast enough. He couldn't die. I had to get there before. Y'know? I hadn't seen my dad in over eight years. Left in a real bad fit of temper. Swore I'd never go back."

What Kevin had just said was almost exactly what Scott had done to his own father. Scott remained silent; he stared at the taillights of the long-haul moving van in front of him as he came up behind it and decided to pass it on the left.

Kevin went on, "Yet there I am in the Tampa airport, yelling at these people that I need to get to Idaho quick. And they did. They got me there quick. Strike and all. My Aunt Jean picked me up in Boise and says that it'd be soon before he'd pass. It was just Mom and me and my Aunt Jean there at the house."

Kevin breathed in, becoming upset, "I waited by his bed. I didn't leave the room just in case. I had to hear it. Once. Just once before he passed on. He was conscious and his mind was right and all. But I had to hear it. I'd talk to him and he'd talk to me and I told him that I loved him. But he never told me. I waited there by his bed for four days and nights and he never said it. Never once. He never told me once that he loved me. Was that too much to ask?"

Scott saw Kevin's tears drop from his chin. He didn't bother to wipe them away while he unloaded a guilt in his soul. "Now it'll never happen, man. What did I ever do to make him hate me so much? I packed my stuff and left. My Aunt Jean goes with Mom to pick out the casket. Me? I had to split. Jumped up on the interstate and stuck out my thumb. His funeral's supposed to be tomorrow afternoon. I'm telling you, man. It only counts when he's alive. Because when he's dead, it's silence. A ghost can't talk. A ghost can't hold you. You'll never know. And you gotta know. Y'know?"

Kevin turned to his right again to stare at the stars. He used the sleeves of his hoodie to wipe his face, then put his head against the glass of the window. He thought about putting his buds into his ears and listening to his playlist, but he instead closed his eyes and fell asleep.