Just Beyond the Curve Read online

  *****

  Jesse Cameron had driven the big rigs since before John Travis had been born. He had driven them all, from Diamond Rios to Mac, to Harmon. He had even driven Citroen and Mercedes when he was in the military. He was intimately familiar with the brand new Peterbilt he was now piloting coast to coast. He had stopped in Austin to refuel and eat his supper. He was hauling a load of gasoline for Texaco to Twin Sisters and Kerville. He had decided to drive down 1-35 then cut across through San Marcos and over to Twin Sisters, then on to Kerville. He foresaw no problems. He had driven the route before, at least once a month for the past several years. He knew all the curves and highways.

  As he rolled slightly under the speed limit for big rigs at night he listened to his favorite country singer ever, John Travis. Boy, he thought, that ol’ boy can lay it down! Make a grown man cry for all his lost loves and heartbreaks. Jesse sang along with the song and tapped his fingers on the big steering wheel.

  Twenty miles or so behind him his favorite singer in all the world sped up the on-ramp and onto 1-35 South. John sped up to near sixty-five, the legal speed limit: and settled in for the long, but fast ride. He had decided to take the expressway down to San Marcos, then cut over on Ranch Road 12 to Wimberley. That would take him right past his house once he got through Wimberley.

  Jesse Cameron exited the freeway in San Marcos and made his way over to Ranch Road 12. He made the light and began going through the gears, building speed and making time, listening to John Travis sing.

  Ten minutes later Jesse began to slow down for the Wimberley turn off. In San Marcos John flipped his right hand turn signal on and eased down the exit ramp. He made the light and sped up to the speed limit.

  As the trailer swung around the Wimberley turnoff and Jesse began to build speed a seal ruptured at the side of the tanker and gasoline began to spray from the tank and back onto the left rear tires. Jesse was singing along with another of John Travis’ songs and didn’t notice the seal had blown, or that he was losing his lode.

  On Ranch Road 12 John Travis slowed for the Wimberley turnoff. His right hand turn signal came on flashing brightly and he swung around the curve and headed for Wimberley. He reminded himself of the dangerous right hand curve up ahead. To the left was a wide deep valley. In the bottom were two mounds of dirt like extinct volcanoes. John had always figured it was a couple of hundred feet to the bottom and he didn’t figure the guard rail would stop a car going the speed limit if one should happened to hit it. He had no idea he was about to find out.

  Up ahead as Jesse began to turn into the curve, the fuel in the tanker began to bulge to the left with the centrifugal force as it leaned farther into the curve. Halfway through the curve where the total weight of the trailer and cargo was at its greatest, the fuel slick rear tires lost their grip and the tanker began to slide around toward the railing and the deep valley below.

  Jesse immediately felt the trailer slip and began to make efforts to regain control. Then he knew it was a losing battle and just tried to keep the trailer from overturning and rolling into the valley and taking him with it.

  John came around into the curve and instantly saw the big tanker sliding broadside across the highway. He hit his brakes. He began to slide sideways and he made the correct maneuver to regain control. However, all four of his tires were coated with the spilled fuel and the pickup actually began to pick up speed and spin in a complete 360° turn, as it neared the guard rail and the back of the sliding tanker.

  Then, as if in slow motion, the right front fender of John’s pickup slammed into the right rear corner of the broadside trailer. The impact with the trailer and the speed, nearly 80 miles per hour, lifted the pickup up and launched it into the air and over the rail. The pickup made another 360°, plus another 180° roll, dropping the guitar case from the bed. It landed hard and slid down the steep hillside. The nose down pickup slammed into the ground, spun around several times on its nose, slammed onto the earth and rolled six more times before exploding in a ball of flame.

  Jesse sat in the cab of his Peterbilt and watched every move the pickup made. Then he opened the door and puked his guts up, knowing he had just caused the death of another human being. When he regained his composure he began to cry. Finally, he turned to the CB radio and called for assistance, through his agony.

  Jesse would never know but John had felt nothing after the impact against the trailer. His head had slammed into the door post and knocked him unconscious. Jesse would also never know that a light ball of mist had flown from the crashed and burning pickup and drifted against the wind and to the northwest; the direction of John’s wife and son. Some may speculate that it was John’s spirit, others that it was just an illusion, a play of the fire light on the night. Maybe even just an anomaly, a playful zephyr of wind that carried a light mist of smoke up the hill, across the guitar case, where a tendril slipped inside and the rest moved on to the northwest and John’s house.

  In the master bedroom of John’s house a light mist gathered over the baby’s crib. John Jr. greedily sucked his thumb and slept the sleep of the truly innocent.

  In the big bed Donna also slept soundly, unaware of the mist that floated above her. She smiled and whispered John’s name sadly, questioningly.

  The mist moved back to baby John’s crib and as it neared him, his eyes opened and he smiled and laughed. The faint blue mist entered into his mouth and nose and he breathed it in and then drifted back to sleep. Suddenly, Donna sat up in bed and screamed, “John!”

  The truly sad part of the whole affair was that with his death his music began to quickly fade. For the most part because when his fans thought of him they also recalled the horrendous accident that had taken him from them. Donna, after learning of John’s death the following morning was never the same mentally. John had been her entire reason for living up until baby John had been born. It was only then she discovered she only had enough love for one of them; that turned out to be her first love, John Sr. She became a mysterious recluse who managed to eek out a living on the royalties from John’s music. In time, as baby John grew and began to greatly resemble his father Donna began to slowly transfer her love to him. However, even then he was never allowed in her bedroom. For that was where the treasure was kept. All of John Sr.’s memorabilia was kept there, safe and sound and only for her pleasure.

  John Jr. however, was never all that bright and Donna kept him from the public schools as much as possible. But even that didn’t keep him from learning. Somehow he managed to read, write and do his sums. Then, nearly twenty years to the day, later, Donna Sue Jacobs-Travis joined the love of her life and left her only child alone and for the most part, broke.

  Luckily, by then, John had managed to graduate from San Marcos High School, a C average student, and had taken employment with a man named Paul Holmstead at his small grocery store on the outskirts of western San Marcos.

  Nearly a month after John buried his mother beside his father; Paul called him into his office and gave him the bad news. He was going to have to let John go. Business was slow and he just couldn’t afford to keep John on the payroll any longer. John never questioned it. He thanked Paul for the job he had had, then pulled his ball cap down low on his ears, stuffed his wages in his pocket, then turned and walked from the store and onto the street. He stood silently and looked left and right. With his fingers stuffed in his pockets, he walked across town to highway 80 east, then walked another five miles to the cemetery and stood over his mother’s and father’s grave. He read the headstones over and over, not knowing what else to do or say.

  JOHN EDWARD TRAVIS

  1-23-196510-23-1985

  He Just Missed Being a Star

  DONNA SUE TRAVIS

  5-24-196510-21-2005

  She Loved John ‘Til Death

  Rejoined Them

  After reading the headstone until tears slid down his cheeks, he knelt between them and laid a hand on each of them. His father’s grave was long level, whereas h
is mother’s was still mounded with red soil and plastic flowers and wilted wreaths that someone had sent.

  “Momma, Daddy,” John said sadly with his chin on his chest and his blue HOLMSTED’S GROCERY ball cap wadded in his fists, “I lost my job today. Paul said business was slow. Seemed the same as always to me. But I guess he would know better than me. So, I don’t know what I’m gonna’ do. You know I ain’t too smart. But somehow I’m gonna make ya proud o’ me. I promise. I gotta go home now. I gotta figure out what I’m gonna do. I love ya and miss ya. Daddy, I wish I could have knowed ya some. I’m sure ya was a good man; for momma to have love ya so. I wish I could have.”

  John sat there on his knees and heels for a few long seconds, as if listening to an answer. Then he stood, pulled his cap down on his head snugly and walked away from the graves. As he walked hesitantly away, he looked back over his shoulder periodically, wiped his eyes and nose on his hand, then on his pants leg. He shoved his fingers into his pockets to the last knuckles and hunched his shoulders as he walked. Finally, he turned and waved, then walked on to the highway.

  At the highway he stuck his thumb in the air and walked backwards so people could see him and know he wasn’t a threat to them. He was just a young man, going home from visiting his folk’s graves.