Generations in Agony...Texas: Chapter Three

3) At Morgansen’s Esso…


Caleb whistled as he replaced the last fan belt on an Onyx Oil truck. Until six weeks ago, he never whistled while working, but since Charlie Speck hired-on his world had taken a turn for the better, despite the fact that everyone around Agony now knew that Caleb was a homosexual.

The fan belt was fighting him, though. As he tried to roll it over the generator pulley it snapped.

“Shit…Hey, Charlie!” He called over his shoulder.

“Yes, sir?”

“Grab me a 17765 fan belt, would ya?” He knew without looking that the shop was immaculate. Since Charlie had come on, everything remained in full order; the fact that there was now order instead of his own typical chaos he owed entirely to Charlie. Caleb had never really given much thought to where to put his tools and such. Now, his toolbox was a shining treasure trove of wrenches, sockets and screwdrivers. Lubricants, solvents and parts were all perfectly arranged in a little army of rows on dust-free shelves, and his production of work reflected it: work kept coming in and moving out, instead of piling up haphazardly, which had always been Caleb’s method before Charlie. Caleb’s garage had made more money the last six weeks than it had the previous six months.

“Sorry, Caleb…” Charlie said from the wall where the belts were hung, sounding disappointed. “…That was the last one we had.”

“Well, dang…” Caleb rested his hands on the radiator. “Guess I’ll need to send you back down to Mulligans.”

“Sure,” Charlie said. “You want me to just put it on the account?”

“Naw, let me write out a check and you can fill in the amount for the rest of what we’ve got this week. Wanna look around and see if there’s anything else we might need before you go?”

“You bet.” Charlie said sounding a lot more like a kid from Agony, than a kid fresh out of Chicago.

Caleb smiled. A boy like Charlie made him wish he had his own son. For a moment, he envied Carl Speck Jr., rest his soul. He and Carl had been good buddies once; they had played ball together growing up. The fact that Caleb’s father was dead, and Carl’s father was never around, had given them more than enough reason to hang out together. Carl’s aunt Nelly made supper for the both of them more often than not; and when Caleb’s poor mother had taken to her deathbed, Nelly had taken pains to see that they were cared for. Now that Carl Jr. had been killed in a motorcycle accident, and his boy lived here, it restored in Caleb a since of pride to have taken Charlie on; like a favor that fate had set before him to fulfill.

His pride had taken a bad hit last month when the entire town found out about him and Kyle. For a few days, he had an itching to load up and move away; maybe head off to San Francisco like Kyle had suggested. But, as strange as it seemed to Caleb, no one had reproached him about his status as a homosexual. His secret had gotten out the same way lots of secrets had for most of the citizens of Agony: when Travis Drylander had gotten blind drunk and told-all over the air. That event left the whole population licking its wounds; there did not appear to be anyone around who felt like pointing a finger of judgment at Caleb, with their own sins still fresh in mind. His sexual preference had become simply a fact that everyone now knew.

The only person in town to react badly to the news had been CiCi Cabrera, whom Caleb had been sleeping with enough to dissuade any from knowing the truth. Even that firestorm had been short-lived, since CiCi had somehow found the real father of her son, Jesus, and, evidently, they were working toward establishing a relationship.

Over the past six weeks, people coming to the garage for gas or service did not so much as look sideways at Caleb. To them, he supposed, he was still just Caleb Morgansen, owner/operator and chief mechanic of the Esso station, and current member of the town council.

Back in the front office, he scratched out a check to Mulligan’s Salvage and Auto Parts, leaving the amount blank for Charlie to fill in. As he tore it out of the book Charlie walked in from the garage. “Got a list?”

Charlie nodded. “Yes, sir…a few more belts we’re low on, some oil filters, and brake shoes.”

“Can you get it all?”

“I think so. It’ll be a full load on the bike.”

“Well, take your time, Charlie. You can swing by your house and grab you some lunch while you’re out.”

“Oh, ah, I was gonna go to Lutz’s and get a burger.”

“Well, why don’t you just bring the stuff back and I’ll go pick up lunch—on me.”

Charlie grinned. “Sure.” He took the check and started out the front door just as a pickup with a horse trailer pulled up to the pumps. It had a bad idle that both Charlie and Caleb noticed at once. Charlie turned and looked over his shoulder. “Want me to pump gas for this one?”

“No, go on ahead, pard. I got nothing to do till we have that belt anyhow.”

“Back in a jiffy then…” Charlie shot out the door and was on his bike and gone around the corner before Caleb made it to the truck.

~



As he came out the door, Caleb recognized the truck even before Carl Speck Sr. stepped out of the cab. The old man wore a scowl—his normal face to pretty much anyone—and glanced at Caleb before he went to the front of the truck, opened the hood, and stood scowling at the rough-idling engine.

“Sounds like she’s been rode hard and put up wet there, Mr. Speck.” Caleb stepped up to the fender and joined the old man in looking over the old mechanism.

Carl said nothing. He just shook his head. “I need it fixed fast, Caleb. And, I ain’t got time to waste neither.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

“How long you think?”

It was Caleb’s turn to shake his head. “I’ll have to get in there and check before I know. But…” He scratched his head, feeling the old man’s eyes boring a hole in his skull. “…unless it’s a part I can’t get my hands on today, I should have it done by tomorrow.”

Carl Speck spun away in disgust. He stepped off from the bumper and placed his hands on his slender hips, staring off at the sorry landscape across the street where here and there laundry flapped in the hot distance. His head bobbed downward in a silent curse before turning to face the white-hot sky. Finally, he turned back to Caleb. “All right then…got no choice I reckon.”

“You need a ride over to the bunk-house?” Caleb offered, wiping his hands on a rag; a habitual motion he used whenever nervous.

Carl shook his head and pointed at the trailer. “I got m’horse. I’ll just ride in.”

Caleb nodded. “We can back the trailer over there and I’ll help you unload before we unhook it.”

“I can do my own backing, son—and my own unhitching.”

“Oh, yes, sir.”

“I don’t wanna spend no fortune on this here either.”

“Do my best. Is there a price you want me to call you with before I cross over it?”

Carl Speck lifted his arms and waved them at Caleb in dismissal. “Just fix my dang truck, Caleb. I ain’t got time for this nonsense.”

Stunned, unsure of what to do or say, Caleb stood there stupidly and watched the old man get back in the truck and back the trailer over to the side lot, sliding it in between two other horse rigs; there were already seven parked there. A few minutes later, he had Cleopatra saddled, his saddlebags and chaps across her rump. He mounted her and stuck his rifle in the holster under his left stirrup and watched as Caleb pulled his truck around to the front of one of the garage bays.

“Call over to the bunkhouse when it’s done with.” He yelled to Caleb as he walked Cleo across the lot and onto the road. “That’s where I’ll be after I get me a haircut and do my bankin’.” He nudged Cleo’s flanks and headed toward the center of Agony.

~



Charlie came up gusher street with the bike’s baskets loaded full of auto parts. It was longer this way, but the bumpy field he normally used as a shortcut would have bounced everything out. He found that out the first time he tried it.

Before he got to the stop sign, he saw an old cowboy with full rig on a beautiful Palomino horse crossing the road. The horse’s step told Charlie that she was a cutter: a horse specifically bred and trained to herd cattle.

Slowing, he stared at the cowboy; his romantic notions of The West spiked. Ever since coming to Texas, he had seen very few working cowboys that really fit the image he had carried here with him. This man was different. He rode with a certainty, and a casual comfort in the saddle, like he had just appeared out of a John Ford movie.

By the time Charlie reached the stop sign, the rider was almost to the church. Charlie stood and held his bike, watching the heroic-looking figure until the wavering heat melted rider and horse out of sight.

~