Harry's wheels
Harry had this old truck. It had been his grandfathers, once. Then, it had been left behind the barn for a number of years. Gran did not use it, and they all forgot about it. When Harry left to go to school, he needed wheels. And then he thought of the old truck, and went all the way back to the farm to pick it up.
But it needed so much work. He sanded and painted; downloaded a hell of a lot of advice from the Internet, and fixed the engine; the put new tires on; and so forth.
He took it for a spin, for the first time, near the farm. It ran smoothly along, in the huge corn fields they have in that part of the country. Then, a wheel gave in. Actually, it broke. Just like that. They had to tow it back to the farm.
Harry found a wheel on an obscure Web site that deals in spare parts for very old vehicles. He paid for it, using about the last cash he had, and waited. A week later, the wheel showed up, in the good old mail, of all the things.
The mailman was a woman, in fact. Harry realized he knew her, and she recognized him, too. April, she was, from kindergarten. Often had they been running through the fields, finding a special place where they could lie and look at the clouds. And as they got older, they explored other things, too.
She laughed as he signed the papers. She got back into her truck, and revved up the engine. Then she opened the window, and handed him a piece of paper.
“My number”, she said. “Just in case.”
She smiled that little, shy smile of hers. He put the scrap of paper in his pocket, and watched her drive down the long, straight road. Among all that corn.
It was months before he called. Then it was too late, apparently: a man who called himself “Gus” answered. Harry hung up. One lane to the past closed, forever.
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