Death of an Auger

“We need twenty-four posts, 12 ten foot 2x4s, 6 sixteen foot 2x4s, 36 eight foot deck boards, 10 ten foot deck boards, and 8 2x6x8s.” “Wait a minute. How many posts?” “Twenty-four.” “I ain't digging 24 damn holes. That auger will kill me.” “It's only 16 holes, 8 are on concrete.” “It's 9:30 and already 91 degrees. Somebody ain't gonna make it through the day.” They loaded the posts last and as he laid every one on the trailer they seemed to come to life and taunt him. The auger laid in the back of the van, the dull blade laughing. “Is that it?” “We need 16 bags of concrete.” “What size?” “80 pounders.” “For the love of Jeff.” “Who the hell is Jeff?” “Nobody. Will you drive, please?” “Sure thing.”

They headed down the interstate and he slowly fell asleep. He dreamed the same dream that kept him from sleeping at night. He was stuck in the middle of a huge crowd, there were people everywhere, bumping into him and keeping him from going anywhere. He couldn't move, he couldn't see, he couldn't breathe. Somewhere in the sea of people she was out there, separated from him. He would catch a glimpse now and then. He could always spot her face even if he couldn't keep track of her for long. He could feel something about to happen. It was palpable. Alive. He saw her again, she was looking in his direction but not at him, he waved his arms and yelled. The crowd was too big. Suddenly it all turned to chaos and it was no where near controlled. She was gone, swept away in the sea. He heard someone calling to him, “Wake up.” “What?” “We're at exit 42, you want a drink?” “Sure do.” “You were dreaming weren't you?” “Yeah.” “It was bad, huh?” “A big crowd, got separated, couldn't get close again.” “Sorry.” “It's just a dream. Doesn't mean anything. Let's get a drink and head on.”

About an hour later they had their lumber and tools unloaded and set up. He looked around and wondered why there was never any damn shade in the ghetto. “What's the temp?” “It says 96 degrees.” “It isn't even noon yet.” “You want the auger or the post-hole diggers?” “Well I got asked this morning how come we've been through 5 pairs of post-hole diggers.” “What did you say?” 'I told him because I've been digging holes.” “What did he say?” “What would you have said?” “Nothing.” “Give me the auger.” “You sure? You're down 0 to 2.” “It's a battle of attrition. I'm gonna win, eventually.” He took the auger, primed it, flipped the switch to choke, and pulled the cord. Once, twice, three times; he pulled the cord.” “Turn it on.” “Shit.” He flipped one switch to on and the other from choke to run; and pulled once more to start the auger.

The sun beat down on his shaved head and the sweat slowly dripped into his eyes. He had a death grip on the handles. On hole done, two, three, four. He stopped for a moment, left the auger running, and drug it across the ground like he'd drag some wannabe out the door if he was still in his twenties and 80 pounds heavier. He grabbed a gallon of water out of his cooler, took a nice long drink, and went back to digging. Five holes done, six, seven, eight. Halfway there. “I'll finish.” He looked to his left, made a face, and shook his head. “That auger hasn't done a damn thing to you.” “The hell it hasn't!” “It's an inanimate object.” “It's the damn devil. It's the stumbling block. The auger and I are at an impasse.” “You're crazy.” “So.” Nine holes done, ten, eleven, twelve. The engine sputtered and almost died. There was plenty of fuel. “Hey, there is something wrong with the auger.” “There's something wrong with you.” “I'm serious.” “The blade is dull.” “The damn blade has been dull. That's normal. There is something different.” “I don't know. Has it got fuel?” He nodded his head and went back to his work. Thirteen holes done.

He started on the next and about a foot into the dirt the auger let out a whine, it started to smoke, a bead of sweat fell onto the exhaust and sizzled away into something beyond steam. He pushed the auger down harder and held the throttle as fast as it would go. The blade twisted and corkscrewed down another foot into the earth. “Let it cool off!” He didn't hear the warning, it wasn't for his benefit anyway. He pushed with his arms, laid his chest against the engine, gritted his teeth. He bent his head in close to the auger, “You're done.” He pushed the throttle down, the engine whined again, the smoke was as black as night. Six more inches to go. He finished the hole and pulled the spinning blade out of the ground as the engine caught fire and died. He reached out to his right and took the post-hole diggers that were waiting for him. “That's the only pair we have, there's two holes left, try not to murder those before you're finished.”

The World

When you were little what did you want to be when you grew up?” “Different things, the usual little boy dreams.” “Like what?” “An archeologist, paleontologist, caped crusader, fireman, pirate.” “A pirate?” “Sure, why not? Plunderin' booty and pillagin' ships sounds like a fun time to me.” “Scurvy.” “That's why you set aside time to pillage a ship that is carrying various tropical fruits and what not.” “Eye patches.” “If you see a man walking down the street with an eye patch on, you automatically have a unfounded sense of respect for his possible aptitude towards danger.” “True.” “What did you want to be?” “Cap'n Crunch.” “I'm not even going to ask.” “Good.”

He grabbed a few 3 ½ inch screws from his tool belt and put the last board down. “We're done. Let's get this truck loaded and get home. It's a long drive and I don't want to miss supper again.” He reached inside the open window of the truck, grabbed the paperwork, and headed inside to get a signature. “Y'all did a good job on that ramp. It looks real sturdy.” “Thank you, mam, we try.” “Be safe going home.” “We will.” He walked back outside grabbed a toolbox and loaded it inside the cab of the truck along with his cooler, tool belt, and the paperwork. He eased his way into the passenger side and closed the door behind him as his partner turned the truck on and started backing out of the driveway. He looked at the arrival time on the GPS, an hour and 48 minutes. He might just make it.

Half way through his cigarette the silence was broken, “So now you're learning the trade of carpenter. There isn't a whole lot of booty to be plundered in carpentry.” “Sure there is. When was the last time you walked in the door still covered in sawdust, some dried blood on a knuckle or two, and wearing your tool belt?” “I don't know that I have, why?” “Never mind.” “Seriously, why?” “Jesus was a carpenter.” “You're not Jesus.” “I wasn't saying I was, sir. I'm just making conversation.” “You're about to go off on a tangent aren't you?” “It's always a possibility.” He finished his smoke and sat quiet for a minute, thinking about younger days and gravel roads.

“You know when I was out of high school there were these old back roads my buddies and I used to drive around on, drink a beer or two, and just talk.” “What did you talk about?” “Saving the world.” “Caped crusader antics.” “To a point, sure. They were good friends, smart dudes, they possessed empathy and a convoluted sense of right and wrong. I was lucky. So damn lucky.” “They still you're friends?” “I suppose they are, the world kind of send folks on their own paths. Geography and time can be a bitch.” “If they showed up tomorrow how would it go?” “They same it went almost two decades ago.” “Then they are still you're friends. Now, tangent please.” “You like them don't you?” “It passes time.” “Such high praise!”

“When you're young, you have no roots, no responsibility to anyone. When you're full of righteous anger at the wickedness of the world and the injustices done to the poor and sad people that live on that world. Well, you either ignore it, laugh at it, or you want to change it. You want to “save” the world.” “The world is a big place.” “Nothing is bigger than you are when you're young and angry.” “You still want to save the world?” “Of course I do but my world has changed.” “How so?” “If you live as good a life as you can manage, stay alive, and don't lose sight of things your world gets smaller. If you're real, real, lucky you look over one day and sitting next to you is the most beautiful woman in the world. Strong and soft at the same time. Lovely. Her walk makes you weak. Maybe there are some little ones, still innocent and fresh.” “You passed caped crusader antics a while back.” “My world changed. I still shake my head at the wickedness and I still feel for the sad and poor of the world, but they're world exists outside of my world.” “That's a little selfish.” “You're damn right it is.”

He stopped talking, lit another cigarette, and sat quietly for a moment. He though about the selfishness of it all and wondered whether it was okay. “My world got smaller. The Earth was no longer this huge place to trample and wrestle with. My world exists of my few close friends who I might see once every couple of months, my family, and it exists inside the most beautiful woman in the world and her children. I have no desire to exist outside of that sphere. I have no need to see anything else. The grass on my side of the fence is the greenest.” “How does that feel? To you.” “Perfect.” “No desire to fight any more?” “I didn't say that. There are times my blood still boils and I clench my fists. I just think longer these days is all.”

They pulled into his coworkers driveway and they said their goodbyes for the day. He noticed as his cohort walked up the driveway towards his house and his most beautiful woman in the world, that he was still wearing his tool belt and had not brushed away the saw dust. The door opened and he saw a smile shine out from the shadows of the dusky night. He smiled himself and silently wished his friend good luck as he sat down behind the wheel and headed back to his world.

Dirty

“I can't get the lock back on. I can't turn the key.” “You've got to get that checked out, soon.” “Why? It's either going to be nothing or bad news and I can't afford either with no insurance.” “It ain't going to get better.” “Probably not, but I can get used to it. It won't be the first time.” “Your legs?” “Yeah. My legs.” “Why are you even doing this?” “There are a multitude of reasons.” “Multitude? Really? You do too many crossword puzzles.” “I've got a thesaurus you can borrow.” “Give me a reason, just one.” “My dad, that dude can build anything. Give him a hammer, some nails, and some lumber and he'll build a furnished house. I never had any interest in it. I never asked any questions. I rarely ever offered to help. I want to be able to help the next time he as something he needs to build.” “That is a perfectly rational and valid reason. I'm kinda shocked.” “I can be rational. Lock the the door and let's roll. It isn't going to get any cooler.”

He climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and lit a smoke. “You've never smoked in the truck before.” “Didn't know if I could.” “Did you ask?” “Nope.” They pulled onto the highway as he looked at the address and set the GPS. 98 miles to go, almost 2 hours, must be some rural highways he thought. “Long drive.” “Imagine that.” He took a drink of his Diet Coke, attempted a smoke ring and watched as it was sucked out of the open window. “I bet you bleed caffeine and smoke.” “You've seen me bleed plenty. It's red.” “Bad day?” “They're all good. Some just ain't as good as others is all.”

They sat quietly the rest of the trip. He appreciated the silence. Even the radio was quiet and the only sounds were the tires on the road and the clank of the trailer when they hit a bump. They turned down one last gravel road and saw their work site. “Shit.” “Most likely.” “I'll start unloading the concrete while you frame it out.” “I can help with the concrete. There's 26, 80 pound bags.” “I got it, besides there's just 25 and two 40 pound bags.” “You're the most hard headed son of a bitch that has ever walked the Earth.” “I've never heard that before.” He started unloading bags of Quikrete as his partner unloaded and stacked lumber. By the time he had the concrete unloaded the frame was finished and he grabbed the auger to start digging post holes. “Let me do a couple.” “Just get the frame set and once we get some posts in the ground I'll start decking and you can finish.” The sun was beating down, his hands were slick with sweat and on the 4^th hole the auger hit a root. The auger quit moving but he lost his grip on the handles and they swung around, hitting him in the left thigh, and threw him like he weighed about 150 pounds, which he did. He reached out just in time to grab a spinning handle and drag the auger with him.

“I'm just going to lay here for awhile.” “Give me the damn auger. Let it go.” “Damn that, this is my auger. I'm going to finish every hole.” “Tell me another reason why you're doing this and don't get up 'til you're finished. Make it detailed.” “Brevity is the soul of wit.” “Sarcasm is the lowest form.” “A man needs to know how to fix things. He needs to be able to take care of his own shit and anybody else's shit that might not have a strong back to take care of it themselves.” “You're gonna break you're back.” “Nah.” “Just keep landing on your head.” “”If I come home and there is a leak, a toilet seat needs changing, the little rod that holds the clothes in a closet broke, whatever; I'm going to fix it. If we get a new house and she says, “A deck would look nice out here.” Then I'm calling dad, we're gonna go to the lumber yard, grab a couple drills and the miter saw, and build a damn deck.” “Valid, not sure about rational.” He got up, grabbed the auger, and headed to the next hole. “That first ramp we built, that was the first time I ever built anything. I've torn a lot of shit up in my life but building something was foreign.” “Is that a metaphor?” “I don't think so.”

He started to crank the auger but it was almost out of gas. He laid it down and went to get the post-hole digger. “Will you quit once you're comfortable that you can build whatever you want?” “I might. I'm sure there is a mechanic out there somewhere who needs a helper that he can teach. I'm no good with cars.” “You're going to die dirty.” He grinned, ear to ear, “God, I hope I do.”