Goose Egg

We used to have this raggedy old RV, parked in the sugar cane fields outside of Hilo. We parked it at my Uncle Brent's homestead. Twenty acres of lush verdant farmland, which he cleared a decade or two ago. Maybe three now. What a beautiful place it was, still is.

I remember being seven and eight years old, driving a brand spanking new 4x4 all over the property. Roaring up and down the red dirt roads. With my foot on the throttle, and Zoran’s bigly juvenile company in the passenger seat. Maybe drunk on half a beer. Having a tremendous time wielding the machine. Rip roaring around the property. With wind woofing through the cockpit, leaned over the wheel, hugging the inside bend. Gobbling up the straight away down to the barn. Feeling the tall dew-covered grass whip through the door frames. Mashing puddles, spitting gravel. Chewing on a mouthful of nats. With a head full of gas and vulcan smoke. Howling and giggling. I pressure down the straight away. When suddenly, the unthinkable happens…

I whack a big volcanic boulder that scurried into the road when I wasn’t looking. Losing control of the rig. Feeling the wheel jump around, as we go fishtailing off the road. Mowing down a row of banana saplings. Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Holy freak.” I blurt out, looking over at Zoran and his big blonde bowl cut in deathly disbelief,

Slowly turning the key, killing the ignition. Stepping out of the 4x4 to find a tender little sapling crunched and mangled in the bull bar. Shrapnel splattered on the hood. I look back to find two more flattened saplings in the 4x4’s wake. Zoran has a pair of ghostly blonde eyebrows plastered across his forehead.

“Wha-wha-what should we do?” I stammer.

“I-I dunno.” Zoran gulps back.

“Daaad” I shriek, running for the stable on foot. Where I find him feeding the goats.

“Hey! Whats up! How’s it going?” Dad chirps with extra morning juice.

“Daaad, the 4x4 went off the road, I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh boy lets go check it out.” Dad hums from behind that furrowed brow of his. Making our way down the dirt road. Feeling the mud Squish and squwank as I drag myself back to the wreck. Zoran is waiting halfway, looking even more pale than before. Practically an apparition of parental discipline. Getting back to my colossal freewheeling frick up. Where Dad assesses the damage. Looking at the saplings inquisitively, picking at the grill. Checking under the hood. Rubbing his chin and scratching his head.

“Yeah your gonna have to tell Uncle Brent about this.” Dad states matter of factly. (there’s no damage to the 4x4)

I immediately burst into tears. Sniffling and blubbering woe is me. Dad turns over the ignition and backs out the 4x4, blasting the saplings again. Squirting and crunching through the muck. Zoran and I squeeze in the passenger seat as we roar back to the house. Where I step out, waddling sullenly forward, like I’m headed for the gallows. All shackled up. Finding Uncle Brent welding in the garage.

“Uncle Brent.” I squeak out. He can’t hear me through clang and bang of the garage happenings.

“HEY! HO! UNCLE BRENT! RILEY HAS SOMETHING TO TELL YOU.” Dad bellows.

Uncle Brent spins around with his big brightly smile shining through the grease and soot caked on his face.

“Hey there Riley! What’s happenin?” Uncle Brent chimes back. Standing up seven feet tall with rotund Viking shoulders, nearly hitting his head on the top of the garage door. I wipe a big smear of snot across my shirt and say through the blubber,

“Un-un-ncle B-brent, the 4-4-4x4 got away from from me.” (another wipe of snot) “And I, and I, Gahh I’m sorry. I ran over your banana trees.” Letting out a big exhale and looking up at Uncle Brent. Who stands there smiling in jolly disposition, looking back down at me.

“Hey well don’t worry about that. We can plant some more tomorrow…” “Want a beer Q?”