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He finished fueling, grabbed his receipt, and went to clean the windshield. He grumbled about the oil and automobile com-panies. Then he turned his attention to the administration and politicians in general.
“NAFTA, CAFTA, crapta! More jobs lost in the U.S.A. and more exploited workers in Mexico and Central America.”
He shook his head and tossed the window squeegee into the receptacle and got back into his truck. He turned on the radio and found a station with ‘The Music of Your Life,’ a syndicated program in a world he understood and was comfortable in. He accelerated onto the highway and turned up the volume as Andy Williams began his rendition of Moon River.
~~~
Bob would miss his friends. He thought back at his parting that morning. …
“You shoulda had a garage sale,” Roy said, laughing. “Look at all this crap.”
His wife poked her elbow into his ribs.
He saw her scowl. “What?”
“It’s all he’s got left.” Amy said in a voice too low for Bob to hear.
Bob lay a stack of 33-rpm vinyl records on top of a bookcase. Then one last look at his belongings and lowered the overhead door of the U-Store unit. Roy and his wife watched him put the padlock through the door clasp.
Bob grinned. “Everything is boxed up. The shipper can just pick up this crap when I’m ready for it.” He tossed Roy the key to the storage unit.
“Stuff’ll be here when you get back,” said Amy.
Roy looked at the key in his palm for a moment. “Let us know how you’re doing, okay?” He shook his head. “Damn, I still can’t believe you’re leaving.”
“I’ll send an e-mail when I can. Don’t worry about the stuff in the locker. I’ll let you know if I need it, then I’ll hire some outfit to ship it.”
Bob shook hands with Roy, then turned and hugged Amy. “Thanks for everything.”
“You take care of yourself.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. “Call us if you get in trouble.”
Bob nodded and climbed into the cab. The three of them had lived in Lowell all their lives and attended the same schools. Roy had gone on to college and now owned an insurance agency.
Like his father, Bob had become a machinist and spent most of his career at the B&M maintenance depot. But now at only 53, he had retired, albeit with some help from corporate downsizing. No one wanted to hire a man his age in this new economy.
“Bye, guys,” he called out as he started moving out of the storage lot.
One last wave and he turned toward the southbound en-trance ramp for US-3.
Roy returned the wave. “I still can’t believe it. It just ain’t him.”
Amy nodded a few times. “He’s got to get it out of his system. He’ll be back.”
Bob felt odd and a bit sad leaving the place where he had lived all his life. He wondered if he would come to regret it. For sure, he would miss Roy and Amy, lifelong friends. But, now well into his fifties, Bob’s roots no longer held tightly to the town and his old life. His mid-40s lady friend of the last several months had succumbed to the lure of a man half her age, his ex-wife had moved to Ft. Lau-derdale with a real-estate developer a year ago, and his son was working in a big law firm in Atlanta. Sure, he received a telephone call on the holidays and e-mail now and then, but otherwise he hadn’t seen him or the grandkids in over two years.
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