Ted of the d’Urbervilles

Chapter 2-2

We travelled in a northeasterly direction. I saw Indian lands, the Navajo. We passed through Albuquerque, Santa Fe. Arizona had been starkly beautiful. New Mexico was far bleaker, as if the former got all the good genes. We didn’t stop. It would take twelve hours to get to Denver. Chuck was on a tight schedule. So was I.

Most people drove and stopped, saw the countryside, shopped in kitschy stores, bought a postcard or two. I saw the countryside from many feet up, a whizzed-by version of it. It was like watching TV. It got boring, so I watched Chuck instead.

“Do you have a husband, Chuck? A boyfriend?”

“Fishing, Ted?”

I shook my head. I had no bait. “No. Just curious.”

He sighed. “Single.”

“Do you have s*x with the other truckers then? With tourists in truck stops? Cops along the road?”

He briefly looked my way. Our eyes locked. Butterflies took wing inside my belly. He turned back to the road. “My life is not a porn movie, Ted. This is my job. I have a home in Tucson. From Denver, I’ll head to Vegas, then back to Phoenix. That’s my usual route. The pay is good. Solitude works well for me. I’ve had s*x with other truckers, but it’s a rare thing because other truckers are rarely gay and, even more, rarely attractive.”

“Is that why you had s*x with me, because I’m attractive?”

The sigh returned. “I had s*x with you because you seem broken and I like fixing things.” He grinned. “And because you’re attractive.”

I started to reply. I stopped. I was broken. I was broken but didn’t realize it showed. In my mind, I was still how my parents saw me. I think that’s how I kept my s**t together. I was a good boy for them, even though they weren’t a them anymore. I’d been locked in place, only, I suppose, time and circumstances nonetheless changed me.

“Ted d’Urbervilles, homeless and broken.”

He blinked. I detected a wince. “I’m sorry I called you broken.”

I shrugged. “I’m glad you said it. I didn’t know it showed. Maybe it’ll give me a reason to change.” There was that sliver of hope again. It seemed far away, a shrinking sun on the horizon. Melodramatic, to be sure, but no less true. Maybe all I’d needed was to get out and talk to people, people like Giselle and Chuck. Then again, maybe all I needed was a home and family, three square meals instead of one on a square bit of floor tile.

“You don’t need…” He squinted. “Wait, d’Urbervilles. Is that your last name?”

I nodded. “Yep. Why do you ask?”

“Unusual name.”

My shrug rose northward. “Is it?”

He grabbed for his cellphone, which had been sitting in his cup holder. “d’Urbervilles,” he said into the device, then handed it my way. “Think that’s you?”

I read the news on his small screen. I read the small news with wide eyes. Mortimer, it turned out, had a sister, Matilda d’Urbervilles. Cruel parents to name their kids like that. Cruel parents who were also rich. Obscenely so. And also quite dead. No other relatives. Everything would be left to the lone surviving heir, namely Matilda. No mention of me. Why not? I thought. I thought I was an heir.

“Huh,” I said as I placed his phone back in the holder.

“You’re rich, Ted.”

I shook my head. “The article says that I have a cousin Matilda. Says she’s the lone surviving heir.”

“Matilda? Does she waltz?”

It was my turn to squint, and to repeat, “Huh?”

“Never mind. Maybe you weren’t reported to the news. Maybe, for years and years, all anyone knew about were your cousins. Maybe that’s all they knew about, too. I mean, you didn’t know about them, so—”

“So they didn’t know about me.” Which was sad. I mean, Mortimer was dead, and that was sad, but I could’ve had a family these past six years. They could’ve had a family, too. That seemed sadder. Because there’s nothing sadder than a wasted opportunity. Or being homeless. And orphaned. “But they seem to know about me now.” I wondered how that was possible. How did they not know about me before Mortimer died, but they knew about me after? “Doesn’t add up.”

“Does it need to? You’re headed their way. You’re an heir. Seems to me, you have just as much right to the family estate as anybody.”

Goosebumps ran up my spine. I shivered in my seat. Heir. Family. Estate. My world seemed to be rounding one of Giselle’s bends. Alice had a looking glass; I had a truck window. “My parents never mentioned anything.”

“They probably didn’t know either.”

The sadness blossomed in my chest. I didn’t have to touch my cheek this time; I knew what I would find. My mom died of cancer. Was there a treatment if you had the money to pay for it? Could she have lived another five years, ten? Then dad would’ve, too. Hope. Money could buy a whole bunch of slivers.

I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, we were in Denver.

More lost opportunities. More sadness. Only, this time it was because I’d be leaving Chuck. I knew Giselle for less than a day. Chuck, too. People came in and out of my life. In, I found, was far better than out.

“Well…” he said as we pulled into the truck stop.

I rubbed my legs. I stared out at the Rockies. New Mexico had become Colorado. People got gypped everywhere. Life didn’t seem fair. It wasn’t a lesson I’d recently learned. “Yeah, well…”

He reached for his wallet. I put my hand over his. I didn’t want his money. I mean, sure, I did want it, I just couldn’t take his money. I’d get to New York. I’d already made it to Denver. I’d met two nice people. I had s*x in a truck. Life was full of adventure. Besides, maybe I was already rich.

“I’ll be fine,” I told him. We were in front of his truck. He reached out and pulled me in. I held on tight. I didn’t want to let go. My hand wasn’t buried to his hilt, but I still felt the tether. People can become connected in less than half a day. That was a lesson to learn. That was, in fact, a lesson to take to heart. I’d avoided people for a long time; perhaps that was my mistake.

He kissed me. I tried to hold on to the memory, in case I needed it later.

“Good luck Ted of the d’Urbervilles.”

It had a nice ring to it.

I nodded. My cheek was wet. I’d have to go looking for that cork of mine. I turned and walked away, knowing where I was headed. I saw it a mile back. I was already a homeless man. I figured that being a tramp, a hobo, would be about the same thing.

All that is to say, I’d done the truck thing; it was time to try a train.