Buick Moon

Buick Moon
Chris Walter

Squeezing through the hole in the bottom of the chain link fence,
Annie's jacket became ensnared on a loose strand of wire. Tugging the
garment free, she created a tiny rip in the fabric. Clouds of doom
moved in fast.
"Shit," Annie swore softly. She examined the minute tear with a deep
frown.
"It's not too bad," Jack assured her. "It'll be okay." Annie had a
tendency to let small concerns darken the larger picture. Often a minor
incident like this would be enough to plunge her into unreachable
depths of depression. Fortunately, her spirits were high today and she
was able to put the mishap behind her. Smoothing the rip with an
element-weathered hand, she watched as Jack struggled through the gap
clutching a bulging plastic shopping bag. Brushing dirt and dead leaves
from their clothing, the trespassers paused as a distant yelping of
large dogs became audible. Jack quickly retied the hole in the fence as
two massive rottwielers came tearing around a stack of rusty
automobiles to confront them. It would not do to release such vicious
animals on an unsuspecting populace.
"Oh, hush!" Annie scolded the beasts as if they were small children.
The dogs skidded to a halt, frenzied barking turning to a happy wagging
of stubby tails.
Jack squatted and playfully scratched an immense, block-like head.
"Hey King! Howzit goin' ole buddy!"
The huge dog grinned widely and licked Jack's stubbly, wizened face
with a tongue like a large, wet/dry sandpaper sponge. Doggie drool
dripped to the dirt as the happy animal frolicked with the junkyard
resident. As a guard dog, King was woefully derelict in his
duties.
Reaching into the shopping bag, Jack pulled out two large ham bones
with tendrils of stringy meat still clinging to them. "Here ya go,
Duke. I didn't forget you."
King's companion, who had stood by wagging expectantly, gently took
one of the meaty bones from Jack's wrinkled fingers. Torn between a
desire to cavort with Jack, and a predisposed instinct to eat, the dogs
regretfully turned their attention to the bones, gnawing savagely on
the gristly treats.
The sun was just beginning to set on the Triple A Wrecking Yard.
Fingers of light danced over crumpled chrome fins and prismed through
shattered windshields of magnificent machines long forgotten. To Jack,
it was the most beautiful place in the world. He draped an arm around
Annie's rounded shoulders and guided her through the towering rusty
canyons. Peace flowed through him as he gazed around at all the
squashed memories. Even automobiles in this deplorable condition made
him happy. They were all here: Packards, Pontiacs, old Chevy sedans,
the mighty Cadillac, rusty Ford coupes, Corvairs, Studebakers, and at
the bottom of one particularly impressive pile, the crushed, unfairly
ostracized corpse of a lime green '52 Edsel. Just walking amongst the
stacks of twisted metal brought back images of Jack's youth with
crystal clarity. He looked up mistily at a two-tone salmon and white
'57 Chevy Belair. He had once owned one just like it.
"I'm tired. Are we almost home?" asked Annie shoulders slumping even
further. All the cars looked the same to her, and without Jack to lead
the way, she could become dangerously lost.
"Just a little further, Annie. We're almost there." The fatigue of the
day settling into his ancient bones, Jack shifted the shopping bag to
his other arm. His muscles weren't what they used to be. Taking a left
corner at a massively damaged '62 'Vette, the aged couple stopped at a
stack of ruined, decaying automobiles. Five cars up was the battered,
half crushed shell of the white '43 Ford panel truck Annie and Jack
called home. Using the fender of a mangled Malibu for a footstep, Jack
climbed up and hung the bag from a shattered rearview mirror so his
hands would be free to assist Annie.
"Why do we have to live so far up?" asked Annie from force of habit.
Climbing was not one of her favorite activities.
"We don't want other cars on top of us," explained Jack patiently. "We
want the penthouse suite. Besides, there's too many rats on the ground
floor." King and Duke did their best to keep the rat population under
control, but it was a losing battle.
Puffing heavily, Annie and Jack reached the summit and pulled
themselves wearily into the panel truck. The climb was a little more
difficult each time. Annie pulled off her tattered running shoes and
began massaging her aching feet. Jack was hungry. He emptied the
shopping bag and inspected the contents. The day's scrounging had
yielded five, stale apple turnovers, three oranges, a can of meat with
no label, four bagels, and a two liter jug of cheap red wine. Dumping
the mystery meat onto a plastic plate, Jack produced a worn pocket
knife and began carefully slicing the gelatinous mass. It was no prime
rib, but it was better than the stale bread and moldy cheese that
constituted their usual diet. Even Spam was a welcome change.
A stained mattress served as a dinner table for the modest picnic.
Jack divided the meat evenly and cut Annie a bagel. He enjoyed the
familiar ritual and wished everything was as simple as the small role
he now played. Opening a battered, wooden chest, Annie removed two
chipped coffee mugs and filled them with wine.
"Thank you, Annie," said Jack taking his mug. He took a modest sip and
studied the frog imprinted on his mug. Annie's, appropriately, bore the
image of a penguin. Although he had never mentioned it, Jack thought
his mate bore a remarkable likeness to the small arctic bird. The
couple ate silently and watched as the sun disappeared behind a
mountain of rusted metal, the last weak rays peeking valiantly through
chinks in the wreckage with stubborn resistance. A Buick moon rose
behind a flattened school bus. It was a carbon copy of last year's
model.
It was no accident that Annie and Jack had come to live in this
abandoned outpost of dead cars and forgotten tragedy. They had lived in
parks, under bridges, and in an endless assortment of run-down inner
city hotels. Gentrification had pushed them further and further from
the city core, each new set of neighbours resenting them a little more
than the previous ones. As the ranks of the disenfranchised grew, Annie
and Jack were forced to expanded their traditional territories. It was
on one such salvage mission that Jack had discovered the auto
graveyard. From the moment he first laid eyes on it, he knew
intuitively this was the place they were meant to be.
"Can I have some more wine, please?" Annie asked quietly. Jack
refilled her glass with the jug that had somehow become attached to his
right hand. In the fading light, he caught a brief glimpse of the great
beauty his mate had once been. She was a reflection of the cars around
them, wrinkled and tarnished, but with occasional flashes of rare
splendor still shining through. Annie was such a pretty penguin.
Jack climbed into the front of the truck and drew heavy curtains over
the space where the windshield had been. Lighting a small Coleman
lantern, he checked twice to make sure the curtains were completely
closed. It would be unfortunate if a night watchman were to spot an
errant ray of light from their domicile.
Annie and Jack had been together since the beginning of time. She had
waited for him while he had served a prison term for involuntary
manslaughter. He, in turn, had waited while doctors in the hospital
played electrical games with Annie's head. Whenever they were
separated, it was never a question of if they would be reunited, only a
question of when. They were like bannock and lard.
The wine went slowly, neither of them requiring the large amounts of
alcohol once necessary. From time to time they would get up to relieve
themselves in a plastic five gallon pail by the back door. Annie and
Jack had lived so long without modern amenities they no longer thought
about them much at all.
Annie watched Jack carefully with eyes like black marbles. He had not
struck her for a very long time, but often alcohol would make him
bitter and cruel for no discernible reason. Once, after a particularly
heavy day of boozing, he had punched and kicked her. Annie had waited
until he passed out before waking him with a sharp butcher knife to his
throat. She had told him in no uncertain terms that if he ever hit her
again, she would open him up like a Christmas turkey. It was a promise
she never wanted to keep.
At first, Annie had resented living in the Triple A Wrecking Yard, it
was so far from all their friends, and the walking they had to do in
order to eat and drink was considerable. But now, sitting here amongst
the ghosts of lost highway souls, she felt a peace that had escaped her
most of her life. It was so silent sometimes she imagined she could
hear the old cars murmuring quietly to each other in the dark. This was
home.
Jack unrolled their sleeping bags and prepared to turn in. It was fall
and the air had a nip to it. Annie removed her heavy outer jacket. Now
she was down to seven layers of sweaters of varying thickness. Fully
garbed, she resembled a small child overdressed by a poor, but
attentive mother. Shivering slightly under her swathing of clothes,
Annie covered her legs with the sleeping bag.
Jack topped up their mugs with the last of the wine and fixed Annie
with the expression he always wore when he wanted something.
"Do you have any Valium left, Annie?" Jack found that tranquilizers
stretched the wine further and allowed him to sleep more soundly.
Annie's face crunched up into a sour ball. "You know I need those
pills. Do you really want me to run out?" They went through this all
the time. Jack wanted her pills for recreation, while Annie needed them
merely to function. It was a long-standing bone of contention between
them.
Jack stayed silent and looked at Annie with beaten, puppy dog eyes. It
was a ploy that often worked for him, and tonight was no exception.
Cursing her weakness, Annie dug in her pockets and passed him two
small, blue pills.
"Thank you," he said meekly washing the Valium down with the last
dregs of his wine. Annie struggled with a desire to save her last two
pills for the next day and lost. Placing the pills on her tongue, she
swallowed them dry. Jack stretched out and waited for mellowness to
overtake him. All was well in the auto graveyard.

The early morning sun stung Ray's eyes. He regretted having to touch
this area of the wrecking yard at all. Besides the fact that the
decrepit automobiles held a certain sanctity, car aficionados were
always digging through them in search of treasure. However, the owner
of the yard wanted to make room for more cars and orders were
orders.
KERBLANG! The huge electro-magnet seized the roof of the panel truck
in an iron grip. With a pull of a lever, the crane operator hoisted the
truck into the air, and crunching heavily over oil-soaked earth, moved
slowly towards the car compactor.
Jack awoke with a start. He and Annie were lying together in a tangled
heap at the foot of the dresser. Climbing down into the driver's seat,
he threw back the curtains and saw the ground twenty feet below. In a
heart stopping instant he knew what was happening.
"HEY! PUT US DOWN! THERE'S PEOPLE IN HERE!" Jack yelled. Because the
boom obscured his vision of the cab, he couldn't even see the operator.
Panic rising fast, Jack shouted louder. "YOU STUPID ASSHOLE! PUT US
DOWN!" Ahead, the jaws of the compactor yawned ravenously
Below them, King and Duke ran around the crane barking frantically.
Ray stuck his head out the cab window and shouted at the dogs. "Shut
the hell up! You stupid mutts! What the hell is wrong with you?" He
swung the boom a little further to the left and positioned the truck
over the compactor. Jack flew into the back and landed on top of Annie
as the truck pitched sickeningly.
"WHAT'S GOING ON?" screamed Annie over the roar of the crane. She
clung tightly to her partner, terror etched deeply on her face.
Abruptly, the magnetic hold on the roof was released and the panel
truck dropped into the crusher below.
Annie whimpered as the hydraulic jaws hissed inexorably closer. Jack
stroked her smooth, dark hair with infinite tenderness.
"It's okay, Annie," he whispered. "We're safe now."
The dogs barked wildly.