Alligator Park (6 page)

It’s dark now. Clear ice is
starting to form on the sidewalks from the thin layer of water left behind by
the melting snow.
I proceed with caution. A sprained
ankle or broken leg that has disabled many an unsuspecting pedestrian would be a
disaster if that happened now. My plan would be in shambles.
I pass
through the black-iron gates and head for my friend Ben. The campus is largely deserted
at this hour. It’s not as cold as last night, but cold enough that the only people
out are the ones that have something important to attend to. Many of the
classrooms in the red-brick colonial buildings are illuminated, unusual at this
time of the evening, presumably from the rescheduled finals that were cancelled
due to the massive snow storm.

And there is Will, lying on
his bench, inside his sleeping bag, covered by a blanket, just like always.

“Hi Will.”

Will sits up.

“Look what I brought you,” I say,
showing him the plastic bag with the burritos.

Will takes the bag, hastily
opens it, smells the aroma.

“You know, I’m getting a
little worried,” he says.

“Worried? About what?”

“Well, when a girl starts
cooking for a fella on a regular basis, I got to wonder, is she up to something?
Not that I don’t appreciate it.” 

“Oh Will, you’re such a
comedian. But I do need a favor.”

“Then I’m right.”

“You’re right, but not in the
way you think.”

Will gobbles down the
burritos nonchalantly, but it’s obvious I’ve got his attention. Every few
seconds he looks up, in anticipation of the next thing I have to say.

“You know Will, you and I are
alike in many ways, don’t you think?”

“I can think of a lot of ways
we aren’t alike,” he answers.

“Both of us, at one time,
were at the top of our game. But now we’re social outcasts trying to get back
on our feet. Is that a fair assessment?”

“Go on.”

“And don’t we both want the
same thing, a decent job?”

“You could say that.”

“And the reason we can’t get
the job we want is because society has thrown artificial barriers in our path.”

“A fair assessment,” he says.

“So if society isn’t going to
help us, the only thing left is to help ourselves.”

“I can see the part about you
helping me, but somehow it doesn’t quite work the other way around.”

“But it does. I took your
advice and called Dr. Parker at the University of Florida and—”

“She gave you a job,” he
blurts out.

“Not yet. She wants to
interview me first.”

“That’s great. When are you
going?”

“I have to be there Wednesday.”

“Oh, I thought you were going
to say like tomorrow. There’s plenty of time.”

“It’s a little more
complicated than that.”

“What’s complicated about
jumping on a plane and flying to Florida?”

“I’m driving to
Florida, to live... and I want you to go with me.”

“Me? How did I become part of
your plans?” he asks.

“Think about it. There’s
nothing here for either one of us. I have no family, and the only family you
have are the pigeons.”

“Don’t be knocking my family.”

“I’m not knocking them. They’re
a fine family. But they can make out on their own. You’ve got to think about
your own future. What kind of a future would you have if you stayed here?”

“They promised us jobs,” he
says.

“You could wait another ten
years for those jobs. Isn’t it time to do what the commander said, make some
options?” 

Will thinks for a moment.

“You know, you’ve been really
good to me, and I knows why you’re asking me, on account you’re feeling sorry
for me. But it’s better you went yourself. I’d just be a burden to you anyway.”

“No, not at all. I assure you
my intentions are entirely selfish. I’m a city girl, born and bred in
Philadelphia. The farthest I’ve been is the Jersey Shore, and even that scares
me a little. The thought of driving to Florida, a thousand miles, alone, terrifies
me. I hardly drive as it is. What if I broke down? What if I met some crazy?”

“Oh, it’ll work out,” he
says.

“Will, you’re a world
traveler. You have experience doing these things. I would feel safe traveling
with you.” 

“You have a plan, a goal. What
would I do in Florida?”

“You have a brother. I’m sure
he would help you?”

“I haven’t seen him in years.”

“And that’s the best possible
reason to give him a call.”

Will ponders again. “You sure
you want to do this?”

“Of course, what’s the
number? We’ll call right here.”

Will rolls up his sleeve
revealing a phone number tattooed on his inner wrist, including the area code
and a name “Fargo”.

“Interesting idea, you’ll
never lose it,” I say.

“I had it tattooed there so
if I was to die in my sleep they’d know who to call to claim the body.”

I realized at that moment, in
spite of his shabby, uneducated appearance, Will was a realist. He had no
illusions he would live forever. And he was prepared for the worst, probably
better than most people.

What’s the number?” I say,
holding up my cellphone. Will rattles it off and I punch it in on the keyboard.
The call goes through and I hear it ringing. Then a man answers. I hand the
phone to Will.

“Hello, Fargo, it’s me.”

I can hear the other party
say something, but can’t quite make it out.

“It’s Will. You know, your
brother.” 

I wander away just out of
earshot giving Will the privacy he deserves. Will isn’t talking much, but I can
see him bobbing his head in agreement to something. Finally, Will strolls over
to me, hands me the phone.

“He thought it was my phone,”
he says. “Thought I had a job. I told him I just borrowed it.”

“Well?”

“Oh, he was glad to hear from
me.”

“Does he know you’re coming
to visit?”

“He’s fine with that. Says I
can stay as long as I want. When we was kids, he talked about starting a
business with me. Then I joined the military. That put an end to that.”

“So now you have a second
chance.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

This was all too perfect. We had
both made our plans, and it was all coming together. In just over a week we
would be on our way. All I had to do first was sell my furniture and buy a car.

“Do you have a driver’s
license?” I ask.

“Not anymore.”

“What happened.”

“I just never renewed it.
What good would it do me without a car?”

“You don’t mind driving some,
do you?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Then we have to get you a
license?”

“Sure, except I’m gonna pay
you back.”

“Forget it, it’s on me. Let’s
meet here, tomorrow, 8:00 AM, okay?”

“8:00 AM’s fine, I’ll be
waiting, he says.

Next morning, Will is waiting for me,
just like he promised. He stands there, fidgeting, looking all around, like
he’s excited about the trip. He’s changed his clothes, into clothes I didn’t
even know he had. He’s even trimmed his hair and actually looks quite
respectable.

We set out immediately for the
center city branch of the driver’s license bureau. Fortunately it’s an easy
walk from the university. Will proves to be in far better physical shape than I
had imagined. After ten blocks, I’m huffing and puffing and he isn’t even
breathing hard. I suppose living in the street has its advantages.

We arrive at the Driver’s
Bureau at about 10:00 AM, and immediately sign in. Within thirty minutes our
number is called. Will hands the clerk his application; she glances at it then
asks, “Do you have your expired license?”

Will fumbles through his bag,
hands her the license.

“Military,” she says, then
looks at his eye patch. “We need to get an eye test. Please look into the
eyepiece and read me the three middle lines.”

Will stares into the eye test
machine. 

“A-P-E-O-R-T-D-E-X,” he says,
rattling off all the letters he was told to read. 

“Perfect. Now stand in front
of the camera please.”

Will accommodates her, breaks
into a smile as she takes his picture.

“Good. Now I need a second form
of ID.”

Will gropes through his bag,
retrieves a tattered, folded up piece of faded paper, hands it to her. She
unfolds the paper, studies it.

“These are your military
discharge papers. Anything else?”

“No,” he says, shaking his
head side to side.

“I’m not sure about this. I’ll
be right back.”

Will and I watch the lady disappear
into the back office area. Will turns to me, shrugs. I can sense his feeling of
helplessness. The lady returns.

“I’ve discussed this with the
supervisor, and he approved it.”

Will’s eyes light up and he
breaks into a smile.

“Furthermore,” she adds, “he
waived the driving test since you’re already approved to drive several types of
military vehicles including trucks. I think that’s enough experience for anyone.”
 

The clerk processes the
paperwork, then hands Will his license complete with picture ID.

“Congratulations,” she says,
breaking out in a smile.

Will studies it closely and
then shows it to me, beaming from ear to ear. I gaze at it in admiration, but then
something jumps out at me.

“William Dane? The
hospital records said Franklin.”

“Oh that. It’s
like this; the hospital always does a background check. If I use my real name,
they will see I was in the military and send me to the VA.”

“What’s wrong
with the VA?”

“The VA Hospital
is far away... and they keep you there a long time... and I would have to beg
for bus fare to get back and I don’t like to beg.”

“Don’t they check
‘Franklin’?”

“They do, but
they come up empty, so they let me stay figuring I got no other options.”

To any other person, his
logic would appear to be flawed. But it made perfect sense to him so I just let
it pass.

“Let’s celebrate,” I say.
“Lunch is on me.”

“Well okay. I don’t know when
I’ll be able to pay you back.”

“Don’t even think about it. Come
on, let’s go.”

We exit the license bureau
and find a nice little center city cafe. Will and I find some empty seats amongst
a crowd of office workers and last minute Christmas shoppers. I order two
coffees and some croissants. Will looks around in awe. It’s probably been ages
since he was a paying guest in a restaurant and the smile on his face and
twinkle in his eye tell me he is clearly enjoying himself.

“Now that you have your
license, I need to get a car. Will you help me find a good one?”

“Of course, I’ll just cancel
my afternoon appointments,” he jokes, acting like some important executive.

We finish lunch then take a
bus to a used car lot just outside of town. The car lot is plastered with
banners and signs all over, “Great Deals”, “Lowest Prices”, and “Zero Money
Down”. We stroll down the first line of cars checking out prices marked in
white paint on the windshield. A lanky man, dressed in an oversized suit coat
and a colorful tie that doesn’t match, shuffles up to us.

“Hi I’m Carl. What you all
looking for,” he says, with a hint of a southern accent.

“We’re taking a long trip,
and we need something comfortable,” I say.

“How much you looking to
spend?”

“I don’t know, a couple
thousand maybe.”

“Don’t have much
in that price range.”

He looks around,
then points to a 70’s era Cadillac.

How about that
one?”

“Too big and too old’” I say.

“So you want something newer.”

He shuffles over to a tiny
Fiat.

“This is like owning an oil
well. I hope you both have big bladders ‘cause you’ll almost never have to stop
for gas,” he says, guffawing at his own joke.

“Too small,” I say.

He takes us over to a late
model SUV.

“How about this one?”

I notice the sign says
$10,000. He sees me grimace.

“Today’s your lucky day. I
can cut you a special deal on this. Some guy put a deposit on it, never picked
it up. How about, say, $5,000?” 

“Our budget is two thousand,”
I say.

He flinches, then scans the
lot.

“Mmmm. It’s going to be tough
to get you something for two thousand.”

Carl walks to the garage,
motions us to follow, and then opens the door.

“This just came in. It’s a PT
Cruiser, late model, good condition. You can have it for... four grand.”

He looks at us with a gleam
in his eye.

The car is lime green with a
sign painted on the side, “Bug-Off Exterminating”. Black cartoon bugs are painted
all over the hood and tailgate as if they’re about to devour the occupants.

Carl notices me frown then
quickly adds: “Blue Book on this is $4,500... after we clean it up and all.
It’s a tremendous deal.”

“What’s blue book?” I whisper
to Will.

Carl overhears me, jumps
right in. “Blue Book is the fair market value of the vehicle,” he says, as if
reciting it from a recent class in car salesmanship. “It’s what dealers go by when
pricing used cars.”

“No... I don’t think so. It’s
over budget,” I say.

“This is a great car, strong
motor, good transmission; we checked it out and everything is fine,” he
insists. “How about three thousand?”

“Well, maybe if you remove
the bugs and sign,” I say.

Carl frowns. “Look, I’ll be
honest with you. It would cost fifteen-hundred to clean this up and repaint.”
He paces the floor then turns to me: “Tell you what; give me cash and it’s
yours for two grand.”

Will opens the hood, checks
the oil and a few other things, then starts the engine. He revs it up a few
times then asks me to check for blue smoke in the exhaust.

“What does blue smoke mean?”
I ask.

“It means the rings are shot.
Don’t ever buy a car with bad rings.”

I look, see no smoke, and give
him the OK sign.

“Let’s take it for a test
drive,” he says.

“Can we?” I ask Carl.

“Of course, like I said we
checked it all out. May I see your license?”

Will hands Carl the newly
printed license.

“Just need a copy,” he says, and
then disappears into the office. A moment later he is back and hands the
license to Will.

Will closes the hood, climbs
into the driver’s seat. I slip into the passenger seat. Will maneuvers the
Cruiser out of the lot and onto the street then proceeds to drive onto a
freeway. He gets the car up to seventy.

“Handles good,” he says.
“It’s got my blessing.”

“Will it get us to Florida?”

“The engine is strong, and
the tires are pretty new. Probably got well serviced if it’s from a business. I
say go for it.”

We return to the car lot;
Carl greets us.

“So... is it a deal?”

“Take a check?” I ask.

“We take everything. Let’s go
inside.”

We follow him into the office
and thirty minutes later I’m driving home in my new “Bug-Mobile”.

I turn to Will. “I hope we
did the right thing.”

“It’s exactly what you need
for a trip like this,” he says. “And when you get your PhD, there’ll be money
for better things.”

Yes, of course. When I get my
PhD there will be money, lots of money, for all the things I’ve always wanted
but could not afford. I peer at the streets lined with Christmas decorations,
the hordes of people hustling from store to store seeking out that special gift,
and the piles of snow that give the inner city a real holiday feel and think to
myself: yes indeed, when I get my PhD, life will be good.