Andy Ettleman had an orange AMC Gremlin. He inherited it from his grandmother, who lost her sight after sniffing too much glue. She was a hippy in the sixties and was a recreational drug user right up to her death in 1997. She inhaled glue because she ran out of money for her drug of choice—hashish.
“Where are we going?” I asked, rolling down the passenger-side window.
Andy had picked me up after delivering pizza at Three Fat Guys and had two large pies in the backseat in a red zippered bag that kept them warm. They smelled delicious, and I was starving.
“The anchovies are mine,” Andy said. “You have the mushrooms and sausage. I hope it’s okay.”
“Sure, I’m fine with any topping except anchovies. I don’t even know what they are.”
“They’re little silverfish in a can,” Andy said. “It’s an acquired taste.”
“Seems like it would mess up a pizza.”
“I like the salty flavor, dude—and grandma said it was good for the heart.”
We had been pot buddies since our first year of high school. We smoked twice a week, usually in the late afternoons, just riding around downtown Santa Barbara. He sometimes brought food from Three Fat Guys, like subs and curly fries—but this is the first time he got two large pizzas.
“My last stop didn’t want them, so my boss offered them to me. It’s one of the fringe benefits. They might be a little smashed because I ran over a pothole.”
“I don’t care when I’m hungry. Where are we going, anyway?” I asked.
“Up the Santa Ynez. I found a cool spot that overlooks Santa Barbara by the edge of a cliff. Hope you’re not afraid of heights.”
“No,” I said, rolling a joint. “I went to the Grand Canyon twice—stood on the Skywalk and didn’t wet my pants.”
We drove up a steep, winding hill to a cliff. We pulled close to the edge, which scared me since the Gremlin had questionable brakes. Once we parked, Andy turned off the ignition but left the radio playing. We rolled more joints and ate pizza.
“You know, Andy,” I said. “I was pissed the day my father told me he was leaving California for Oregon.”
“Why did he go to Oregon?”
“He met some slut on the internet. He said it didn’t work out between my Mom and him, so he went to try someone new.”
“You mean, new pussy.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s it. The first thing Mom said was good riddance to white trash. He was going through a mid-life crisis.”
“You’re lucky, Sean,” said Andy. “I didn’t know my dad. He died when I was fourteen.”
“Sorry, dude.”
Andy started crying. The Pacific Surfliner heading South at Carpinteria ran over his father. He was a transient who used to walk the train tracks when intoxicated. Andy’s parents were divorced then, and his father lost his job.
“He lived in a tent on the beach and walked up and down the tracks all day, hoping to get hit by a train.”
Andy wiped the tears from his eyes.
“I always thought I’d end up like him,” said Andy.
“You have a job.”
“Yeah, I deliver pizza and still live with my mother. I’m one step from being on the streets. But you, Sean. You’re going to college—you have a future.”
“I don’t have it so great, either, Andy. I never told you this, but I always envied you. You’re the only guy I know who’s free. You’re not tied down and not obsessed with money or clothes.”
“Yeah, as long as the Gremlin holds up. My life is contingent on whether the Gremlin is running. Once that stops, I’m done.”
“You’ve been saying that for the last five years. Your car is magical. It’s been in three accidents, caught on fire, broken into twice, towed away for unpaid tickets—yet, it still runs.”
Andy smiled. “It’s like my grandma. She survived a triple bypass, cancer, and amputations. She was down one leg and half an arm, but that didn’t stop her from lighting up doobies.”
“I remember that, Andy. She was hopping on that one leg like a pogo stick.”
“Yeah, she couldn’t afford a fake leg, but I think she didn’t want one anyway. She didn’t like anything unnatural.”
“My granny wasn’t like yours, Andy. She had a stroke, and she could only talk out of the side of her mouth. She also had corns on her feet as big as cauliflower.”
“Gross, dude.”
“Yeah, it was. She soaked her feet in Epsom salts whenever I came over. I think she liked grossing me out.”
Andy grabbed another slice. He could eat a whole pie, while I had three slices at most. He was fat and had a big belly, while I looked anorexic. He was only twenty, yet he had a middle aged body.
“Grandma loved anchovies on her pizza, salads, and Cream of Wheat. She even ate them raw and gave me some to taste. She used to feed me them out of a can when I was a baby.”
“Is that why you work for a pizza joint, to be closer to anchovies?” I had a laughing fit and gagged on a mushroom. Then I started drinking Pepsi and laughed again as soda squirted from my nose.
“Sorry, Andy. Wanting to be close to an anchovy cracked me up.”
“Yeah, I love them, but I like driving around and smoking pot with you, too.”
I looked in the rearview mirror at my bloodshot eyes. I resembled an older man with an eye infection. Andy didn’t look much better.
“Andy, did I ever tell you that my father was arrested in Oregon?”
“No.”
“He ran over two bikers preparing for the Tour de France. It was an accident, but he didn’t stop—he kept driving. Somebody identified his car, and the police caught up to him. He went to jail for manslaughter—dumbshit!”
“Serves him, right, Sean. He left you and your mom. Nothing ever good happens when a guy leaves his family.”
We smoked for a while, staring at the city’s lights below. It had gotten dark, and we couldn’t see the ocean anymore. We listened to Moody Blues and sat with a stupid grin while “Nights in White Satin” played.
“I gotta take a leak,” I said.
“Piss in the bushes across the road. That’s what I do.”
I crossed the gravel road to a bush. It was the longest piss on record, and I was tired of standing there for so long. I wondered why a bottle of Pepsi could create so much liquid. Finally, it was over, and I zipped my fly. When I turned around, Andy and his Gremlin were gone. That sonofabitch left me, I first thought. But I knew he wouldn’t do that. He was a good friend. I went to the parking spot, and something told me to look over the cliff. When I glanced over, I saw a car on fire and knew it was the Gremlin. My friend must have accidentally pushed the car in gear and rolled off the cliff.
I reached into my pocket for a phone to call 911, but I had left my phone in the car. So I hitched back to town and had the driver call emergency. I was too high to feel any emotions at the time, but the next day, after I explained everything to the cops at the station, I wondered what if I was in the car with Andy while it went off the cliff. The police informed me that Andy had survived the crash and was in intensive care. Once he left the ICU, I visited him in the hospital and brought him some anchovies.
“Hi, Sean,” he said, all bandaged up.
“I guess you’re upset about your grandma’s Gremlin.”
“Oh, no. The insurance is giving me enough money to buy another car.”
“What kind of car are you thinking about getting.”
“One with a parking brake that works,” and put an anchovy into his mouth.
About:
Mark Tulin is a former family therapist from Philadelphia. He is a Pushcart nominee and a Best of Drabble. His books are Magical Yogis, Awkward Grace, The Asthmatic Kid and Other Stories, Junkyard Souls, and Rain on Cabrillo. His writing credits include The Daily Drunk Magazine, MuddyUm, The Haven, WryTimes, R U Joking, Defenestration, Spank the Carp, Fleas on the Dog, and others. Follow Mark at www.crowonthewire.com.
