Chapter One – Hate You, Hate Kansas

Rudy Davis breathed a sigh of relief as he approached his driveway and saw that Circe’s car was gone. After hiking Utah’s West Desert with Pete for the last three days, he was just too tired to deal with her latest drama tonight.

The tiny green light from the answering machine pierced the dark, cold living room like a lighthouse strobe when he opened the door. He dropped his keys on the table, pushed the button, and listened to the solitary message.

"I couldn’t bring myself to say this to your face, so here goes: I've been seeing John for quite a while now and he’s moving in. We’re going to Cabo for a week and you need to be gone when we get back.” Damn, that was cold. He thought.

He played the message again and for some reason he was surprised that it said the same thing. It shouldn’t have come as a big surprise and, truth be told, it really wasn’t. It was like waiting for a loved one to succumb to a lingering illness; you know its coming but you’re never quite prepared when it finally happens. Once the shock wore off, he was just a relieved that that one of them had finally pulled the plug.

He listened to the message for the third time and then he took a deep breath and felt the world roll off his shoulders. If he’d known it would feel this good, he’d have done it himself a long time ago.

Looking back on this day many years later, he still would scarcely believe the chain of event this little message would set in motion.


The next morning he felt hung over and full of self-pity, which took him by surprise. For reasons he couldn’t understand, last night’s euphoria had turned sour and curdled in his stomach.

In the shower he thought about the afternoon that he’d stayed home sick and some psychologist had been Oprah’s guest, Doctor whatever his first name was. Dr. Firstname had said that breaking up was the emotional equivalent of being run over by a gravel truck, that even if it was the worst relationship on earth there was still a sense of loss. Maybe just the loss of what you had hoped the relationship would be, but it’s always painful.

That must be what it is, he thought as he pondered the bewildering knot in his stomach and the strange mix of emotions whirling around inside. Something else was going on he knew, something bigger than Circe, bigger than a breakup that he’d really wanted anyway. This was a catalyst for something bigger.

He dressed for work, checked the mirror to make sure the knot in his noose was straight and moved through his commute much slower than usual. Once he was parked outside the office he sat in his truck, engine still running, barely able see the sign on the building through the foggy winter morning.

It didn’t seem like so long ago when he’d been full of promise, recruited by dozens of colleges. His senior year, he’d played in the final four in front of 20,000 hysterical fans before becoming a first round NBA draft pick. It didn’t seem so long ago at all but it had been a good dozen years since his career had ended in a shambles.

He wasn’t sure why it was all so fresh again, so painful again, when he’d long ago dealt with his squandered past. Just now, sitting in his pickup on this dreary morning, it struck him that he couldn’t live this life for a single minute longer. Rudy Davis had been born for better things and he was not going wind up nothing more than a footnote in some sports trivia book. He had thought he knew his destiny but he had been wrong. Somewhere, in some hidden corner of his soul, a light still shined.

He shut off the ignition, had his hand on the door handle ready to exit the truck but he sat frozen. It was no longer a question of whether he would drive away or not. The only question left in his mind was if he should go inside and kick his boss squarely in the ass first.

After driving around the city aimlessly for two hours, he pulled to a stop in front of “The Prankster”, the little neighborhood tavern in downtown Salt Lake City that his friend Pete owned.

The Prankster was Rudy’s second home, the center of his social life since the day Pete bought it and he’d helped him get it ready to open. On any given night you might see an accountant sitting with a professor, an artist, a truck driver and a carpenter, discussing Malone’s game the previous night or whether Stockton had reached his prime. The only time that the blues didn’t fill the room was when the Utah Jazz or the University of Utah Runnin’ Utes were on TV.

Rudy banged hard on the door and waited. The thick oak door made little sound despite Rudy skinning his knuckles. There wasn’t a sound from within. The Prankster wouldn’t open for a couple more hours and he knew that Pete had been face down in the hay ever since he’d dropped him off last night.

He banged again, this time kicking the door with the toe of his sensible shoes. “Open up Pete, it’s me, Rudy”. After a while Pete stuck his head out the door, his eyes tiny bloodshot slits, and sporting a serious case of bed hair. He looked even worse than Rudy felt.

“Rudy, you know what time it is? I don’t open until noon.”

“Of course I know what time it is. How come, whenever you wake someone up, they think you’ve lost your ability to tell time?” Rudy asked.

Pete rubbed his eyes, unamused. “Why aren’t you at work?”

“For a shot of Tequila, I’ll tell you all about it.”

“A little early for tequila, don’t you think?”

“Nope. Not today”.

“Why me?” Pete snorted, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Why do the loonies always come to me? Aw hell, come in.” he said, pulling the door open as he stepped aside.

After three shots of Cuervo, Pete got tired of the idle chitchat and asked. “So what’s up, man, you and Circe been at it?”

“Not exactly” Rudy said and proceeded to give him the short version of everything that had happened in the few hours since they’d parted company.

“Holy cow, man, you’ve been busy. Hell, I can’t leave you alone for a minute.” Pete filled Rudy’s shot glass. “You really kicked his ass before you left?’
“Yep”

“So, when you say you kicked his ass, what did you do? I mean, like, you punched him out, or what?”

“No, I mean, I kicked his ass.” Pete still looked puzzled so Rudy continued. “I walked up behind him and booted him in the ass as hard as I could.”

“What did he do?” Pete managed between guffaws?

“He fell down, what do you think he did?"

“I mean, did he say anything.” Pete was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down his cheeks. Rudy’s deadpan expression and monotonous tone made the telling all the funnier.

“Nope, he just sat on the floor looking stunned until I turned around and walked out. I don’t know what he did after that.”

Pete filled two more shot glasses then proposed a toast. “To comeuppance.” He said. Rudy clanked his glass against Pete’s. “I’ll drink to that he said with a grin. To comeuppance.”

“What are you going to do now?” Rudy asked.

“I don’t know. Need a bartender?”

“Hell no. Knowing you, you’d give the place away.”

“Remember when we were in Hawaii last year?” Rudy said. “I said that if I ever got the chance I’d go back for good?”

“Yeah,” Pete laughed, “last year you said that in Hawaii, the year before you said that in Cabo San Lucas, going on about how you could live well for cheap in Mexico. The year before that… let’s see, I think we were in the Caymans that time.” Pete laughed. “Oh yeah, there was that New Year’s Eve in Vegas? You were going to be a blackjack dealer, just chuck it all and live in friggin’ Las Vegas.”

“Yeah well, if it were up to me, I’d really do it this time. I could chuck it all and move to Hawaii and write that bestseller. Be, like, the Hemingway of the Pacific, living the adventurous life and writing about it.”

Rudy was really looking for affirmation so he didn’t mention that he’d already made his decision.

“Whaddya mean, ‘if it were up to you’? Who else would it be up to? Was I the only one listening the other day when you were carrying on about mile markers on the interstate and all that crap? Like the saying goes, you’re free, white and over 21, you can do anything you want.”

“That was a racist remark.” Rudy chided.

“Hey, it’s an expression. I didn’t make it up. The point is, if you want to move to Hawaii, stop your bellyaching and do it. Cash in your 401K, pretend you’re in a Nike commercial and just do it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pete. People don’t just wake up one morning and decide move to Hawaii.” Rudy was hiding a little smile. Pete was following his imagined script pretty well.

Pete shook his head like a frustrated teacher trying to get through to a slow pupil. “Actually, I think they do. All the time. People do crazier things than that every freakin’ day. Rudy, you’ve never really stuck your neck out in your whole life. Everything you ever did came easy for you because if it didn’t, you just didn’t do it.”

Rudy knocked back another shot and bit into a lime. He was getting a serious buzz now, which helped this crazy notion seem reasonable.

“What do you have to show for the last ten years of your life? A few grand in your 401K, a leased Toyota, a broken down TV that’s older than your mother? Not to mention a worthless ex-girlfriend – who I might add, I warned you about. An ex-job and an ex-boss who’d probably filing assault charges on you right now. So what’s your ex-cuse?”

Rudy laughed. “Nice speech,” he said with a slight slur, the Tequila on his empty stomach really kicking in now. “Gees. Get a few shots of tequila in you and you become absolutely verbose. And all impromptu... very nice. I especially liked the ‘ex’ thing, that was really good. I guess you really are deep. Maybe you should be the writer.”

“You’re a schmuck.” Pete snorted, and then looked at Rudy, realizing for the first time that he might really do this. “Look,” He said seriously, “I’ve been listening to your rants on our hikes for years now and I know you write that stuff down. I like to give you a hard time because I’m an asshole and that’s what I do, but you really do have a gift.”

It wasn’t like Pete to be so serious and Rudy was taken aback. Since Beth, Pete had kept his emotions in a tightly corked bottle, hiding behind his happy-go-lucky facade.

“I read that manuscript you wrote a few years ago and I’m telling you, it’s good. I know that it was your fear of rejection that kept you from trying to get it published. Your greatest fault is that you’ve never been willing to do anything unless you were sure that you’d win, but at some point, you’ve got to take a chance. You know John Corbin, the publishing agent that hangs out here? I’ll bet he could get it published if you approached him.”

“You mean the John Corbin that ran away with my girlfriend?” Rudy asked.

“Oh, that’s the John she ran off with? I thought you meant John, that car salesman that she’s always….”

“John, the car salesman?”

“Well, the point is…”

“Wait, wait, wait. What car salesman?”

“Sorry buddy, I thought you knew. Everybody knows.”

“Everybody?”

“Uh, well, anyway, the point is, you’ve licked your wounds long enough. It’s time to take your life back. You don’t necessarily have to run off to Hawaii to do that but if that’s what it takes, it’s time.”

“A car salesman?” Rudy could hardly believe it.

“Forget that, listen, he did you a favor and we both know that. Look, I’ve known you for a long time and I know you’ve dreamed of doing something like this forever. When you got back from the European league, fed up and broken, you told me that what you really wanted to do was write. So go do it. Hawaii, Tonopah, Nevada, where ever.”

“And even though you’re a wiener, I’m gonna miss ya, but what good is a dream if you never act on it? You know; mile markers and all that crap?”

When the silence grew uncomfortable, he said, “I mean, I’m not going to miss your constant philosophizing…” He trailed off.

Rudy was fresh out of snappy comebacks and was seriously wishing he had one right now. He’d come here for reassurance and Pete hadn’t let him down. Now his other task was to say goodbye, which had never been his best thing, and he was trying to work up the right words.

“Listen,” Pete leaned across the bar, his voice quiet now, and serious in a way Rudy hadn’t heard in years. “You’re looking at a guy who had everything he ever wanted in the palm of his hand and watched it all slip away. I’m telling ya, you get one chance and if you blink you’ll miss it.” Rudy waited for him to take a breath so he could comment but Pete pushed on.

“I know you don’t believe this but maybe things do happen for a reason. I work this bar night after night and listen to the bull ‘till I think I’ll puke if I hear one more sorry assed stinkin’ DUI story. And all those stories of the glory days and everything so and so was gonna do with his life, and here they sit, night after night, slamming beer and talking smack and doing nothin’ ‘bout nothin’ and blaming everyone in their life for everything they didn’t do and for everything that went wrong.”

“From where I sit, it looks to me like you’ve already had more chances than most of us, probably more than your fair share. For whatever reason, this has all come together right now and if you don’t go for it you’re gonna wind up on one of these bar stools telling everyone how great you once were, before the Clippers screwed you over.”

“What I really wanted to be was a Pirate.” Rudy said, looking for some comic relief. “Maybe I should do that instead.”

Pete shook his head. “Naw, you don’t have the heart to be a Pirate. You don’t have it in you to hurt people and they don’t hand over the treasure just ‘cause you asked pretty please.”

“You’re an asshole, Schmidt, you know that?” Rudy said.

“Yeah, bite me, Davis.” Pete replied.

Pete and Rudy stared at each other for a while then Rudy finally stuck out his hand, unable to find the words to tell his oldest and dearest friend how much he meant to him. They’d been the best of friends since freshman year in college and leaving Pete behind was the hardest part of any of this.

“I know, man, I know.” Pete’s voice was cracking. “Save a Wahini for me, I’ll come see ya in Honolulu.”


Rudy packed only two bags and a trunk and then he checked his wallet for the third time. He had a cashiers check for $4237.12, exactly what the girl on the phone said he’d need to settle the lease on his pickup as of the end of business today.

Thirty-six years of living and Rudy had $39,200 in travelers’ checks, and the contents one old steamer trunk, one large canvas duffel, and his gym bag to show for it. There had been some stock certificates in a safe deposit box that had mysteriously disappeared when he’d gone to the bank, with the Tequila still on his breath, to retrieve them.

There’d be time to worry about that later but for now he was in a hurry to get out of town before he changed his mind. Whatever else there was he left in the apartment for Circe.

He called a cab and then he left a note on the kitchen table, something he’d seen on a bumper sticker once and had always wanted to use:

Auntie Em,
Hate you, hate Kansas, took the dog.
Dorothy

So they didn’t have a dog. Artistic license.

© 2008. David Heiniger. All Right Reserved.