Cynella's Gift

CHAPTER ONE

Jimmy Carlton tilted his head back and sucked out the last drop of beer from the bottom of the can. His pickup truck swerved toward the soft shoulder and the wide tires puffed up a huge cloud of red dirt before Jimmy regained control of the vehicle. He belched with satisfaction as he centered the old pickup on the lane. Then he tossed the empty beer can out the window. The can hit the warm pavement, rolled off on a journey down the road passing by a dead armadillo lying on its back with its legs pointing up toward the blazing red sun. The empty can turned toward the edge of the road, hit a small mound of sand, and then jumped into a patch of the tall brown grass.

The mid-afternoon sun is beating on the truck’s cab like a hammer of fire. The warm East Texas air is blowing in through the open windows.

Jimmy yanked his shirttail out of his blue jeans and used it to wipe droplets of sweat off his chubby jowls. It’s too hellishly hot to go to work, he protested to himself, shaking his head in despair. I can’t take the night off because I’ve used up all my damn sick time. Besides, tonight isn’t really a good night for watching the television. Thursday’s prime time is filled with too many of those ridiculous family sitcoms and stupid reality shows.

He again shook his head. I wonder if those crazy people who write family sitcom shows actually believe there are families out there who only have little amusing problems. He chuckled scathingly to himself as he imagined a sitcom husband coming home after a long day at work. His pretty wife is waiting at the front door with some bad news. She tells him he needs to shovel up the remains of their family dog because it was run over by their neighbor’s dually pickup. She continues with more terrible news by informing him their daughter is three months pregnant. The father is a strange homeless man who lives in a tent out in the woods. In addition, their son has been arrested because he’s been running a meth-lab out of the wonderful tree house he built for him when he was ten years old.

The sitcom husband tells his wife not to worry. That's because he knows the writers can find something funny to write about their unfortunate problems. His imagined story made him laugh aloud, although it sounded more like a series of pig grunts than laughter. Family sitcoms suck frog shit, he thought to himself. They should all be replaced with action packed shows like: The Outer Limits, Superman, or Wile E. Coyote cartons.

Jimmy turned his old Chevrolet pickup onto the County Highway. This is the last leg of his daily afternoon drive to Montana Plastics. He’s very familiar with every aspect of his thirty-one mile journey. That's because he’s been making the same tedious trip twice a day, four days a week, for the past twenty-four years.

Jimmy lit a cigarette, took in a long drag, which caused him to choke up a thick wad of yellowish phlegm which he spat out the window. During his drive to work, he likes to chain smoke to build up his body with an abundant supply of nicotine. He does this because he works at a non-smoking plastic extrusion facility specializing in profiled products, such as window casings, gaskets, and various types of moldings.

Suddenly, a classic light blue corvette convertible sounded its horn as it swerved into the oncoming lane to pass Jimmy. The burst of the Corvette’s horn startled him from his thoughts of wishing his truck has air conditioning, because the dash-mounted twelve-volt fan is about as useless as a bag of weed without any rolling papers. The driver of the Corvette shouted an obscenity before speeding off. Obviously, the black thick smoke bellowing from the pickup’s exhaust irritated him. Jimmy snapped his hand out the window and presented the corvette driver with a middle finger salute. He also shouted, Smart-ass! I got a right to drive on this damn road too! Of course, the driver of the Corvette was long gone; therefore, he never heard a word Jimmy shouted. Nevertheless, Jimmy is self-pleased with his burst of anger. He perked up like a proud hen-house rooster.

Jimmy chain smoked two more cigarettes and downed another can of beer before arriving at work. He maneuvered his truck through the entrance gate of the employee’s parking lot and drove down to the far end of the building. He parked in his usual spot next to the company's huge trash compactor. Jimmy switched off the dashboard-mounted fan, rolled up the windows, and laid an old moth eaten towel over his Styrofoam cooler of beer. He grabbed his supper bag consisting of his usual five McDonald’s Hamburgers. The cab door creaked as he swung it open, loudly banging it against the side of the compactor trash container. Then he groaned as he slid his overweight body out of the truck, planting his size-thirteen work boots onto the sun-softened asphalt. He slammed the door shut, swung a rusted hasp into place, and placed a large Master padlock through the hasp, securely locking the door to his satisfaction.

Hey, Jimmy, bellowed a co-worker who just got out of his fancy Ford pickup. Obviously you’re too Goddamn stupid to realize your rusted shit-box you call a truck belongs inside the trash compactor, not parked next to it.

Very funny, Richard. If you keep making fun of my truck, then I’m going to tell everybody I’ve been having sex with your sister.

Go ahead, snorted Richard as he approached Jimmy. Everybody knows my sister wouldn’t touch your maggot ass with a twenty foot cattle prod. Besides, instead of wasting what little brainpower you have by making up stories about my sister, you’d be better off to reserve it for your job, because the next time you let my hopper run out of plastic, I’m going to let the air out of your worn out tires.

Jimmy nervously rubbed the palms of his hands on his grease stained blue jeans. Look, Richard, you’ve got to understand it wasn’t my fault your damn hopper ran out of material. Last night I had too many material changes at once. I just couldn’t keep up with them. There was too much doggone work to do…and nobody offered to help me.

Look, dummy-do-little; I don’t want to hear your stupid excuses, so save them for super Jack, because he’s the only soft-hearted bastard who allows an idiot like you to continue working here. You’re damn lucky I’m not the nighttime supervisor. I would’ve fired your lazy maggot ass a long time ago.

Jimmy shook his head. That’s not very nice of you to call Jack a bastard. He’s damn good boss. I’ve never heard him say anything awful about you.

Hey, just because Jack happens to be a college educated black man who talks and walks like a white guy, doesn’t mean he can’t be a bastard. He smiled slyly as he waved a threatening fist up close to Jimmy’s nose. I’m telling you right now, you better not tell Jack what I said, or I’ll be forced to redecorate your face into something more frightening than what it already is.

Jimmy nervously nodded, then he started to walk away to escape Richards wrath. Jimmy loathed Richard because he’s just like those bully football jocks that tormented him in the one miserable year he went to high school. He was always too terrified to deal with them, so he’d run away like a scared puppy with its tail tucked between its legs.

Richard followed Jimmy. Hey, Jimmy, wait a damn minute. I’m still royally pissed off at you for screwing up my job last night. I don’t want you to mess-up again; therefore, I’m not done chewing your ass off.

Jimmy abruptly stopped and turned around looking as gloomy as a young boy who had just received a lump of coal in his Christmas stocking. Sorry, but I need to go use the bathroom.

You can hold it! Richard snapped, You need to understand that all the extruder operators depend on you to do your job. You’re the dumb-ass material handler, it’s your responsibility to keep all the extruder hoppers full of those little square things we intellectuals call plastic pellets.

Look Richard, I promise I’ll do a better job, Jimmy said while staring down at the dried red mud stuck to the tips of his weathered rawhide work boots. I promise, he said timidly as he continued to avoid eye contact with Richard. I’ll work harder to make sure your hopper never runs out.

You’d better make damn sure my hopper never runs out! Richard bellowed in anger, spraying spittle onto Jimmy’s forehead. Do you realize…last night I lost over an hour of production because of your incompetence to do a job a chimpanzee can do? Not to mention all the extra work I had to do to reset the extrusion line. You know damn well those soft white Polyurethane freezer gaskets are very difficult to set up.

Okay…okay, I’ll do better! Jimmy snapped loudly, and then his voice quickly softened. I promise I’ll do a better job. He paused to glance down at his wristwatch, an old Timex with a noticeable hairline crack in the lens. He loves to wear the watch because it once belonged to his father. It still works fine as long he doesn’t wear it in the shower. We’d better punch in or we’ll both get docked a half hour for being late.

Walking side by side, they hurried across the parking lot, through the employee’s door, down the hallway, stopping in front of the time clock. Jimmy stood aside allowing Richard Casey to punch his timecard first. He angrily jammed his timecard into the slot. He truly wished he had finished high school so he could be smart enough to become an extrusion technician, just like Richard Casey. Then he too can pick on the big dumb monkey who keeps the extruder hoppers full.

The first half of Jimmy’s ten-hour shift passed by without any material or color changes. This pleased him because it made his job much easier. It also gave him plenty of extra time for such things as sneaking out the rear emergency door for a quick smoke, reading his favorite funnies in the local newspaper, or taking a quick catnap in the men’s room while sitting on the crapper.

Jack Jones, the nighttime supervisor, walked up to Jimmy with another man trailing behind him like a little puppy dog. Jimmy, have you met our new extruder operator trainee, John Chipman?

John stepped forward extending his hand, Nice to meet you Jimmy.

Hi. Jimmy nodded calmly without taking John’s hand. He didn’t want to shake his hand because he figured this new guy would eventually treat him like shit, just like all the other asshole extrusion operators.

Jimmy, John is going to watch your hoppers for you so you can take your dinner break, Jack said in his usual pleasant tone and manner.

Without saying a word, Jimmy swiftly headed off toward the employee’s cafeteria. Upon arriving, he waited impatiently for a fellow employee to remove his supper from the microwave oven. Then he tossed his McDonald’s sack containing his burgers into the oven, slammed the door shut and pushed the three-minute sandwich button. His urgency for food forced him to remove the sack long before the countdown beeper sounded. He carried his meal outside to the employee smoking area and sat down at the wooden picnic table. He nodded hello to Richard Casey and Carmello Federico, who are sharing a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza. Jimmy lit up a cigarette, unwrapped one of his slightly warmed burgers and took a big bite out of it. Following each giant bite, he took deep drag of his cigarette."

Richard and Carmello are having a heated conversation about the pros and cons of upgrading their home computers to the next Windows edition.

But, Richard, I don’t understand how you can judge the upgrade before trying it out. The clerk at Don’s Computer Store told me it includes some real neat enhancements. It’s supposed to be easier to manage your files, it has improved protection for all your data, easier home networking connectivity, plus you can actually create high-definition movies.

You know something, Carmello, Richard said through a wide mischief looking grin. I think we need to seek a third opinion. Hey, Jimmy do-little, what do you think, is it worth the money and the trouble to upgrade your Windows? Richard asked while shooting a wink at Carmello.

Oh, I don’t know, answered Jimmy while shaking his head in thought. There’s really nothing wrong with the windows I have, except they need some new screens and a good washing with the garden hose.

You ignoramus, I’m talking about upgrading the operating system on your home computer, not the windows in your old run-down house trailer.

Oh well, I don’t know anything about computers. Jimmy said with a nervous chuckle. I don’t even know how to turn one on.

Jimmy, you really need to learn how to use a computer, proclaimed Carmello. Computers are like an awesome extension of your mind. You can go on the Internet to look up just about any subject in the world. There’s movies, video clips, comics, jokes, news, games, program downloads, and a lot more stuff. It’s like a never ending highway of information.

Hey, Carmello, you forgot to mention anything about all the enjoyable porn sites, Richard announced with a smirk. Jimmy might be interested in all the gay male porn sites. Especially the ones with real long domain names.

Sorry Carmello, but computers are way over my head, Jimmy said as he passed his hand over the top of his head. In fact, I don’t even like them. Although I do enjoy the computers in the science fiction shows. That's because they talk to you like a real live person. I also like them because you don’t have to learn which buttons to push.

Richard chuckled. You’re probably one of those people who think the tray that pops out of the computer is a beer mug holder.

Jimmy, people who don’t like computers, is typically those who don’t know how to use them. That’s because they’re too damn lazy to take the time to learn, voiced Carmello in a know-it-all tone.

Maybe, Jimmy said thoughtfully, But I don’t think I’d like a damn computer even if I knew how to use it. It’s mostly used for learning stuff. I’ve already learned enough stuff to last me the rest of my damn life. Learning is just a waste of time.

Carmello and Richard were about to return to their conversation when Carmello noticed Jimmy’s bizarre eating habit. Hey, Jimmy, that’s totally beyond disgusting. How the hell can you eat and smoke at the same time?

Look, Carmello, it wasn’t my idea to make this old rundown plastic extrusion factory smoke free. A forty-five minute supper break doesn’t give me enough time, so I have no choice but to smoke and eat at the same time. Besides, the cigarette smoke actually makes the hamburger taste better. He paused to take a big bite out of his cold hamburger. Last week Jack told me upper management is thinking about making everyone take drug tests. If it happens, we’ll all be forced to go to the hospital and pee in one of those little plastic juice cups.

Richard giggled. Hey Jimmy, obviously the thought of having to take a drug test is really bugging you. They say marijuana can hang around in your body for days after you smoke a joint. Are you afraid of failing the test?

Maybe.

There’s really no need for you to worry about the test.

Why? Jimmy asked while displaying a puzzled expression.

Because there’s no way a chemist can test your hundred-proof urine without becoming intoxicated from the fumes.

Jimmy ignored Richard. He continued to eat and smoke while Carmello laughed at Richards’s humor.

Roberta Norton joined the threesome at the picnic table. Good God, what a slow night, she announced to everyone as she removed a tuna sandwich from a bright red plastic lunch box. I’ve decided being a quality control inspector has got to be one of the most boring jobs on the face of the earth.

You know something, Roberta, I-kind-a-think my job of pumping plastic pellets into the extruder hoppers is more boring than yours. At least you get to work with all those nifty measuring tools.

Roberta nodded. Yes, Jimmy, you’re probably right, because I’m positive I wouldn’t want to trade my tedious job for yours. By the way, I heard congratulations are in order.

Jimmy blinked in confusion. Congratulations for what? I bought a lottery ticket this week, but as usual I didn’t even get one blasted number.

Your ex-wife told me Bobby won first prize with his high school science project.

I didn’t know Bobby won a prize. I’m afraid I couldn’t visit him last Sunday. My doggone truck wouldn’t start. The battery was deader than a doornail. I couldn’t find anyone to jumpstart it until early Monday morning. I guess I left the stupid head lights on again. I wasn’t about to walk all the way across the county to visit my son.

Roberta shot Jimmy a puzzled look. Oh, I figured you already knew about Bobby’s science project. Ruth said Bobby has been working on it for the past three months.

Nope! Jimmy shook his head. Bobby probably didn’t tell me because he knows I’m not very good at figuring out scientific stuff. He paused to lick some globs of ketchup off his fingers. Do you know what his project was about?

Bobby designed a miniature steam engine that powers an electrical generator to light up a little light bulb.

Oh, Jimmy nodded, I guess it’s a good science project, He said while wrinkling his face in bemusement.

Of course it’s good, Jimmy, that’s why he won first prize. She half smiled. Bobby steamed water with fire, which powered the generator, and it produced electricity. I think he’s a pretty smart fourteen year old kid.

Okay, I understand, but using a steam engine seems like an awful lot of work. Jimmy paused to snuff out a cigarette he smoked right down to the filter, and then he immediately lit another one. I mean, why go through all the fuss when all you have to do is plug a lamp into an electrical outlet.

Oh for crying out loud! Roberta shook her head. Jimmy, you’re not seeing the point of his project. Bobby electrified a light bulb without plugging it into a wall socket. Maybe you haven’t heard about the energy crisis, but someday we’re all going to run out of fossil fuel.

What’s fossil fuel?

Oil!

The other day I watched a news program where the lady said we probably won’t run out of oil for a long time. Not until after I’m dead and buried, so I guess I don’t have to worry about it.

I give up! Roberta exhaled with exasperation as she threw her hands up. Now I understand why Bobby didn’t tell you about his science project.

Jimmy shrugged. I told you I don’t understand scientific mumbo jumbo. He quickly stood up and walked off across the parking lot toward his pickup truck, leaving all his dirty McDonald’s hamburger wrappers lying in a heap in the middle of the wooden picnic table.

Hey, Roberta, I don’t understand why you waste your time trying to have a normal conversation with Jimmy the moron, Richard said through a tight-lipped smile. You should know by now he’s a happy meal shy of fries and a burger. He drinks like a fish, his mind is burnt-out from years of smoking too much pot, and who in their right mind would have bold letters tattooed on their knuckles spelling out Love and Hate. I also heard a rumor his wife divorced him a few years ago because he caused the accident that put their young daughter into an incurable coma.

Look, Richard! Roberta snapped, Jimmy probably wouldn’t be so damn screwed up if assholes like you didn’t harass him all the time.

Hey…sweetie pie, don’t blame me because Jimmy Carlton just happens to be a perfect misfit for the butt end of my funny jokes.

Well I don’t think any of your dumb-ass jokes are funny. Roberta frowned as she abruptly stood up, gathered up her half eaten sandwich, and briskly walked toward the factory entrance.

Carmello giggled. You’re in trouble now, amigo.

And what the hell makes you think I’m in trouble?

Roberta is so mad at you she’ll probably find problems with every extrusion job you setup for the next six months.

Richard waved his hand in discuss. Roberta can take her to do-good-attitude straight to hell.

Jimmy unlocked his truck and removed a new pouch of Redman chewing tobacco from the glove box. He tore it open with his yellow teeth, pinched up a large wad of tobacco, and tucked it in his mouth between his cheek and gum. Then he spit the harsh tobacco juice onto the floor of the cab, right next to his Styrofoam cooler containing his supply of beer.

Jimmy stared at the cooler for a long moment, thinking he’d love to down a few frosty brews before returning to work, but Jack has a nose like an old Texas, hound dog. He always knows when I sneak a few beers.

Jimmy returned to his hopper duties. Unhappily, he learned he has a few material changes to deal with. He emptied the plastic pellets out of a large towering hopper mounted on top of the rear end of the extruder’s barrel.

The hopper allows the plastic pellets to gravity feed down through the extruder’s throat onto a rotating screw that conveys, mixes, and heats the plastic into a soft uniform substance that’s forced through a pre-shaped hole to produce a continuous product.

Jimmy thoroughly cleaned the interior walls of the hopper with an air gun, disassembled the vacuum pump, cleaned the fiber-less filter, then he reloaded the hopper with pre-colored rigid vinyl pellets. Afterwards, he walked over to his workstation to double-check the work order to make sure he wasn’t making a mistake. Loading the wrong plastic into a hopper may damage the extruder. The finished extruded product is a white plastic trim that snaps between two sheets of vinyl-coated wallboard. As usual, he had to use a large magnifying glass to read the work order. His horn-rimmed prescription glasses are useless because they’re over five years old.

As the night progressed, Jimmy repeatedly glanced at his wristwatch, impatiently counting down the hours, minutes, and seconds left of his ten-hour shift. He’s becoming more excited as each passing minute brought him closer to popping open a sixteen once can of ice-cold beer. In addition, he’s happy because today is the last day of his four-day workweek. He’s looking forward to the long weekend. Three whole days off to lazily lie around in his air-conditioned trailer while gorging himself with junk food, drinking gallons of beer, smoking cigarettes, and watching all his favorite television shows. The only thing missing would be some high quality Mexican gold. He hasn’t been able to purchase any weed because the drug dealer he safely uses got his dumbass tossed into the county jail for beating up his gay lover.

Jimmy’s ten-hour shift is finally ending. He’s the first one standing at the time clock, impatiently waiting for the old clock to sound out the two AM click.

As always, Jack Jones is standing next to the time clock at attention, like a commanding officer waiting to say goodnight to each of his soldiers. It’s also the morning that Jack collects the timecards. He carefully inspects each one before turning them over to payroll.

Goodnight, Jimmy. What do you have planned for the weekend?

Nothing, sir, except tomorrow’s my monthly doctor’s appointment. You know, to check up on my dog-gone diabetes.

A concerned wrinkle creased Jack’s brow. Oh, Jimmy, I hope everything turns out okay.

I doubt it. Jimmy shook his head with a grim expression. Old Dr. McFadden will probably give me his usual lecture about how I don’t eat all the right foods. He keeps nagging me to quit smoking. He also wants me to stop drinking beer. He keeps telling me I’m overweight. He wants me to give up all the neat stuff that makes my crummy life bearable. He's like a nagging, bitchy wife. Jimmy paused to roll his eyes in discuss. He’s a real pain in my…neck!

Now, Jimmy, Doctor McFadden knows what's best. His advice shouldn’t be taken lightly. Jack smiled warmly. You should consider yourself lucky to have a good doctor who’s concerned about your well-being.

I guess so. Jimmy nodded in agreement just to please Jack. A moment later he heard the two AM click into position. He quickly punched his time card. Goodnight, sir, he said as he handed his card to Jack.

Jack must be a bigger idiot than Dr. McFadden is. He actually thinks I should agree with the old doctor and give up all those enjoyable benefits of life, Jimmy thought as he scurried down the corridor towards the employee’s exit door. Once outside he promptly lit a cigarette as he trotted off toward his pickup.

Twenty-seven happy employees followed Jimmy out the door, each heading toward their vehicles. Richard Casey yelled out at the top of his lungs, Start your engines, because it’s going to be an ass-kicking weekend of hot kinky sex and ice cold beer.

Jimmy ignored Richards humor as he unlocked his padlock and swung the driver’s door open. He jumped up into the musty cab and hurriedly knocked the cover off his Styrofoam cooler. Then he reached down and removed a cold can of beer, popped it open, and drank the entire contents before starting the truck’s engine. He drank another beer while waiting for all the employee vehicles to pull out of the parking lot. Jimmy’s nerves are being soothed by the vibrations being produced from the truck’s misfiring engine. He considered taking a nap before driving home, but the last time he fell asleep in the parking lot the police woke him up. The cop gave him a hard time because he smelled the beer in his truck. He forcefully plunged the transmission lever to the drive position, clicked on his headlights, and pulled away from the dumpster. He maneuvered the truck out onto the old county highway to begin his long journey home.

Jimmy passed a few approaching vehicles until he reached FM forty-nine, which runs eleven and a half miles along the backside of a few large cattle ranches. Generally, during the early morning hours, this stretch of road is deserted, and he hardly ever passes any oncoming vehicles. The early morning air is warm and dry. The moonless night sky is so clear it seems to magnify the brightness of each star, allowing a sheet of dim light to lie over the enormous East Texas pastures.

Jimmy carefully watched his speedometer to make sure he maintained his speed a little under the posted speed limit. He glanced out his review mirror looking for headlights. I don’t want a smartass cop to pull me over and charge me with another DWI, he nervously thought. One more offense and they’ll most likely take my driver’s license away for the rest of my useless life.

Jimmy had just popped open another beer when he noticed a bright light ahead, emanating from over an uphill crest in the old road. It must be lightning, he thought as he approached the beginning of the hill. Good, he nodded, because there must be a thunderstorm coming this way. Everyone's been complaining we need more springtime rain. The light grew intensely brighter as he drove up the hill. Then, unexpectedly, the light became so bright it totally blinded him. Jimmy slammed his foot on the brakes,