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 In the Final Presence of the Great Justice

You.

And in addition, thought “Horse”-on-the-Road, to think that the Kevin he had encountered time and again was also the cause of the grief of a family nearly three thousand miles away—ack, it cut into “Horse”, he was thinking too much. His mind was racing with all the things he missed doing not just one time but the entire array of times he had encountered this Kevin—but the road before him opened a great auditorium stage curtain parted and there he was, seat-sitting—seat-sitting in a very audience of one down in some kind of dark and the show began and. Behind a great podium stage center came the voice of one Great Justice, begowned all in purplish top-head to just-ankles, just for him—“Horse”—just at him—“Horse”—only about him telling him, “Horse” “Horse” “Horse”, yon-man there, You-“Horse”, yes you. Only you. You yes you not him or them, but you and only you, have been a fool. By us and us alone what has you and yours alone and together having been taken timewise and over? We ask for a truth that ought to be self-evident—but, since to you, “Horse” the simple, to whom it was not, I put back her past back my big behind on that tall screen all towering, the simple truths you ought to have been asking yourself all along but but especially, yah yondering-specially, now that your musings are being force-sheaved together into the simple fact of a single—ahem—Kevin as you call it—that you must wise now poke into to glean its specifications and surrounding resultant reality, now that great God money has come up to be in the ‘volved, so—entrancing into the great of the place it begins.

You sir! stated Great Justice. You in the door! Step forward.

Commanded—and obeyed.

So now it’s time to dead stop short of the word’s implied finality, slow, pause, hold and go down through the facts and figures of what makes sense if anything at all about what has driven you—the driver eh, how ironic—to this pointy-headed stallpoint. Okay, Mr. Givens?

My name is not Mr. Givens, “Horse” felt obliged to say.

Okay, uh—and the body of the voice, though unseen by “Horse”, the Great Justice leaf-flipped into its clipboard pronouncing the next listed name.

Okay here. Blackburn, then, you must be. Mr. Blackburn—are you ready for your analysis?

Maybe but I am not neither, any Mr. Blackburn. Eck.

Ha! stormed windy out over “Horse”—what is that word—that word eck? It is improper!

But, oh—that was Mr. Blackburn said that, Great Justice. And that is not my name.

But you stand there so named!

But—improperly named. But—we are both really here into and under each and his other because our two names “Horse” and Mr. Blackburn are intertangled all about your confusion—so I say—

No so, say nothing. The truth is constant, names are ever-changing. You are the one we’ve been told of with the multiplicity of Kevins. You are the one who, because of inattention over multiple timeframes of various durations and attributes, are reduced to not even be able to simply state your hitchhacker, their names, and their attributes, even though the span being timed down back-hind the calendar over is relatively nothing, that is; to the when cosmos’ compared to the cosmos’ the cosmos’ duration cosmos’ duration that the is cosmos’ duration that is. So; here it is. Our records show that your first Kevin came at you on January eleventh—how long was he with you that time?

Ah, hey—hour or two at that if you know, that at all.

And he said—okay. He said he was on his way to—July morning festival?

I think so.

Think? Can you do better?

Better? No, I don’t keep a log of such trivialities as what hitchhackers I take on.

What—pop—the eye of the face of the voice pushed a good three feet at “Horse” raising the rise of his cowlick blotting his mouth over to silence and saying, No! Nothing here is trivial! Is there not—are there not—might there now be a five-figure reward at stake?

I, uh, maybe, sure, but—

Maybe? Maybe? M—and the eye came in another three feet so the aura of fear slathered invisibly ‘round it touched onto “Horse”’s nosetip, cold—and it said, Listen, Mr. Austin—this is being not not for we, but for you. We will not get the five figured reward—that recipient would be you. And, though a just gratuity fanned our way would not be refused after you hit pay dirt, we are no way not no not at all way no wise never at all no way no mas never ever paid any of nothing, ‘xcept—that we are fulfilling the mission gifted us by your creator—with whom we have solidly bound binding a-poppin’ fat sheaf of contracts, so—

What? Say it—

—this be some serious shit!

Okay. So. Go on,

Yes. All right, so the—

You do not.

Great justice went on, her words shallowing rapidly, so, surprisingly, “Horse”, bored and turned to his imagenementeh-interior flow as ‘bouthow times over times he drove the route from Lent to the coast and back both ways over and again and there was not only no Kevin the hitchhacker but no hitchhackers at all so he had taken to, but—the question to the numberers’ is why number this at all? It is one hundred and sixty-nine days from January thirteenth to July morning. Times over times over—this should be sufficient—‘natcha’ think? Hut; “Horse” rose and washed his face with extra-cold water. Someplace somewhere where the numberers work at their long banks of narrow tables beside their bins of numbers only no facts no figures ‘less—unless—numbers be counted as among figures which leads us well leads us—ah facts and figures what does that mean anyway the origin of this near-slang tossaway of a common term known as facts and figures—and she came out the hollowness of his idle muse with, Okay, Mr. Chapman, so after that the next Kevin we have is that which you—remember or not—ought to be able to remember as Kevin #2. Iconic it be really. Do you doo-dah gecko the slave boy or any of the others within you you’ll never be allowed to discover are there, remember such as him?

Yes, I do.

And when did you pick up this number of your boy?

Don’t recall. Months ago.

Months ago? Too vague for us. How about—let’s see—and the rustle and rip of flipped back pages gave forth the words, How about January seventeenth? That sounds like—heh—months ago to us. So what transpired over this c-copy vonder Kevin?

As stated already I do not log.

Was it you told him don’t go all silly and as for that Urania Hipville record you been blasting day-nightly all—only to realize that was you other you so—

I wait stop back up no don’t we they us not—

—‘member splitting up-thrusting from ‘tween you parting petalselves fear-frightening Kevin #2 into diving out-door onto the sixty-five mph at least probably more rough pavement scrolling down Underwood stockholders blanching all blanched heck—

You do not deserve to.

Since this was not for “Horse” but for some ‘purious doctah’ Chap-man so named, and over-since the Great Justice stood not to ever be corrected, “Horse” pulled the inner deep winterblanketing midnight coverflow up at his neck-o resolving to comb his hair harder than usual ripping full force through whatever tangles his nearly ice-cold shower wove into his hair after the at-last and hoped-for rising shine of his next allotted daytime comes, purposefully meaning to maximize the pain of the ripping-down comb job. Tho-mas. Taken to playing to himself over and over again in the cab when driving through this or that radio dead spot the recording he had saved on his phone of the Kevin and he talking that time, like, you know me and me and uh—but; but this type of enterprise which is nothing but. Will-suhn. Just as he winced at the splash of the ice water—pulling into the pores of his face the jolt and shock of the chill, hoping. Chaaaaap-man! The time that went this way—and to know it went this way and only this way, he praised God that for some reason unknown—in that it refused to be remembered—the phone had been set to record the cab during that ride that ride this ride on which ride this was recorded and this that he played again and over heh—Eh, I did not get that. Nothing but new requires employees of all disciplines. Called home for his dead dad at the height of his cruelty. Hoping yes overing-hoping that he could maintain the complete awareness he needed now that he knew all the multiply numbered variously time-spaced out Kevins would have been no no could have been no no no no—so, okay, Mister Buddy Rodgers or what ‘melican Dream-grappler yule yoosted be-a-fan-of back when the world was pretty stupid, yonderabout old channel nine, now we page to the sector preloaded with this—Kevin #3 of yours. What dost thou ‘member of that there encounter, man? Heavy, heavy this one. This one was. Heavy over heavy over heavy Kevin # 3 was. State it!

Awl right, my wild guess it was no earlier than February third.

Try fourth.

Okay. Fourth.

Close. So whatcha’ ‘member overing-underit?

Utz. The show about the wonder-shove Bulgarinia.

Bulgarinia? You mean prob-bubly—Bulgaria, don’tcha’ not? And we’re not here about shows off the radio we’re here ‘bout Kevin-era hitchhackers. What about Kevin #3 member Kevin 3-three-s do you or snot eh?

Shame on you shame.

You do not deserve to be.

And “Horse” said he can’t but when asked again he said it a little bit differently he said no but when asked again he said it a bit differently one more time again just like and just at the like piano he at the piano no one he could was liking tell him the no one same but was actually were liking him less so he drifted off-frequency, Kenneth, and definitely missed his third chance at actually nearly no no actually actually is the way to think et et—he actually missed quite unmarried and that shit off from gleaning truth from some Power of Positive Thinking. This rig is quite loud—please say that again? Of all disciplines from the lowly bolt. By God, oh there ought to be a book called that maybe there’s been one or more books called The Power of Positive Thinking maybe over maybe slid under one by one beneath him in in the illusory way he perceived all driving time alone. Stand back and watch the ensuing struggle! The lowly bolt twister from drawing. A place to become somebody else someplace else as long as safe driving is habit enough to be automatic like the piloted plane kind of flown-over driving, but he was no airline no no he was no pilot he had. They will little by little complicate all into total impossibility and that must not be allowed!

What?

From drawing board dreamer to field people to go and. Yes he had.

Eh!

Snap! came his straight ‘tention to the Great Justice who was sliding her tensioning rooting out rod-staff to the topic of #4 no non excuse me—the Kevin-name just snatched up past the ozone so here’s the property. Now it’s the topic of your Kevin #4. Whom-hoo u met on dezzy-date all ‘proximated by my old school timesharing system as February twentieth. Do your memories jive with my computations?

I do not keep records, half-said “Horse” for the first time being thirty-three and two-thirds back-throttled off the mandated tension-span being the minimum to ensure the safest possible mental liftbridge to all our current and future clients. Ah yah horse-fuck the past quitters whom. Did not deserve us not deserve did not us did deserve us anyway. Scoot! “Horse” here is your cleaning-floor. Please sweep, then proceed.

I do not know you were told I keep no log of such things.

You have likewise been told you ought of.

That I ought of does not render the undone magically done.

Render unto—what did you say senor?

Nothing like that. Check the—

Yes like that there were stations ‘bout bunching-wagons and stuff resembling the large, round eyes of Lord MisterScheives-Volvo sufficient to cower down the most aggressively large Sergie or Sergies or hoopsie-boot das Boote ouer da Sergie’s boot boot boot!

Plus.

You do not deserve to be what you.

“Horse” had thought—but now knew—he had heard the Great Justice’s innerback-clicktone signaling a massively crippling mechanistically paralyzing stick of its main gear-rods so he once more bowed deeply, then side swayed away into his ever-running ‘maginarian streamflow which stated inside him, Go and see what’s needed to support to support the bread and butter day to day lives of the lives of the of the men and women who bear the who bear the brunt bear the brunt of living on. To get the next Kevin and. Root out and butcher every rebellious over-complicator of the simple or—living on site. He prayed a prayer so awful he would not let himself remember the letters come past one by one that prayer being, between you and me, the chance that he’s blown it that fact that he’s never been enough of a—samaritan—to do the right thing. On site have out to where be they ready have.

Eh?

To befriend all the Kevins be kind like the bible story she pointed him to said.

To swing into action to support the massive expansion of VonderLee Enterprises which Brucie-Yon VonderLee herself woke one day to discover because that of because. From human beings to puppets toppling the whole crew neck crop river-sweep them far out to sea! What?

Make all easier nothing harder to bog all down to be taken under a suddenly smothering end.

What? You!

He snapped it off

Off! But b-b-b-but if he had felt, as he should have f-f-f-f-felt, that these Kevins the each and the all of them without exception, were much more unfortunate than he’d ever been, why, Christ; why had he not tried to imagine the feelings felt by those wretches. Empathy’s lacking here. Just and only because VonderLee’s reputation among the rank and rank and file rank file of and file the workers spread out ‘long the stretch of the new frontier of this new and challenging horizon of longshorremanning, hippo, was so great, she got this honor which, so her handlers five layers removed from her everyday reality hoped, but. But but—great Justice Most likely regained it’s selves and they all intoned in a great organically-chorded Bach pedaling holiday fugue-tone, Ok, so here, pay ‘tension, man “Horse” aka Hoss of Bonanzazeenia, et Monte Carlonian math-man pukey mobile, perhaps and maybe if we if we study this study this next next Kev Kevin being all of five fifths of a twoer—equalling where-we-are-at in Kevin #5, what of she don’t you know con simian-o driverman?

“Horse” prickled at the #5—yah yes he remembered some shredded facts which, though ruining any meal within which they’d get mixed, unless you’re Mrs. Dash herselves, oh-- out so the hitchhacker spoke first, saying, What? Uh—yes, I—I do want a ride. Yes. And thanks—the boy clearly said as if it were now, What? Uh—yes, I—I do want a ride. Yes. And thanks—which “Horse” stated clearly into the Great Justice.

The Great Justice in the center of the unseen holy wreaths enwrapping all of it—too holy to be seen ‘xcept from someplace out the far side—and in this so horizon-like—said nothing as it—waiting so “Horse” delighted at not receiving another dose of hell added to before with this now that being, So I scrolled back all kindly rewinding to saying nothing. And from then on quite forward there’s nothing to it a’much.

What? snapped something deep as some below decks temblor but it was the deep throat of the virginal organing outpipes—of the deepest bass-blast enumerable—repeating, What—remembering there’s nothing to remember is the same as in remembering our nothing book in our book remembering. Remembering nothing. Remembering nothing in. Remembering nothing in our. In. In our. Remembering nothing at all in our book—

Great pause—“Horse” uphackled like a terrier—and she.

My word by gosh did you catch this freak of a clinker?

“Horse” jarred, gagged, and upthroated this fact; that the #5 had made landfall as a tropical—no, no—had mounted his cab on March tenth and but but but.

You do not deserve to be what you are; so.

But. Just imagine—is where “Horse” ‘mediately ‘treated to avoid further blows.

Into this here fat troothe; imagine the poor Kevins standing under some featureless uninteresting albeit beautiful some say blank overspreading great plains silent sky. ‘Horse” never bothered to imagine such as these. A blow or two from the Great Justice? Hah! Nothing compared to the—to the plight of these Kevins. She only administered her blows as needed to ensure the solidity of the fulfillment of their—by meaning her selfie-Fleiss eck! and the founders’ great Brucie-Yon VonderLee gesundheit machine—mission to serve both the riders the ridden and the neither but that not implying the unimportant, that is which the quiet cargo in the back trailer boxes which is the purpose of the so-called trucking industry which, until now, has been layered over with the folklore of the drivers—yes the drivers Brucie-Yon and her large dockwise gang and for. Imagine further those same poor Kevins surrounded by fields sometimes barren sometimes bountiful sometimes wild sometimes tame. But “Horse” never bothered to imagine such as these also. All those who may follow their dreams and seek better futures, for better or worse, in the limbo of the hitchhacker; and of these, “Horse” well knew, there was one who had to be had to be pinned down pinned down and questioned down and questioned about the nature of two very critical things, these being; one, who is he and what is his name? said into the silence of.

Suckback into the spiraling downtime going, going, gone—

W I h n—

Eck honey?

Are you not going to answer? intoned Great Justice.

I meant to tell you and still tell you, Who is he and what is his name?

Okay! Kevin, ah, mo’--#6 Kevin—yas yo non sock! Yes, Kevin number six number six—number sixendowned his math-entanglementation.

Thank you for rejoining us, boy.

I was am not—

Jockeying a huge Peterbilt pillars to coasts does not make one a man.

I know but—I was am not—

On March twenty-fourth we’re told he climbed up within you.

My sister.

And so here’s what we’ve gleaned out your empty top-hollow so far so ways—

You do not deserve to be what you are; so we’re.

“Horse” again telescoped himself down ack his armorframe continuing to know this that and the other one, ‘bout all those fields surrounding those wretched Kevins which lie always reflecting up to the sky the fact that hey, you, sky; you are featureless and uninteresting; but you are not alone; and look look look also, the ribbon of asphalt stretched out all under from way past that side to way past the other and now and then. A truck comes past. Maybe-wan even “Horse”’s very truck it might. Two, why does he manifest as many numbered many numbered versions of numbered versions of himself, which gives rise to. Be. A car. A whole host of what may be termed sub-questions such as have there really been multiple Kevins and have they truly been spread thin ‘cross the low ribbon of time as perceived by “Horse” through what seemed to “Horse” to be simple multiple trips from point a to b. To “Horse” the vast expanses passed in air-conditioned comfort as appropriate, and toastily-heated comfort, as likewise appropriate. As the Great Justice themselves might polyphonically say at their gone ago young summit, Now this one lil’ “Horse” man may be after six as seven is before eight and even though it may be termed after six that being a nick of sorts and also may be termed before seven that being even another nick or sorts and though there may be as many nick for this given as there are words which—is not a finite number so in the spirit of avoiding argumentation, which is the state all humans circledown into this end no more than noisy detritus in some imaginary centerspace of feigned agreement, here was Kevin #7—ay heck where’s he go these times?

April ninth he was gone down again—

You do not deserve to be what you are; so we’re going to.

—to one truck many cars sometimes. Escaping into the know that he wants no more part. But those many trips may be just one big trip laid out fat out his future another slender twist of which he pulls free and draws out to the west lets go and comes back from then hits Lent truck stop. Of her. Kevins be damned. Or of this. Many cars many shapes many colors many speeds in out around and past some of the trucks but not all, behind some others of the trucks, but not all, and. Or of the Great Justice. As a matter of wise-fact, Kevins one through eleven be damned. Or of her star VonderLee. Hits Lent truck stop for what’s just an instant then turns saddles up turns west and peels off the next slender twist bearing with it the next occurrence of things like the hitchhacker which, not, ‘cause of the new VonderLee expanded longshoremen’s services available roadside the whole way gone, are numbered to allow better more precise and absolutely correct monitoring by the dockside dispatchment specialists which will let her know, when a new hitchhacker event spawns, to check her records to ensure. The purpose of Otto’s coming clear. Yes, equally damned until well, the waitress. Tune the bandspread up a kilo. The varying speeds of the passers-through the sights sounds and smells ever changing eck. Two hundred foot long wire up the winterdark. Until the waitress said; you must study the good Samaritan. Above the mounded icy wind-drifts. For example, if the new Kevin is number such and so; is this new number a duplicate of that applied to an earlier Kevin gone before? Or, rather should we tune in some midnight Alaskans? The Great Justice dangled down a previously unnoticed ashen cigar.

Flick!

So, he hah horse. Or—“Horse” as did your mother into you. Kevin #8. Sliding in. Sliding in her month of May. Up some scaffold. Done long ago under the blanketing birdschirp and bounce of the pretty-suns—any sun any color seventy-nine-ninety-nine. Twenty sixth of May she walks forward all observed and imaginary. The sweep of the cigar of the broadsword of the Frenchman in the straw no turkey at all con hippo. Bloody raw yuch look away. Hide it in the basement upper until twenty years in, destroyed. VHS and all. Bon bitter—

You do not deserve to be what you are; so we’re going to turn you.

Out the interstates. ‘specially where it’s flat long and wide, sky and land are continually entertained, needing not much at all to be calm cool and happy but. In which case, if yes, all hundreds of their heads may press back on their pillows, or many-every what they’d been at when called, or, if no, they hit the docks ready to paste the next available number on the new Kevin, begin to identify the next oncoming “Horse” class prime mover, and kick off the work intended for them, under the stern body of leadership now in place under the imminent Ms. VonderLee gang. And with the good Samaritan in mind, well, maybe some caring sep’t in here and there but. Not enough for that Kevin. Or for this Kevin. Ah facts and figures what does that mean anyway returning so into, So here it is as the end is near.

And worse the end being near out all wilderness beyond even one walking dog twilightly cricketchirp. Kevin #9 here’s still in May but the slider’s slid to the twenty-seventh which. On that day what lines transpired dear applicant?

I want the job badly. I have families to feed. I have a temper to restrain. I have fists to not form and you there to not jump—under the pain of the possibility of first parole then activation of those potentially frenzied jumpguards off your flanks. Then after I blow it there will be nexts.

Defiant talk is soft, “Horse”. Will not deter me, oozed sweetly set up behind-her-wood Great Justice.

After all; You do not deserve to be what you are; so we’re going to turn you into.

“Horse” backed again toward away, flung out if you give up lie down curl up in the ditch beside the flow of life, if you lie there long enough and the universe is righteous, a Samaritan, as proof, Great Justice can not legally duck him, and, the next. And the next next and all the further nexts are the unside-out of the sock of reality the road sky fields and et cetera are happy, albeit weakly, but the Kevins. How ‘bout the Kevins, says the waitress—how ‘bout the Samaritans—how ‘bout all eleven or maybe more in the numbers’ betweens; the ones you got warned ‘bout not to let lingeringly go lost. So. “Horse”, being more than ‘sually awake from his cold shave shower and rip-tangling haircomb, settled into what would prove one fruitless drive this time. But now the freak o’ the fuck of some five-figure ‘ward gets to the bedrock inside this here “Horse” and; yes and and; yes only now and now and here it seemed. It seemed, however—it seemed, however, to “Horse” that—he may have blown it—Andy Andy’s back-long morn of a crusading breakfast gang—after dicing down the p’roll and as a boy frying the pan way too young ‘un too early but no—

Kevin ought ten here we are sir “Horse” listen.

“Horse” eyed opening the before-him no crusader no, no, I was jus’ thinkin’—

The Great Justice said well thank you for—get this ten was on June twelfth. Is that the right day, “Horse”? Hurry soon so we get somewhere out of all this.

I don’t understand. What, what—I told you I never—

Dig! Get. It is in you you’re stuffed big enough we can see.

I—

Squeeze!

I—ah—oh, hey; there with that one then there was by the road on not alone a he and a she and a horde all behind so I—

What?

Uh! Behind, so I got goin’.

Do not lie. Do not no not.

All—

Again! You do not deserve to be what you are; so we’re going to turn you into.

No! That familiar yet not again thrust “Horse” clear of the swinging clubworks of the grown quite deadly Great Justice. So, safe for now, lying low he discarded his out of control musing as up ‘head came at him a speed trap of a ten mph reduction as often encountered in the more strapped-down hungrily depressed rocky mountain states. As he gently reduced his mento-physically plow-forward progress, “Horse’ who had normally by this point in the typical haul have encountered the hitchhacker and knew so and thus-so could not believe the oncoming irony of what looked likely to happen but but then in she burst at he burst out it burst and gagged him down too much hyoid pressure dear rope-man too much yet not enough. Strangle me please. Do your duty do it do it oh good god—strangle—

Okay, said Great Justice in ten thousand seemingly shouting-down voices, Kevin the number eleven aka #11 your last chance mine to get you there are bars, Mr. “Horse”. Kevin #11 was. Bars behind which. Kevin #11 was encountered on. Bars behind which you. Was encountered on June thirty-first. Bars behind which you belong locked into and. So he said you July morning did this seed? Bars behind which you belong and damned straight I. Did this seed you did this. I am just the girl to put you. Seed you down. The girl to put you. To put you there.

Down Bulgaria?

Down Bulgaria?

July morning July first and you and he June thirty-first did he—

Down Bulgaria?

Did he the fuck—

Down Bulgaria?

Did he the fuck get—

Down Bulgaria?

Did he the fuck get there?

We hope you so hope you ‘cause—

You do not deserve to be what you are; so we’re going to turn you into something that.

—no! No no, that being that this would be the first haul out this route that there had been no Kevin. Being a bit ahead of the timeline for pulling into the Port of Long Beach, he lowered his speed even lower than necessary not wanting to face the oncoming forced disappointment and he kicked himself—mentally at least—for having not at least prepared even minimally before shotgunning all wild into the phone call ‘bout the flyer and seeming even to himself to have sounded like a fool. Something that you’re. No no no let me finish Great Justice and my God what he must have sounded like to the detective. Something that you’re not so it adds to. No no no flyers like this, especially with rewards attached, must pull out the inner fool from many and what a terrible job being such a detective must be—

Shut!

It adds to you do not deserve to be what you are; so we’re going to turn you into something that you’re not—

Pull up! Terrain!

You do not deserve to be what you are; so we’re going to turn you into something that you’re not—

Pull up! Terrain!

Pull up! Terrain!

Eject!

That you’re not.

Terrain.

Bio: Jim Meirose's short work has appeared in numerous venues, and his published novels include 'Le Overgivers au Club de la Résurrection' (Mannequin Haus), 'Understanding Franklin Thompson' (JEF pubs), and 'Sunday Dinner with Father Dwyer' (Optional books). Info at www.jimmeirose.com @jwmeirose