It was 1972 and Bobby-Ellen used to like to drive with her top down.

Her hair was brown unless the light hit it in a certain way and then it was red. On the farming side of town there were horses out in the pastures the same color, chestnuts. She wore it long and wild and she washed it every second day with Gee, Your Hair Smells Terrific. Hair was important, it defined who you were, how you rolled and what you stood for so, Bobby-Ellen figured, people should be able to smell it a mile away.

When her brother Bobby went off to join the Marines he left a tan Luv pickup. Her dad always left the key just inside the front door hanging on a brass hook that was screwed into an old piece of wood (pine) shaped like a house key that her brother had made in shop class.

She was only sixteen and wanted to get her permit but her father wouldn’t allow it … well, she never really asked him but she figured he’d say no. Still, that never stopped her much. Every Saturday morning she’d wake up early and silently stand in her room, ear to the door. When she heard the screen door slam signaling that her dad had left for his morning shift at the plant, she’d wait about thirty seconds, then run and grab that key off the hook … then she went on out and essentially defined the term joy ridin’.

It was a fast little truck and she knew how to drive it. The radio got two stations KGFX, The Country Buffalo and The Rock Eagle, KGBI 100.1. Her brother used to say, “We may be hillbillies but that doesn’t mean we have to listen to country.”

♦

Last summer Bobby, knowing that he’d be enlisting in the fall decided to teach Bobby-Ellen how to drive. They’d head on over the railway bridge, cross the Missouri and drive the backroads behind the fort. There, usually in the morning hours before the afternoon heat paralyzed every living thing, he spent days just teaching her how to get out of first gear, but quickly she learned to parallel park, how to negotiate a steep incline without stalling out and how to quickly slow the little truck by using the clutch. By the middle of August, Bobby-Ellen was pretty much getting rubber in all four gears and thought she was a pretty hot shit.

Bobby felt a certain twinge that he was maybe crossing the line, but he didn’t know what else to do. In a few weeks, he’d be gone and he knew damn well that girl was gonna drive that truck. So he just surrendered, gave driving lessons to a girl with no license and at the same time he decided to tell her whatever else came to mind, figuring that in a family where almost everything went unsaid, it was the time and place for the said.

♦

Bobby and Bobby-Ellen had always been close in a telepathic way, moving in step with each other, sharing brainwaves, just always happening to be together. For most of their childhood years, it was a one-sided kind of togetherness, that is, Bobby would go and Bobby-Ellen would follow. He didn’t really like it much of the time but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. They never said much to each other but there was communication just the same, and they liked the same things and were good at the same things. The sheer act of keepin’ up made Bobby-Ellen a tomboy, and while Bobby wouldn’t hesitate to shove her around and roughhouse he always knew what he was dealing with. It was clear that Bobby-Ellen idolized him and you didn’t have to be a psychoanalyst to see that he was proud of her in return.

Bobby-Ellen could punt a football and throw a curveball. She could whistle louder than hell, train a huntin’ dog and bait a hook. She was an endless tagger-alonger and when she insisted on playing in some game with Bobby and his friends, she’d get thumped and rattled and bruised just like any other boy. But then things change.

There was a day in Bobby’s mind when time stood still. Brother and sister had been fishing from the banks of Lake Oahe, all day. It had been raining and it was muddy and they were filthy dirty and smelled and if you didn’t know any better you’d think these siblings were brothers, rough & tumbled, dirty-as-hell brothers. When they finally got home and cleaned up Bobby was sitting at the old desk reading Pride & Prejudice for a school assignment and Bobby-Ellen emerged from the other room drying her hair with a towel. Bobby-Ellen was fifteen and Bobby was a senior in high school and as Bobby glanced over he was stunned by Bobby-Ellen’s long hair and he became consciously aware for the first time that the tomboy he always kinda saw in one dimension was actually a lovely girl who would very soon blossom into a stunning young woman. His sole thought was, “Holy shit, this is gonna be trouble.”

♦

“You know the most important part of any motor vehicle? The radio,” said Bobby as he rolled the window down and twisted the volume knob. “What’s bang a gong mean?” Bobby-Ellen asked. “Shush!” Bobby said, “It doesn’t mean anything, just T-Rex letting their freak flag fly, you gotta hear this song here!”

Bobby-Ellen and Bobby had driven to the lake to escape the heat and before Bobby-Ellen could say another word Bobby held up his hand and the radio that got two stations played the hollow, haunting acoustical beat that begins the song “Nights In White Satin.” When the song was over, Bobby said, “That song is magical,” to which Bobby-Ellen quickly replied, “It’s no ‘Highway Star.'” “Huh, what do you know about ‘Highway Star’?” “I don’t know anything about it but I’ve heard it a thousand times, you’ve been playin’ that Deep Purple record for a month straight.”

Bobby laughed and said, “I guess you’re right. Good record though. There’s been a bunch of good records lately, Eat a Peach, Close to the Edge, Exile On Main Street, Machine Head … make sure you don’t go all country on me while I’m gone.”

“I only listen to music in the car and drivin’ and country music don’t fit,” said Bobby-Ellen. Bobby answered, “Well you and drivin’ don’t fit either as long as you’re without a license, you better ask dad about getting one.”

“Dad’s hard to talk to,” said Bobby-Ellen
“I’ve never seen you try.”
“I think I make him nervous.”
“He’s scared of you.”
Bobby-Ellen said, “Scared of me?”
“Well, not scared exactly, maybe just worried. He doesn’t know what to say to you or how he should say it. He doesn’t have much of a soft side and figures any words from his mouth will come out too rough, so he just doesn’t say anything. He figured mom would always be around.”
“You think momma would have let me drive?”
“I think dad will let you drive, you just need to ask. He cares a lot about you. He sees you and he sees mom and I think … and I think that’s the part that scares him.”
“What part?”
“The part that if he wraps his heart around you the same way he wrapped it around momma, then …”
“Then what?”
“Then what if he loses you? He could never handle that after momma.”
“How would he lose me?”
“He wouldn’t, he’d just worry that he would. Anyway, you just need to talk to him, you need to make the first move. I’ll be gone. You guys are gonna need each other.”
“Okay, I’ll try.”

It started to get on toward dark and although there was a steady, rustling breeze, the air was still heavy and hot. The Badfinger song “Day After Day” melodically spilled out of the radio. The little truck produced something short of high-fidelity through two paper speakers in the doors, mostly blocked by the legs of the passengers, and a speaker on top of the dashboard that somehow emitted sound through some tiny perforations.

Bobby-Ellen said, “This song says, ‘I remember finding out about you’ and it makes me think of my mom and how here I am almost sixteen years old and I never did find anything out about her. Bobby, what happened to her?”

When Bobby and Bobby-Jean were small, Bobby maybe seven and Bobby-Ellen not yet two, Bobby-Ellen stayed home with her mom and Bobby walked to and from school by himself. One day Bobby came home after school and his mom was nowhere to be found. Bobby-Ellen was by herself, eatin’ dirt in the front yard in the shade of a hackberry tree. Then as now, central South Dakota was a rural experience and even if you didn’t live on a farm, the existence was spread out and isolated and the distance between neighbors was often measured in miles.

“For a long time, I never knew either. I walked home from school one day and she wasn’t there. You were there by yourself, it seemed like you might have been alone there for a while. I picked you up and searched the house, we walked along the river … finally, we walked all the way over to the Riggs place, they had a phone and called dad.”

“Did she have an accident, did somebody take her?” Asked Bobby-Ellen.

“I never did know. Dad picked us up at the Riggs early the next morning. He said mom wasn’t coming back, she was dead. Do you remember the day we went to the gravesite?”

“Maybe a little. I remember that they put her in a hole and daddy told me to throw a handful of dirt in there.”

“Yep. After mom went missing we went home. We cried, dad cried. When I asked questions he said, “Don’t ask,’ then a few days later dad dressed us up took us to the cemetery and we put her in the ground.”

“So that’s it?”

“Well, that was it until about a year ago. One day, dad just said that I should know the truth, that I was old enough and that I might hear stuff.”

“Dad said that he and mom knew a boy in high school named Jefferson Pike, he was kinda sweet on mom and he would ask her to dance at some of the high school socials but nothing ever came of it. He served in the war and when he came home he never seemed right. One day in town he saw mom, mom and dad were together, and he called out to mom and asked her where she’d been and when she was coming home. Dad said that this guy Pike was acting as if mom was his wife and that it was clear that he had a screw loose.

“While it was odd, dad wasn’t all that surprised saying that lots of folks live out here alone and isolated and that after a time their minds melt a little. Still, when mom disappeared he got a funny feeling and went straight to where Pike lived. When he approached the house, he did so with his rifle, because he felt like something just wasn’t right.

“As he got to the front porch he heard mom scream out, ‘Go back Bobby, it’s a trap!’, dad said she must have heard the sound of his truck pulling up. And then before he could react a gunshot rang out, and then a second. Dad said instinct and anger made him go crashing through the door, he tumbled onto the floor and saw Pike standing, furiously trying to reload his gun. Without hesitation, dad aimed his rifle and put a bullet through Pikes forehead.

“He then saw mom on the floor, bleeding, unconscious. Pike had shot her when she shouted out. She was dead. Dad sat there, with her in his arms, until the next morning when the sheriff showed up to investigate a report of gunshots fired.”

♦

Bobby and Bobby-Ellen’s dad, some people called him Big Bobby worked as a foreman at the Dakota Forest & Logging Company, a combination sawmill and wood products company about seven miles from where the three of them lived. He worked six days a week, from early in the morning until dark except for Saturdays when they shut everything down about midday.

On this particular Saturday, not more than a half a mile from his house, he saw his daughter running along the shoulder of the road. He pulled alongside her, pushed open the passenger’s door and told her to get in. In less then two minutes they were home. Bobby-Ellen was breathing heavy in her seat and her dad, putting two-and-two together asked her:

“Where’s the truck?”
“Back on the road near town.”
“What happened?”
“Run outta gas.”
“Did you know that there’s a gauge on the dashboard that tells you when you’re low on fuel?”
“I never planned on driving that far and it all happened kinda sudden and then it was too late.”
“You had no right drivin’ that truck anyway. You don’t even have your learner’s permit … shoulda asked.”
“I just figured you’d say no.”
“There are lots of questions in life we won’t like the answer to but mostly we need to ask ’em anyway. So what exactly happened?”
“I was just drivin’ to nowhere on that back road that runs along the highway. Outta nowhere a car pulls up beside me, a Mustang … first he tries to cut me off then he starts chasing me.”
“You know these boys?”
“Kids from school, three or four of them, Dickey Atkinson was drivin’.”
“Then what?”
“Then I’m scared and drivin’ like hell. I whipped a crazy u-turn and tried to head for home, but I hit the gas and the truck started coughin’ and then nothin, I rolled to a stop. Well, all those boys got outta the car and were laughin’ and walking towards me with Dickey out in front and before anything else could happen I kicked Dickey in his balls as hard as I fuckin’ could…”
“Kicked him with them big pointed boots of your brothers did you?”
“Yes sir. And Dickey fell and moaned as loud as hell and at first all the other boys laughed but then they picked Dickey up dumped him in the car and sped off. And I ran here as fast as I could.”

Bobby-Ellen’s dad smiled that kind of smile that doesn’t show on the outside but burns bright on the inside and said, “There’s a gas can in the shed out back, go and get it.”

♦

Bobby Owen Harding was born in 1917 within shouting distance of where Bobby-Ellen lodged her boot in ol’ Dickey’s crotch. Bobby’s people came to the Dakotas the same way everyone else did, that is, they had an explorer’s curiosity, a crazy person’s courage and an American’s genetic obsession to have something they could call their own.

Sometime around the 1870s, his Harding ancestors pushed their way west into South Dakota. They would have been hardy stock, maybe German, maybe Russian, Norwegian, Swedish. By that time pioneers were all over the West, basically everywhere but the Dakota Territory. Lewis & Clark explored the Missouri Valley through what is now South Dakota as early as 1805. The Astoria party explored the Black Hills in 1811 and Audubon painted the birds of the region in 1842, still, well after the American Civil War, Dakota was essentially only home to a handful of white settlers. Most people in the east considered it an uninhabitable desert and that along with the warring ways of the Teton Sioux was more than enough to cause the westward surge to detour around Dakota.

The promise of free land changed this dynamic. It was essentially a government bribe to entice the down-and-out or the permanently-nomadic to pick up and head west. One hundred and sixty acres were given to anyone who was batty enough to step into the wild and stout enough to farm the land for at least five years. Bobby’s great-grandmother, Ida Goodwin, is said to be among the first white women settlers of South Dakota.

Like many pioneers looking west, Ida and her traveling party (the details are sketchy about exactly who those people might have been) “jumped off” at St. Joseph’s Missouri. The cramped barge plodded slowly north on the Missouri River but where it intersected with the North Platte most of the people got off and mover overland across the Oregon Trail. For some reason, Ida’s crew continued up the Missouri and after a few days, they came in sight of Fort Pierre on the west bank. Ida got off the boat and never left.

♦

Bobby-Ellen hauled that old gas can and put it in the back of her dad’s truck and then climbed in. As they made their way back to the scene of the crime Big Bobby said, “Why do you suppose those boys were chasing you anyway?”

“Don’t know,” said Bobby-Ellen “but Bobby says your typical high school boy has about as much sense as a housefly.”

In fact, Bobby-Ellen knew damn well why she was being chased. Word had gotten around about the young girl with the chestnut hair who liked to drive around without her top on. And while it’s probably true that young boys aren’t always bright, they’re almost always smart enough to know they want to see partial or any other kind of nudity. So the boys around town had been on the lookout for the little Luv pick-up, and if they ever saw it, well, they’d want to see more.

It wasn’t a big deal. No really, Bobby-Ellen thought, it wasn’t a big deal at all. If Bobby-Ellen had any breasts to speak of it was news to her. She was just sixteen, she didn’t own a bra. She never really gave it much thought and wasn’t exactly sure how she’d go about getting one if she did. In a household with little conversation, this was a topic never contemplated.

To Bobby-Ellen’s way of thinking if mother nature was supposed to magically deliver breasts she hadn’t made the delivery yet, so what’s the harm in losing a shirt on a hot summer day. Besides, her hair covered her flat chest with ample efficiency. Bobby-Ellen would have never contemplated the psychology of it all, but for a young girl who never really had a mom, who just watched her brother (and guidance counselor) head into the great unknown and who was just barely getting to know her father, the topless trick was a scream of defiance and frustration and represented the chance to finally be in control of something.

“We’re gonna get some of this gas into that tank, get ‘er started and then you’re gonna drive into town and fill the tank. What’s gas at? Thirty-one, thirty-two cents a gallon? A few bucks should do it.”

Big Bobby continued, “What’ll you do if you get pulled over by a sheriff?” Bobby-Ellen said, “I’ll tell him I left my license in my dad’s truck, that’s the one I usually drive.”

“Well, it’s not a good plan but it’s a plan,” her dad said. “Maybe it would be easier if you had your driver’s license.” Bobby-Ellen replied, “Would that be okay?” “Ya, I guess so, you couldn’t be any worse driver than your brother. The next time I’m in Pierre I’ll pick up the application.”

“You know, if it’s just gonna be the two of us for a while, we’re gonna need to communicate better … maybe we could start off with something easy like, ‘Hey dad can I drive Bobby’s truck?'”

Bobby-Ellen’s mouth dropped open like the squeaky hinged door on a U.S. post box. In sixteen years she never remembers her dad saying anything funny. After a few minutes, she said, “You always seem so far away … and sometimes I feel like an intruder.”

“Some of the stuff that goes with being a dad, I’m not really cut out for,” said Big Bobby, “so I paid more attention to the things I could do, like putting a roof over your head. I know I can’t be a mother or provide the emotional things that go with it, but I can be a better dad. You’re the very vision of your mom and I love you.”

♦

Bobby-Ellen pretty much wore the same thing every day, a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt and an old pair of boots. The jeans were the cheap version of Wranglers or Levis and to distract people from that generic reality, she’d cover the pockets with patches, a peace sign (the one with the two fingers) or butterflies or the flag or anything having to do with rock bands. The flannels were mostly ones Bobby left behind. She felt close to him when she wore them and they were soft and baggy and somehow liberating.

She missed her brother, had basically been pouting about it since he left. Partly because she was sad and partly because she still had an emotional scar from when the boys had chased her clear out of gas a couple of months ago, she hadn’t been driving Bobby’s truck.

While she was getting dressed though she remembered Bobby telling her that if she didn’t start the truck and let it idle a bit at least once a week the battery would die. Seeing as it was Saturday and her dad had already left for work, she had heard the screen door slam about an hour ago, Bobby-Ellen grabbed the keys off the hook.

She pushed the clutch in, put the truck in neutral and after a little grunting and wheezing the engine turned over. As she let the truck run for a few minutes she turned on the radio, the Rock Eagle. “American Pie” was playing and she remembered Bobby telling her the story about the day the music died. From the gravel parkway that ran in front of the house, you could look north through the trees and see the occasional car kind of flickering by on the main road heading into and out of town.

And on that Saturday morning it happened that a hot-rodded-up Mustang with a couple of pimpled boys drove past on that main road. So with her brother’s voice in her head and Don McLean singing about driving his Chevy to the levee, Bobby-Ellen figured it was time to get back out on the road, this time with plenty of gas. She put the truck in gear, unbuttoned her flannel and started towards town.

Now when we say town we’re not talking about driving into Manhattan, where thousands of people may see a beat up old truck and a teenager doing a Lady Godiva act. This was the middle of South Dakota and being in town on a Saturday meant encountering maybe a handful of people and a single traffic light and a country store, a closed bar and a two-pump fillin’ station.

Bobby-Ellen came into town from the south and that Mustang, the one that had chased her, the one driven by the teenager with the sore balls, was unoccupied and parked in front of the store. Bobby-Ellen drove by real slow, hoping to be noticed but not looking like she wanted to be noticed. She revved the engine a bit and that seemed to do the trick, she stepped on the gas and beat it out of town, knowing that she’d soon have company.

Sure enough, the Mustang was soon in hot pursuit but Bobby-Ellen had a big headstart. She took one of the backroads that ran parallel to the main highway and after traveling maybe a mile and a half, she pulled over to the left shoulder and quickly got out of the truck. By this point she had her flannel on and buttoned up and she had a second, similar shirt in her hands. The area was dense with trees and undergrowth and Bobby-Ellen walked into the woods about fifty yards and draped the red flannel shirt she carried over a low-hanging branch. She intended the shirt to be hidden, in plain sight. Then she ran back to the truck, took a quick look down the road and scampered over to the opposite side, ducked into the brush and waited.

A half a minute later that old Mustang came rumbling up and, seeing the truck, skidded to a stop in the gravel in front of it. Two boys jumped out, ran to the truck and looked inside clearly hoping to see Bobby-Ellen and disappointed when they didn’t. They scanned the area and upon casting their gaze toward the woods, they saw the red flannel. They ran to it, touched it and bolted deeper into the woods to find, they dreamed, the topless owner.

Bobby-Ellen figured that would happen. Once they were out of view, she popped out of her hiding spot, crossed the street and then ducked down and proceeded to let the air out of both passenger-side tires until they sat on their rims. She jumped into her truck and the sound of the little engine was a siren call to the boys in the woods and they came running.

Bobby-Ellen made a u-turn and waved her hand out of the window as the boys came into view in the rearview window. Bobby-Ellen turned on the radio, who was the Highway Star now?

It was 1972 and Bobby-Ellen like to drive with her top down.

Photo on Visualhunt