Day 1.

Four boys, not men, drove into that sleepy ocean-front town. College seniors. One last hurrah before graduation. A getaway long weekend. Two coolers packed to the brim Coors Light. Don Julio 1942 and Jack Daniels in a cardboard box.  

Windows down, radio up. Sunkissed faces. Chiseled physiques. Four years on the crew team had bonded them together. 

Yellow light? Speed up. Stop sign? Roll right through. 

Jamie Lawson’s father had paid for everything. Jamie Lawson’s father owned the vehicle they were driving. High-end luxury sport utility vehicle. 418 horsepower twin-turbo V6 engine paired with a 10-speed automatic transmission. HOSS 4.0 elite suspension with FOX dampers and locking diffs, disconnecting sway bar, and premium leather seats. 

“Turn left here,” said Jamie, not taking his eyes off the GPS. “The house should be at the end of this dirt road.”

Trey’s sunglasses were blue, which matched his sleeveless shirt. He’d trimmed away the bottom to better showcase his abdomen. Chris took a hit from his vape and exhaled into Jake’s face. 

“Quit it, you little bitch,” barked Jake, fanning away the smoke. Everyone laughed. 

Trey turned the steering wheel but didn’t take his foot off the gas. The SUV skidded slightly as it veered onto the dirt road lined by pitch pines. A large cloud of dirt formed beneath the tires and ascended in the boys’ wake. 

An old man stood on the side of the road angrily pointing at a yellow sign to his right. Behind him was a small single-story home. Wooden shingles faded grey, sun-bleached and slightly warping. A handicap ramp connected the driveway to a rickety porch. 

The sign indicated that the speed limit was 10MPH. But the boys didn’t slow down. They didn’t notice, or they didn’t care. 

***

Day 2.

Driving back from the beach. Sunburned, drunk, and rowdy. The trunk packed with sandy beach chairs, skim boards, and an empty cooler. Trey turned onto the dirt road and accelerated towards their rental. 

The same old man was now standing in the middle of the road, blocking their way. Trey was looking at his phone. 

“Watch out!” screamed Jamie. 

Screeeeeeeeeeech. The SUV came to an inelegant halt mere feet from the elder. 

“Excuse me, but may I have a word?” The old man couldn’t have been taller than 5’8. He wore trousers despite the 89-degree heat. Size 42 waist was too big for him. Held up by suspenders. A short sleeve button down shirt. Clean shaven, except for a neatly trimmed white mustache. His grey hair was very thin. Neatly combed to one side. His hands were like gnarled driftwood—twisted, knotted, and knobby. In fact, his entire appearance was weathered from years spent on the sea, under the sun, and fixing just about everything broken that ever crossed his path. 

“Young men, this here is a private community.” When he spoke, there was a wheezing sort of noise that came out from deep inside of him. “Now, we only just began allowing renters in here, but there’s still some local rules we expect you all to follow.” He pointed towards a sign to his right. “We ask you to please keep your vehicles below the posted speed limit, okay? We need to keep the dirt and dust from pluming.” 

Trey had closed his eyes while the old man was speaking and made an obnoxious snoring noise. Chris and Jake laughed loudly. Jamie did not. 

“Are you lot listening? This here is serious busine—.” The rest of his words were drowned out. Trey had engaged the SUV’s emergency brake and floored the engine. The rear-wheel drive vehicle spun out its tires, kicking up a large cloud of dirt. 

Laughing, Trey released the brake and sped off down the road, leaving the old man coughing in his wake. 

***

Day 3. 

6:41 mile pace. Headband soaked through with sweat. Headphones in. Rock music drowning out all other noise. Jamie finally relented from his forced sprint as he turned off the main street and onto the dirt road back to the rental. 

He gasped for air. The sun seared his face and exposed back and shoulders. He’d run out of electrolyte-enriched water two miles back. Feeling a little lightheaded, Jamie stopped, placed his hands on his knees and took a few long deep breaths. 

He looked to his left. The old man was pushing a wheelchair up the ramp towards his front door and away from their parked 1991 Toyota Camry. A tiny little woman lay shrunken in the chair. What little hair she had left was withered, wispy, and lifeless. She wore a pink knit sweater despite the suffocating humidity. Her legs were wrapped in a fleece blanket, and she had slippers on. 

The old man’s wife wore an oxygen mask. A clear tube wound its way from her mask to a large metal tank affixed to the back of the wheelchair. The old man struggled to get his wife back into their home. Jamie could see that the old man’s left leg was stiff at the knee. He had to drag that foot up behind his right one. Stringing together a few shuffled steps before pausing to catch his breath. 

For a moment, the old man and Jamie made eye contact. The old man grimaced in disgust and then resumed his labor of love.

Jamie stood there, rooted in place. He felt something, but he didn’t know what it was.

Day 4. 

The boys were ready. Open button-down shirts. University T-shirts. Slim khaki shorts. Sperrys. Backwards baseball caps. Sunglasses and red Solo cups. 

They piled into Mr. Lawson’s SUV enroute to a local bar. Trey jumped in front of Jamie. “Come on, you know I love driving this thing,” Trey said, “keys please.” Jamie rolled his eyes and walked around to the passenger side. 

Trey accelerated before Jamie had even closed the door.

“Hey, what the hell, man?” 

“Relax,” Trey said with a smirk. 20, 25, 30MPH in a matter of seconds. 

“Yo, slow down,” Jamie said. But Trey wasn’t listening. He turned up the music and started tapping his hands against the steering wheel in rhythm with the song. 

This time they could all see the old man in the middle of the road long in advance. He was waving his arms angrily. Trey sped up and waited for the last possible minute to slam on the brakes. The old man didn’t flinch. 

“Now you listen here,” the old man barked. A thick vein was pulsing in his temple, his voice strained. “What the hell do you think you’re doing driving so fast. Look what you’ve done!” He pointed around his head. A thick dirt cloud was wafting down the road, encircling the SUV. 

Trey looked over his shoulder at Chris and Jake. “Watch this,” he whispered. Trey reached down and applied the SUV’s emergency brake again. 

Jamie looked out the window towards the old man’s house. The old man’s wife was sitting in her wheelchair on the porch. Oxygen machine running. She was coughing incessantly, waving her feeble hands around her face trying to clear away the cloud of dirt. 

He felt it again, that feeling from earlier. 

Jamie looked over at Trey, the immature boy was smirking as he prepared to rev the engine like before. Jamie curled the fingers on his right hand into a tight fist, his thumb wrapped around his first two fingers. He twisted in his seat and landed a swift punch to Trey’s right arm, driving his knuckles into the muscles of Trey’s bicep. 

“Ouch, what the fuck!” Trey rubbed his arm and winced in pain. 

“Quit it, you jackass,” Jamie said in an authoritative tone. 

Trey stared into Jamie’s eyes, and Jamie stared right back. The tension in the vehicle was palpable. And then, Trey seemed to deflate slightly, his shoulders slouching and his gaze drifting downward. 

Jamie leaned past Trey and smiled to the old man. “Absolutely, sir. We’re very sorry. Won’t happen again.” 

Chris and Jake were not laughing anymore. 

“Now drive out of here slowly, I mean it,” Jamie hissed at Trey. 

The SUV slowly proceeded down the dirt road at 7MPH. There was silence in the vehicle. No one said anything. 

***

Day 5.

Beds stripped. Vehicle packed. The weekend had come to an end. 

Jamie got behind the wheel of his father’s SUV, Trey in the passenger seat, with Chris and Jake in the back. 

Three boys and one man pulled out of the rental’s driveway. It was 93 degrees, the heat waiting for a thunderstorm before easing back from its oppressive onslaught.

Jamie proceeded glacially down the dirt road. As his SUV approached the old man’s house, Jamie saw the elderly couple sitting together on their porch. The old man had pulled up a white plastic chair next to her wheelchair. His wife was asleep, her head resting on the old man’s shoulder. 

For a moment, the two men made eye contact. 

The old man nodded at Jamie, and Jamie nodded back.