Mule and Julie

by Tom Peters

It was the only time in his life, Mule found himself hitchhiking in front of a Baptist church in Nashville Tennessee at 5 AM. Not sure which side of the street he should be sticking out his thumb, but sure he was doing the right thing.

Inside the church, a marching band from Troy, Michigan lay motionless in their sleeping bags on the auditorium floor. Thirty-six young band majors in brass, woodwind and percussion instruments from 13 to 18 years old competing against 20 other bands from Wisconsin, Illinois, Indiana and Michigan.

A month earlier, Mule agreed to embark on a 14-city tour with Julie’s oldest son Jacob’s Marching Band. An annual trek they had made every summer for three years. Jacob was furious with his mother for inviting a ‘replacement’ for his Dad. The divorce was final only 18 months ago. “What was she thinking?” “A fucking steelworker.” Cursing to his little brother Nate, who’s reply was, “Yeah!”

Tension between the boys and their mother had intensified and Mule was feeling lost.

Nashville was the sixth city to host the competition. This evening Mule was assigned kitchen cleanup. It reminded him of KP duty in Fort Benning some 20 years earlier. All to remain the lover of this beautiful former Radio City Rockette dancer.

A moment came eight hours earlier. He just finished rinsing the last nasty pan and thought he’d catch the end of the jam session in the chapel. As he entered the hallway, there was Julie and the boys huddled together. As Mule approach, she looked up at him with an odd stare. The boy’s faces tucked into her shoulders and pajamaed bodies curled in a fetal position. The scene said it all.

“I’m tired, goin to bed.” Mule dejectedly mumbled.

He stared at the ceiling until early morning. Thoughts of failed relationships flooded his mind. At minutes to 5 AM, he quietly got his belongings, stuff them into his backpack and secured the rolled up sleeping bag on top and snuck out into the cool, damp morning air.

The coolness cleared his head. Mule didn’t care if he had to walk to the airport. Spotting the twinkling light of a passenger jet to the west, he stepped out into the street. He stuck out his thumb and a pickup pulled over.

“Where you headed young man?”

“Airport”

“Jump in, I’m passing it on my way to my farm.”

He threw his pack into the back and hopped into the spacious pickup. A calming warmth came over the lucky passenger as he sat quietly contemplating how fate had merged him and the driver.

“Tired of hitchhiking son and takin to the skies?” “Sort of, I appreciate the ride.” What do you farm?” “Corn, hay, and cotton, plus a nice victory garden my wife is quite proud of.”

“I hitchhiked west in ’62. I was young and free. Flew back to Nashville from Los Angeles. A tad too busy for me.”

“I sort of liked it on a visit a few years back.” Mule smiled. The farmer fell quiet for the rest of the half hour trip. He smiled and said good luck as Mule fetched his backpack. Mule thanked him again and flew back to Michigan.

Julie and her two sons would eventually wake and not even know Mule was gone until Julie found the note tucked into her backpack after breakfast. It simply read, ‘Julie, I’ve danced as fast as I could. Goodbye, M’