Old Wounds in Stanfield
““Used to drive trucks. 18 wheelers, across the whole country. That was my life. Getting to see everywhere, drive all over and get paid for it. I drove cars. Nice cars. Cars you’d want to own. But I messed that all up years ago. I got high a bunch and it went on my record. Bit later, my truck needed an engine else I was going to be out of work. One of my so-called friends worked at a scrap yard, said he had a truck with a good engine to switch. He was going to take and fix up the body, but I could trade engines. So I went to pick it up, drove it home and parked it in my back yard. Next thing I knew I was arrested and charged. Grand Larceny. I fought the charges in court for a year and a half but it ended up I caved and took a plea deal. Couldn’t stomach the chance of facing 20 years in prison. I just got off spending 4 years in the penitentiary. It’s hard, ya know. You come out and the whole world’s different. I don’t know how to explain it but it’s all just different, people look at you different. Like, if I wanted to work here at this Circle K, I’d go in there and they’d all look at me suspicious, seeing as I’ve got a felony on my record. And I’m not a bad guy. If I wanted to rip you off, I could right now but that’s not what I’m tryin to do. It’s just hard is all.””
Cliff showed a picture of his old rig, loaded up with cars on a long haul to Chicago
Cliff was filling up a well used Big Gulp when we ran into him. He had more miles on him than his grey truck parked in the Circle K parking lot. He was reticent at first, or answered most of my questions with a sort of inflated machismo. A few minutes in, he started to open up a bit.
"I grew up running around in my mama's bar, all us kids did. She was a single parent, did the best she could to bring us all up." Cliff talked hesitantly about his early life as though prying open an old box that'd rusted shut.
“Growing up as the 7th kid of 10, I don’t know what I’d do without a family like that, especially when my dad walked out when I was real young, like 5 or 6. We all sorta picked up after each other while mama was working. When I was about 23, she put her money together and paid cash for a truck for me. That was how I got my start 18 wheeling. She worked every day for all of us, even gave me my career. She’s with some S.O.B. now, been with him for 38 years, and I hate the guy but as long as she’s happy, I guess the guy can stick around. My brothers and I all told him, if you ever lay a hand on her, you ain’t gonna make it. One time early on, he made her cry and we drove up 130 miles north to the bar he was at and we knocked his front teeth out. And he didn’t lay his hands on her, just hurt her feelings.
I never liked the guy though. Even with all of us young he never tried to be a father to none of us. Never tried to give a fatherly experience.”
Cliff's America is hard. He says America is just "a place where you struggle, you try to survive and get by." When I asked him about freedom he scoffed a bit, "Freedom is being able to do whatever without anyone telling you different. But I don't have freedom anymore. I don't get to be free now that I'm out of jail. You always have someone telling you what you can do and how you can be now. Can't even walk down the street with a knife, I'd get pulled over and put in jail without ever doing something wrong."
Cliff peeled out of the parking lot abruptly after we finished talking about his family. I can't help but feel there was a bit too much on display for Cliff to feel comfortable anymore and he took off.
