King of Beef

The lines on the road were straight. As always. Running into oblivion. Carl stretched out in his chair, looked at the ceiling briefly. He let his eyes bulge, giving over for one precious second to the forces that made him thankful his truck didn’t come equipped with an eject button.
-Someday I’ll get to stop driving. Someday I’ll drive this thing into a cemetery, and I’ll leave it there. With my father. And it can all go back where it came from.
He forced his head against the back of the seat again. A minute later, the truck was on the side of the road and he was out of it. Stretching out before him was only the sky. It stretched on into gray. Black was too final. The stars splattered like silkworms.
Carl ran back and forth a couple times. He jumped up and down twice, and kicked the air. Then he yelled.
“Focccaaacccciiiiaaaaaa”
He had a bad habit of yelling words that were altogether foreign to him. The only way he knew them was from commercials. But they sounded good, much like the food in the ads. He knew that no one could hear him yell these big words. That gave him pleasure. That no one could tell him he was trying too hard, or ask him what the word meant.
“Gooooooooooooorganzooooooooooooooooooola”
Items from The Olive Garden had a special release. Perhaps because he’d never been there. He took pleasure in that, too.
He got back in his truck. Started it on the second try. Yellow lines stretched on. He tried to follow them as the big rigs passed him by. Country music became boring after the fifth Alan Jackson tune about being down home.
-He never says nothing about how trapped that huge stretch of land can make you feel. That’s what country music should be about. But they don’t like to admit the bad in it.
The public access station in Deming replaced it Tonight there was some crank mumbling about aliens and Roswell and secret cities under the desert.
-At least he believes what he’s saying. More than you can say, right Alan?
He wished for a turn. Just a little shrug in the road to make him feel like putting his hands on the wheel was necessary. That there was some skill in driving. He saw the flask in the corner of his eye.
-Leave it alone, Carl.
The wind picked up, and some of the hay in the bed started to blow away. He followed it in the rearview mirror, piece by piece. He could count the money he was losing, piece by piece. To the cent. The radio piped in.
“There’s a recession on, and they know it, too. It makes them happy to see us fail.”
The flask looked a little better.
-Leave it alone.
The truck crashed through a fence, and a headlight was out. Dust was streaking behind the truck, and soon he couldn‘t even tell the hay from the cloud. Four bails dropped off the top of the load. He watched them float away, in the rearview mirror.
As morning approached, he ran through herds of cattle. For the most part they moved out of his way. He yelled out the window as he approached the herds, relishing in the role he‘d dreamed of himself in since birth.
“I’m the KIIIIIIIIIIIING OF BEEEEEF”
Most of the herd scattered away, afraid for their life. A few others looked back at him, stern and somber. Daring him to run them over. He remembered that they were alive. How many he’d raised and slaughtered over the years by his own hand.
“I’M THE KING!”
In the rearview mirror a piece of hay was floating. He ran square into a bull.
Carl thought about driving on. That cattle could take care of themselves.
But he got out, probably because he knew cattle. Their slow movements carried with them the weight of thought and grace. Something seemed right about that.
That was a thought he had years ago. Now he and the bull stared each other straight in the eyes.
“I’M. THE. KING.”
The bull grunted. Its breath was thick in the vague morning light. It fell to its knees, laid there. Carl could sense it probably wouldn’t die, but he didn’t want to see anymore of it.
He looked away from the bull long enough to eye his flask. He unscrewed the top. Emptied the whole thing on the bull. Lit a match. The thing went up in flames.
Jumping from side to side, he waved his arms and clicked his heel. He seemed to fan the fire with each swipe of his arms.
“HOOOLLLLLLLLLAAANNNNNNDDDDDDDAIIIIIIIIISSSSSE”
As the dawn broke, the blazed scorched the same color as the sun.
Carl noticed half his hay was gone. He was happy to be off the road