excitement. We look at each other in our love of disreputable books and she hands it over, completing my collection. “Thank you, Bernice,” I say in heartfelt appreciation, caressing this title like a sexual partner. “You must go now, John,” she says with sudden concern. “I can’t be exposed. My readers will continue to hide me. They know. They know I’m the best damn alternative librarian in the country.” “You should be proud, Bernice,” I say as I get out, bow in respect, and blow her a kiss goodbye. “Run,” she says with urgency; “run to read!” But where do you run to in Parachute, Colorado?
GOOD RIDE NUMBER TEN
GUMDROP
Up the hill, that’s where. And lo and behold, here comes a truck. Please, dear God, let him stop. Even though I don’t really believe in God (or at least any of the ones I’ve heard about), my prayers are answered. I run up to the idling Kenworth eighteen-wheeler, lugging my bag, and climb up into the cab. Behind the wheel is Gumdrop, a cross-country trucker driving for Farley’s & Sathers, a large candy company. He started his route in the Midwest and he’s on his way to a candy wholesaler in L.A. A little too far south for my journey but a good ride to Utah, where I’ll jump out and head north to Reno and then down on into San Francisco. Imagine my delight when Gumdrop starts talking about candy! Mexican Hats, Red Hot Dollars, Dots; he likes the same treats as I do! He’s cute, too, but I don’t get any sexual vibes, he’s just sweet … like Swedish Fish.
“How about Jujyfruits?” he asks with a wink and a smile showing a chipped but beauteous front tooth. “You’re kidding,” I answer, “they’re my favorite candy of all!” “Filling-rippers,” he yells enthusiastically, agreeing with my candy-connoisseur opinion. “My dentist warns me off Jujyfruits, but I say fuck him,” I brag. “I love those chewy little pellets.” “But not Jujubes, right?” he asks with sudden concern. “No, they’re too hard,” I answer. “That’s because they use potato starch instead of cornstarch as their primary thickener,” he explains, “and Jujubes are cured longer, making them tough, hard as nails … inedible, if you ask me.” “I agree,” I answer in breathless candy brotherhood. “Nothing resists a bite more perfectly than a fresh Jujyfruit.”
“Guess what,” Gumdrop says, leering. “I got a whole truckload full of them!” “Jujyfruits?” I ask in a sugar frenzy. “Yessiree,” he boasts, “they make them in Creston, Iowa, and that’s where I’m coming from. You should see the plant! Huge tubs of Jujyfruits! Thousands and thousands of those sweet little nuggets popping out of the sugar machines every minute. They don’t make the small boxes anymore, damn them, but I got twenty thousand movie-theater-sized boxes in the back of this truck … and”—he pauses with drama—“can you keep a secret?” “Sure!” I pant, just imagining the orgy of flavor in the rear. “I got mint ones,” he whispers conspiratorially, “the flavor those confectionary fascists discontinued in 1999.” “Good heavens,” I moan, “I haven’t had a mint Jujyfruits since then! I thought they were totally unavailable!” “They are ,” he answers with penny-candy vigor, “unless you’re in the distinguished company of yours truly. I didn’t get the name Gumdrop for being a candy dabbler. I’ve been saving ’em.” “Look,” he whispers with pride as he pulls out a small trash bag filled with mint-flavored forbidden treats. “Can I have one?” I ask, shaking in candy awe. “You sure can, John,” he answers, and my mouth is watering so much I don’t even realize he has recognized me. “Here…,” he offers, picking a few mint-green Jujyfruits from the bag. I nibble some out of his callused hands the way a horse would go for a lump of sugar and he doesn’t seem to mind. I savor the tangy flavor that may once have been the most unpopular
GOOD RIDE NUMBER TEN
GUMDROP
Up the hill, that’s where. And lo and behold, here comes a truck. Please, dear God, let him stop. Even though I don’t really believe in God (or at least any of the ones I’ve heard about), my prayers are answered. I run up to the idling Kenworth eighteen-wheeler, lugging my bag, and climb up into the cab. Behind the wheel is Gumdrop, a cross-country trucker driving for Farley’s & Sathers, a large candy company. He started his route in the Midwest and he’s on his way to a candy wholesaler in L.A. A little too far south for my journey but a good ride to Utah, where I’ll jump out and head north to Reno and then down on into San Francisco. Imagine my delight when Gumdrop starts talking about candy! Mexican Hats, Red Hot Dollars, Dots; he likes the same treats as I do! He’s cute, too, but I don’t get any sexual vibes, he’s just sweet … like Swedish Fish.
“How about Jujyfruits?” he asks with a wink and a smile showing a chipped but beauteous front tooth. “You’re kidding,” I answer, “they’re my favorite candy of all!” “Filling-rippers,” he yells enthusiastically, agreeing with my candy-connoisseur opinion. “My dentist warns me off Jujyfruits, but I say fuck him,” I brag. “I love those chewy little pellets.” “But not Jujubes, right?” he asks with sudden concern. “No, they’re too hard,” I answer. “That’s because they use potato starch instead of cornstarch as their primary thickener,” he explains, “and Jujubes are cured longer, making them tough, hard as nails … inedible, if you ask me.” “I agree,” I answer in breathless candy brotherhood. “Nothing resists a bite more perfectly than a fresh Jujyfruit.”
“Guess what,” Gumdrop says, leering. “I got a whole truckload full of them!” “Jujyfruits?” I ask in a sugar frenzy. “Yessiree,” he boasts, “they make them in Creston, Iowa, and that’s where I’m coming from. You should see the plant! Huge tubs of Jujyfruits! Thousands and thousands of those sweet little nuggets popping out of the sugar machines every minute. They don’t make the small boxes anymore, damn them, but I got twenty thousand movie-theater-sized boxes in the back of this truck … and”—he pauses with drama—“can you keep a secret?” “Sure!” I pant, just imagining the orgy of flavor in the rear. “I got mint ones,” he whispers conspiratorially, “the flavor those confectionary fascists discontinued in 1999.” “Good heavens,” I moan, “I haven’t had a mint Jujyfruits since then! I thought they were totally unavailable!” “They are ,” he answers with penny-candy vigor, “unless you’re in the distinguished company of yours truly. I didn’t get the name Gumdrop for being a candy dabbler. I’ve been saving ’em.” “Look,” he whispers with pride as he pulls out a small trash bag filled with mint-flavored forbidden treats. “Can I have one?” I ask, shaking in candy awe. “You sure can, John,” he answers, and my mouth is watering so much I don’t even realize he has recognized me. “Here…,” he offers, picking a few mint-green Jujyfruits from the bag. I nibble some out of his callused hands the way a horse would go for a lump of sugar and he doesn’t seem to mind. I savor the tangy flavor that may once have been the most unpopular
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