Axidents Will Happen

The air was brisk. Not a jacket brisk, but a good flannel brisk. It was a typical fall Saturday morning not unlike any other. The routine was to walk down to Owen's place for coffee every Saturday morning and shoot the shit for a while. Normally this took place after I stumbled around about a half-hour or so, smoked a couple cigarettes and managed to find a pair of socks that reasonably matched. Owen and I are, well, we're very good friends. He's real reliable like a dog, only sometimes not as bright. Owen, of course, always had somethin` to complain about. Usually it was about his wife Clare. Well, after a few cups of mud we'd usually hop in Owen's truck and head over to Jack's house and that's exactly what Owen and I did.

Now Jack, he was always up to something. If he wasn't working on some project around the house, he was building somethin` in his wood shop in the garage or drumming up some venture. Last time he got some fool idea he was going to raise them long ear rabbits for prize winnin`. Now that was a waste a money, wound up barbequin` all them damn rabbits.

Anyway, Owen and I had our fill of coffee and decided it was time to go visit old Jack and see what he was up to. There was a light frost on the ground still when we went outside. I could see Owen's breath as he was unlocking the truck. I think he was still mumbling somethin' about Clare when he stretched across the seat and popped the lock on my side. With a jerk I opened the hinge-rusted door and slid in. Man, there is nothin' I hate more than Owen's truck when it's chilly outside. Them cold hard vinyl seats really freeze your ass quick. `Course the thing never starts right either. Such was the case that Saturday morning. I sat there chattering while Owen cursed that truck out every time it stalled again. I had to ask him, "Owen. Do you put oil in this truck?"

"`Course I do!" he said. "You think I'm stupid or somethin'? Goddamn truck's just a piece a shit. Likes to be difficult when it's cold outside."

My left eyebrow sort of stood on end when he said that. Then I had to tell him, "Owen, this truck don't never run right even when it's warm out."

Owen, he just kept uttering a bunch a gibberish under his breath. "Boy, I tell ya... This blasted truck... I just don't understand..."

Well, either that old truck got tired of Owen bad mouthin' it or it just finally realized that somebody was tryin' to start it. Either way, my cheeks were beyond numb and I was pretty sure we could have walked over to Jack's house and still had time to stop and get a pack a smokes. This was an idea I'd mulled over since I left the house. I'd left my pack of Luckys on my dresser and now I was really regrettin' it.

For the entire ten minute trip over to Jacks, Owen whined about havin' to pee and about just how stupid his truck really was. It's a miracle Owen didn't wet himself as severe as he made it seem. I didn't ask to stop at the Quick Stop when we passed it, all due to his yappin'. He had a whole theory about coffee though and how it stimulated somethin' in him. He says it makes him pee all day long for some reason. I keep tellin' him "Owen, just stop drinkin' the stuff if it bothers you so much." He don't listen though. Stubborn old man.

Anyhow, we got to Jack's house around eleven or so and as soon as we pulled into the driveway Owen started in on being the first one to get to use the bathroom. I wasn't about to get into a contest with the stubby old fart so `course I let him go. Besides, I could see Jack out at the corner of the yard workin' on somethin'. All that talk about peein' made me have to go too, but I figured I'd just go see Jack and worry about that business later.

Now Jack had made a purchase of sorts earlier that morning and as I started for the backyard I realized what he was up to. He was chopping away at a good size log and it dawned on me that the old Maple tree that stood in front of the house was gone. I took a glance behind me as I walked out towards Jack and sure enough I'd passed by the giant stump in the ground without even noticing it.

Jack gave another swing of his ax and split a good chunk off the log he was workin' on. He had a cigar jutting from his mouth when he turned and he gave me one of those muffled, throaty hellos while his teeth stayed clamped to the stogy. He then went about propping himself up with his ax, withdrew the cigar from his mouth, with a deep breath, and said, "You're just in time, Ernest."

I came up beside my old friend and squeezed his shoulder replying, "Is that right?" We both laughed a little and then I asked him why he'd cut the maple down? Apparently the maple had kept crowding the power lines that ran to the house. Jack had cut branches off that tree before, but it had grown too difficult to mess with anymore. He had the city come out and down the tree for him. He was afraid that if we tried to do it ourselves, then the tree would have certainly fallen on the house.

I asked old Jack if he'd gotten himself a new ax and he said he had. He then hefted the thing up so that I could examine it. It was a mighty ax, crisp and clean. It was the kind with two blades, and Jack said he could shave the hair off his face with it if he wanted too.

We both laughed some more as I handed the ax back to Jack. He then assumed his chopping position, placed the now unlit cigar in his mouth again and asked if I wouldn't mind helping him chop some wood up. I said I would as he began hackin' away at the log he had been workin' on before.

Well, it was right about that time that Owen came headin' back towards us. I could just hear him mumbling about somethin' and from what I could make of it Clare had called him. I started chuckling to myself, but that was cut short by the sound of Jack's ax handle striking the log. Jack let out a, "damn it" as he looked up and all around. Then, as if we were synchronized, we both whirled towards the thud of the ax blade.

There was a concerning moment of silence after the thud occurred. Unbelievably, the ax blade had flown off the handle as Jack was swingin' it. The bladeless blow to the log had cracked the handle, while the ax blade managed a trajectory that is still quite curious to this day. What broke that second of silence, which then seemed like a lifetime, were the words that Owen muttered next.

"Goddamn it, Jack! I've got a splittin' headache."

Well, we took old Owen to the emergency room with that ax blade stickin' out of his head. I tell ya it took some time for Jack and Me to get our color back. Owen, well, he's still Owen. Doc said he got real lucky. That ax blade done divided his hemispheres. Boy, had it been off just a little in either direction, Owen would have had himself one of them lobotomies or maybe even worse. It did give him somethin' new to complain about, if you can call that a bright side and he'll sure as hell tell anyone he talks to that "Ya never know what life will throw at ya. Ya just never know."