Jimothy Dyck's Bush

Jimothy Dyck was trying to run away from life, but his backpack was snagged on a branch.

“I can’t even get away from this stupid place!” Jimothy fumed in the Trans-Canada Railyard. “It just keeps holding me back!”

Jimothy was leaving home for the first time. His dreams were too big for the small town he grew up in. Jimothy was headed west, determined to make it big, despite his lack of talent. His big plan – hop a freight train out of town – if only he could escape this bush.

As Jimothy struggled to free himself, a stranger’s gravelly voice called to him in the dark of night.

“Hey, kid, c’mere.”

Startled, Jimothy yanked his backpack harder, snapping the branch. The weight of his force sent Jimothy stumbling forward into a haze of cigarette smoke.

“Who’s there?” Jimothy whispered as he parted the dense brush to see a haggard-looking man staring back at him.

“They call me ‘Rail’n’Jail’ Jenkins,” the train hopper replied in a rough voice. “Been riding these lines a long while now…”

“Cool.” Jimothy plopped his backpack down next to Jenkins. “My name’s Jimothy – Jimothy Dyck.”

Jenkins raised an eyebrow at Jimothy as he took a long drag from his joint. “What the hell kind of name is that?”

“That’s my Christian name,” Jimothy beamed.

“That figures,” Jenkins shrugged as he read Jimothy’s “Too Blessed to be Stressed” t-shirt.

Jimothy stared blankly at Jenkins, not knowing what to say.

Jenkins burst into laughter, breaking Jimothy’s awkward silence. “Sit down, Jimothy,” he said, pointing to an overturned crate in his makeshift camp. “Where you headed?”

Without hesitation, Jimothy blurted out, “I’m going west – to make it big!”

“Are you an artist or something?”

Jimothy’s eyes lit up. “I’m a writer!” he exclaimed, pulling a thick manuscript from his backpack, “I’m working on a screenplay.”

“What’s it about?”

“It’s a comedy of fiction,” Jimothy excitedly explained, “With action, romance, and a little bit of sass.”

“Hmm,” Jenkins stroked his scraggly beard. “Lemme see.”

“Well – it’s not finished,” Jimothy hesitated.

“C’mon.” Jenkins pressed, “I won’t make fun.”

Jimothy reluctantly handed his screenplay to Jenkins, who turned to the front page and read aloud:

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

“This is the Lord’s Prayer,” Jenkins stated. “Is this all you have?”

Jimothy was silent.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

Jimothy threw up his hands and confessed, “I don’t know what to write!”

“You gotta write stories, Jimothy – about your experiences,” Jenkins encouraged, “Write about what you know.”

“But, I don’t have any stories,” Jimothy insisted.

“Sure, you do!” Jenkins assured Jimothy with a friendly nudge, “Just keep writing – until the story finds you.”

There was a long pause as Jimothy contemplated Jenkins’ advice.

“Thanks, man.” Jimothy sighed as the first drops or rain began to fall.

Jimothy Dyck and the train hopper, whom he’d just met that night, huddled together under a tarp. They talked all night in the rain as they waited for their train to come. Jimothy poured his heart out while “Rail’n’Jail” Jenkins mostly smoked cigarettes and listened until the sky cleared at dawn. It was the perfect day to run away from life – and just maybe, for Jimothy, to start living it, too.

The end.

E04: Jimothy Dyck's Doughnuts