National Story Project
with Paul Auster

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August 2001 -- Paul Auster reads a story from Roger Brinkerhoff of Galilee, Pennsylvania.

Reflections on a Hubcap

It was autumn in the Northwest. Memories of the weekend with my old friend Keith, at his place in Seattle, had left me feeling warm and satisfied. Now, after several hours of driving, I had adapted to the rhythms of the journey home. The comfortable vibration of my solid car, with its fat rubber tires humming beneath me, the golden light illuminating the scenery along this sparsely traveled stretch of highway, and the soft, almost subliminal sound of the radio contributed to my wistful mood. Lost in this reverie, I was gradually drawn into a pleasant state of awareness in which I felt particularly alert and receptive. An intriguing state of anticipation followed.

I focused on an approaching road sign and felt a dim sense of recognition as I read the name of the upcoming town. It was a distinctive and beautiful name, and I remembered it as the place to which another friend, Shawnee, had intended to relocate the last time I had seen her, several years ago.

The exit was a short distance ahead, and I found myself gliding onto the exit ramp. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the streets were quiet. I drove the length of the main street imagining what it would be like to surprise my friend with a visit. Within a few minutes, I understood that this was exactly the kind of place to which Shawnee would be attracted. An abundance of graceful old trees shaded the sidewalks, and small groups of people were gathered informally, enjoying the warm afternoon together.

Upon spotting a phone booth, I pulled over and searched the directory for clues as to my friend's address or business location, but found neither. Surprisingly, the feeling of anticipation I had been feeling intensified. I interpreted this as encouragement to continue my search and spent another two hours peering into the windows of professional buildings, driving the residential neighborhoods looking for Shawnee's distinctive old vehicle, and asking local townspeople if they knew her. None of these efforts seemed to be bringing me closer to my friend.

At last, recognizing that evening was approaching, I resigned myself to the futility of my search. After a final, disappointing loop through town, I pulled onto the ramp that would lead me back to the highway. As I picked up speed, I heard a strange rattling sound coming from the passenger side of the car. Before I could determine its origin, I was startled by the sharp metallic sound of a hubcap falling off and careening down the hard pavement. I applied the brakes and guided the car onto the shoulder of the narrow roadway, keeping my eye on the hubcap as it bounced wildly into the distance. I got out of the car and walked briskly to where I had observed the hubcap entering the high brown grass. I stepped into the fragrant overgrowth and, after a few minutes of searching, saw the silvery dish near the bottom of a steep incline. I struggled down the embankment into a hollow that would not have been visible from the road and stooped to collect the dusty cap.

At that moment, I heard the sputter of an engine in the distance. I looked up to see an old red jeep coming toward me out of the dense pine forest. My eyes moistened and my heart pounded when I recognized the driver of that jeep. It was Shawnee. Our eyes met through the streaked windshield as she approached the hollow where I was crouched, holding onto the dented hubcap.

For a moment my attention was drawn to the reflection of this eerie scene as it unfolded on the convex surface of the hubcap. On this expanded plane, I saw myself and the shadowy embankment behind me stretching and merging disproportionately in the perimeter of the disc with the scene around and before me. The sound of the engine grew louder, and the vehicle itself appeared on the shiny surface. At the top of this little dome of activity were the vivid reddish hues of the twilight sky.

Within this strange new dimension it seemed possible, for an instant, that I could comprehend the incredible convergence of events that I was witnessing. I strained to understand, but before I was able to awaken to the challenge, my senses were occupied by the presence of the rusty jeep shuddering to a stop in a cloud of dust a few feet from me. I sprang to my feet and pulled my astonished friend out of her seat for a long overdue and decidedly mystical reunion.

– Roger Brinkerhoff
Galilee, Pennsylvania