Synthesis

Synthesis (sin’-the-sis): An apt arrangement of a composition, especially regarding the sounds of adjoining syllables and words.

Rough roads killed my truck. Traveling the outback of West Virginia collecting taxes from tax resisters who are members of the “Death Before Taxes” movement. They raise their middle finger and give a hearty “fuc*k you” to the federal government. They reside in hills and hollows in a corner of West Virginia. They partake of no Federal amenities. They live in waterproofed, fireproofed, insulated, and windowless refrigerator boxes strung together like trains. Supposedly, they are modeled on the homes of their 18th-century Scottish ancestors who settled in the hills and hollows of West Virginia when they were given the boot by the Scottish lairds. Since they’ve been living in close proximity to each other for hundreds of years and intermarrying, they all look alike, almost exactly alike. Half of them have the same first name, so it’s a nightmare tracking them down. They all have a common birthmark: a mole shaped like a turtle on their left cheek, right below the eye. Over time, they have all taken the last name “Turtle” naming themselves after their common birthmark.

Since they need only food, clothing, kerosene, and sundries for their crafts, all the Turtle men work for money. None of them have a car, so they walk everywhere they go. One of the Turtles works as a lawyer after passing the bar exam, by sitting to the law and acting as an apprentice to a notoriously crazy judge. Another Turtle man makes walking sticks for personal defense. They are studded and “accented” by spikes at the end—made to defend. Other Turtles work at the applesauce factory, dumping apples into the cookers and seasoning and stirring them. The applesauce is named “Eve’s Treat” and is popular throughout the Southeast. A small number of Turtle women work in local car washes, drying off the cars. They wear no bras and let their t-shirts get wet. This strategy pulls in huge tips and makes the women among the wealthiest Turtles.

I have to go door-to-door because the Turtles have no electricity and no addresses. Every April I risk my life trying to collect a few dollars from the Turtles. I fail every year because they go and hide in the woods. They yell “Watch out tax man or you will die of lead poisoning.” This year one of the women stayed behind. I recognized her immediately as the girl who had dried off my car two weeks ago when I was plotting out this year’s trip. She had injured her foot helping her uncle k-Mart Turtle making walking sticks. I told her I would take her to the doctor and she pushed me into the ravine running through her front yard. I sprained my ankle, crawled out of the ravine and limped my way back to my broken truck. I batted zero on collections again this year. I called Turtle’s Towing on my cellphone. They refused to help me because I’m a “tax man.” Nobody would help me. So, a US Army tow truck was dispatched to bring my government vehicle to Wheeling for repairs—the muffler had been ripped out along with the brake line.

All I could think of on the ride to Wheeling, was the car wash girl who had pushed me into the ravine. Right before she pushed me, I think I had caught a glimmer of affection in her eyes. I was going back next week to have my car washed again, and confirm the spark of love.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

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