by Sasha Pruett
*****
Yeah, he could just imagine that. What a vacation.
The sun had started its nightly decent into the western horizon nearly blinding him, and his two-day trip from Illinois to Nebraska was finally nearing its end. Tired and exhausted he let out a deep sigh of relief and shifted his sore butt in the seat; again. Even a night at the hotel in Iowa gave little more than a few hours of rest and a headache. The couple in the next room made sure of that. “People who fight that loud at three in the morning should be shot!” he mused.
When the visor became of little use, he dug in the glove compartment attempting to find the pair of sunglasses he had dumped in there earlier. Maps, napkins, straws, and ketchup packets spilled into the floorboard, as did his much-needed sunglasses. Curses flooded his mind as he leaned over and began groping; his arms stretched as far as they could possibly stretch, and his fingers wildly probed the floorboard. Suddenly his car shuddered, banging his head repeatedly into the steering wheel. Panic welled in his gut, and he forced his body to jerk upright. He swallowed the lump in his throat and with it his fear resolving himself to regain control of his mind and his car. The loose gravel clutched the tires, refusing to let go, sending the wild auto into a series of spins. The sound of his spastically beating heart boomed in his ears and brain. He prayed that what he’d heard was true as he turned into the skid and steadily pumped the brake, fighting the urge to slam full force on the oblong pedal.
His prayers had been answered as the car slid to a stop just inches from a drainage ditch. Unsure of whether he was shaking from the slightly sudden stop or from pure terror he sat clutching the wheel unaware of his white knuckles and cramping digits. Dread turned to anger and vulgarities of every kind traipsed through his mind, yet “You idiot!” is all that came out.
‘All of this over a stupid pair of sunglasses. No, all of this because you were too lazy to pull off the stinking road. How are you gonna get there if you total the stupid car. Jeez you’d lose your head… head? The heads!’ Franticly he wrestled with the seatbelt, flinging himself out of the car and straight to the ground, kissing the gravel. Now he really felt like an idiot, but at least no one was around to witness his Stooge moment, or to see him on all fours shaking his head like a dog in the dirt.
He stood upright into a cloud of dust drifting nearly a mile down the deserted road, though the tracks gouged in the gravel measured only a few yards. He called himself a name even less flattering than idiot as he made his way to the trunk then realized he hadn’t pressed the trunk release button and had to return to his door. Being cautious, the now bruised and battered man looked both ways, just like his mommy had taught him, before opening the trunk and exposing its contents. A wave of relief, no damage had been done to his precious cargo and he was once again reassured that they would survive the last twenty minutes or so of his journey. He excitedly closed the trunk lid and sighed then sped off to the western horizon leaving behind yet another trail of dust to scatter in the dusk.
The dirt encrusted Ford slid into a lonesome driveway at exactly 6:07 p.m., just as the front door of the large log house flung open and out burst the skinny little boy he’d been wanting to see.
“Uncle Alex, Uncle Alex, what’d ya bring me!?” The ten-year-old boy flung himself into his uncle’s strong arms, giving him a huge hug… Uncle Alex smiled.