I tried to help a stranger today. Mark your calendar!
There I was, driving The Pony home from school, when an approaching car stopped in the road. The driver stuck his hand out the window and motioned for me to stop. I did. Which is probably a good way to get killed in some necks of the woods. But here on the blacktop county road, in the light of day, with a cow pasture on each side and a house down a lane, I took that chance.
"Is this Battle Axe Lane?"
"Um. No. This is Backroads Byway."
"I'm trying to get to 1313 Battle Axe Lane."
"I live at 1212 Battle Axe Lane. I'm going there now, if you want to follow me. I'll go slow across the bridge."
"Let me turn around."
Let the record show that the dude looked like a city slicker. Or a real estate salesman. No flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off, or overalls, or wifebeater. No hockey mask. No chainsaw. A tasteful polo shirt. I couldn't see them, but I pictured him as wearing Italian shoes.
The closer I got to my turnoff, the more I second-guessed myself. What if he was a murderer? Genius was home. He wouldn't get me today. What if he was a process server? Oh, well. Wrap up your loose ends, people.
When I hit the gravel, I put up a wall of dust. Not intentionally. That's just a happy accident that lets me feed my dust to tailgaters. I swerve back-and-forth for them. But this guy got his shiny black SUV all be-dusted with no malice from me. I pulled sideways across my driveway entrance. Both to block him, and to point him up the road. He thanked me. "I never would have found this road on my own." I had mentioned to The Pony that he looked like a guy trying to find something with GPS.
He continued, and I pulled into the garage and closed the door. The Pony carried in his school stuff. I took a few minutes to gather my things, then followed. That City Slicker was coming BACK down Battle Axe Lane! He slowed at my driveway, but didn't turn in. He went down the driveway of our neighbors across the road. Then I started to worry some more. What if he was staking out the place? Coming back after dark to slit my throat? I think he saw me petting the dogs. THREE DOGS! Ya got that, City Slicker? THREE DOGS!
Genius greeted me inside. "What was that all about? I saw you talking to that black car."
"I wasn't talking to a CAR! I gave a guy directions. He may or may not come back to kill us."
"Oh." Genius went back to his room.
I'll update you tomorrow...IF I CAN!
7 comments:
I'm sure you will be okay....but if you never get this then maybe you won't....well either way I guess something will happen ... or maybe not hmmm this is an interesting thought process :)
If we don't hear from tomorrow, I will dispatch the police to find your ravaged, nekkid, still-breathing body. (Because teachers are made off strong stock.)
I'll be waiting anxiously to hear from you.
Mr. polo-shirt-italian-shoes was brave just to give up on his GPS and ask a local for directions. I've always been told when lost in a scary place to ask for help from a mother with children.
Your active imagination is in overdrive, but then again, those back road drivers are always up to something. Hope you survive to tell about it.
Josh,
I made it through the night. But the dogs are barking their fool heads off right now, and I'm home alone...
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Sioux,
We hang on until we get revenge.
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Stephen,
It was a deceptively simple explanation, which was shared with me by HICK, of all people. Not exactly a stellar member of Mystery, Inc.
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Leenie,
But I AM a mother with children!
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Linda,
I invite you to live a day rubbing elbows with our Backroads denizens...and see if your blood doesn't run cold a couple of times in those 24 hours. Of course, I will not be participating in a cultural exchange, rubbing elbows with your city slickers. There is the edge of insanity, and then there is the abyss, you know. I might have an allergic reaction to Italian shoes.
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