The Back Road (Part 3)
Part three of The Back Road is here and I know you're all excited. I can just feel it. Enjoy.
After another 45 minutes of periodically turning my car on for heat and back off again to save gas I saw someone that was parked in the driveway get out of their truck and start making his way across the road. He was a man of about early 40s, skinny, and wearing dark heavy-duty gloves and a burly brown work coat. I saw him knock on Spencer’s window and say something, but I couldn’t make out the words. On his way to me I almost rolled my window down, but for some reason I decided against it. He leaned in close to the window. Up close I noticed the man had a thick graying mustache under his nose. “You doin’ okay?” he yelled through my window.
I gave him a thumbs up and yelled back, “Yeah, I’m good thanks.”
He smiled and presented me with his own thumbs up then walked back across the street to his dark green Chevy Silverado. That was a little weird. Nice, but a little weird. I leaned back into my seat.
Another half hour went by and I started observing more cars pulling up beside me, or trying their luck with the turns. I couldn’t see if anyone was making it through from my car. Every so often I’d see a car stop by the mustachioed man and they’d talk for a minute or two. Probably about the road conditions. I think he was warning drivers about this road because a few of the cars would pull into the driveway and turn around to head back. My hands were starting to get really cold no matter where I shoved them on my body, and my feet felt virtually nonexistent at this point. Why didn’t I bring gloves?
Every couple of minutes my eyes drifted over to the two empty spots still remaining on the grass in front of the mansion to the other side of the road. I wanted to move my car over there, so if I do get stranded here tonight at least I won’t be sitting on the side of the road. The mustached man must’ve heard my thoughts because at that moment he strode over to my car again (quite impressively I’d say considering the ice) and signaled me to roll down my window. I obeyed. “What’s up?”
“Hey man you staying warm alright?”
“Yeah, I’m trying to thanks.”
“Cool, mkay so I just got a call from a buddy of mine across town that the salt trucks are coming through and just shoving cars off the road, so if I was you I’d pull into to this dude’s driveway and park right on the grass there to just be out of the way, y’know?”
I nonchalantly glanced over at the spot he was referring to as if I hadn’t already been staring it. “Uh, yeah yeah, I’ll get right over. Thanks for the heads up.”
“It’s no problem man. I’m gonna go tell that other guy too, and you can just follow him in since you two are parked kinda close so just hold tight a bit.”
“Can do.”
He gave the top of my car a little pat with his hand and walked over to Spencer. As soon as the man stepped back Spencer’s car roared to life. His tires turned slowly on the road before starting to spin. It was a slow start, but he eventually got the tires to roll towards the driveway. I memorized every move his car made so that when it was my turn I could follow his path and make it safely over. I was somewhat baffled when Spencer drove into the driveway because he immediately turned right into the patch of grass that I had silently saved for myself. I was actually offended a little bit (Must’ve been the cold getting to my head). My fears were relieved when I saw his reverse lights kick on and his car rolled backwards to the other side of the driveway entrance. That was a close one. As quickly as I could I settled my car into the neighboring spot and shut off the engine again.
This spot was immensely better than the previous because I was perched on a small hill and could see the entire S turn in front of me. There were four new additions of cars sprinkled throughout the ditches. Tiny people walking around their cars trying to figure out the best plan to take. Someone had a dog with them, and I could see it running circles in the street and barking aggressively at the other stranded drivers. In the distance I could head what sounded like a baby crying, but I couldn’t see it anywhere. It looks like some of the cars that had driven by had triumphed, or at least from what I can see. I heard another noise close by, but this one was laughter. I quickly turned my head to see a group of three middle-aged guys and a woman talking a couple of feet between my bumper and a dark red minivan parked a little further down the stretched driveway. In front of the minivan was an old, run down shed looking building that was a small gust of wind away from completely falling apart. I guess that was the designated porta-potty because every few minutes one of the group members would disappear behind it and return a short time later looking quite relieved.
I cracked my window a little to try and hear what the elite group of castaways was discussing, but yet again the piercing wind grabbed the words and flew away with them before they could reach me. So I just sat there. Looking at the road ahead. Endlessly debating the pros and cons of trying to get home where I could lay in my warm bed. In my warm PJs. With my warm, fluffy dog. Oh shit, Aspen. I grabbed my phone and clicked the circle indention on the bottom of the screen. My face lit up as the phone came alive with light. I read the large printed, white numbers at the top of the screen. 4:15PM. “Shit.” I curse to myself as I bang the back of my head against the head rest. No good. The cushion is too soft to do any real damage. Poor guy is probably sitting in his kennel looking at the front door with hopeful eyes. Maybe the small feeling hasn’t quite crawled into his head yet that I might not be coming home at all (are dogs even capable of having sad thoughts like that? I hope not). Lord knows he’s gotta be hungry by now too. My stomach decided to speak up at this thought. It just hit me that I hadn’t eaten since about 11 o’ clock. I clamped my eyes shut and tried to shake the worrying thoughts off for just a little longer.
Another twenty minutes goes by as I sit in my car glaring out the various windows around me. I keep ferociously rubbing my palms together like I’m attempting to start a fire with invisible wood. A fire would be nice. For a while all of the noise outside dissipated and the only thing I could hear was the slow, steady breathing sounds coming from my nostrils. Then, from essentially nowhere, a blood curdling cry cut through the silence like a hot knife. I looked through each window searching for the sound. Out the window to my left I could see that the remaining men who were still standing in their huddle were also seeking the source of that sound. A few moments later I spotted it. Walking slowly up the hilled road toward the driveway came a young blonde woman dressed in nothing but a thin pink jacket and gray leggings. She had her left hand, and most of her forearm, shoved deep into a side pocket on the jacket. The other hand was engulfed by the hands of a small child. The toddler looked to be around three or four and was the screaming banshee that caught everyone’s attention.
Most of his body was covered in a very puffy white coat that made him look like a walking marshmallow. It wasn’t until the woman was stopped by the group of guys trying to help her that I noticed what she was wearing as shoes. They looked like slippers, or some kind of really thick socks. Not applicable winter attire. She knelt down next to the banshee to calm him down. It worked for about twenty seconds. I opened the door to my car and stood outside to get a better view of the situation. I flinched as the wind stabbed at my face and neck like needles. Once I regained my composure I looked at the woman and her child who now stood only ten feet away on the other side of my car.
She took her eyes from the group and glanced at mine as the men asked her questions. She had the brightest green eyes I’d ever seen. I would almost bet that she could see in the dark. This moment lasted only a second or two before she returned to her interrogators.
“What are you doing out here?” Asked one of the men.
“Is your boy doin’ okay in this cold?” Asked the mustachioed man.
“Ma’am, are you aware that those aren’t shoes you’re wearing?” Examined the last man.
She took a tired breath as if she had answered those exact same questions five times that day. “I got stuck in a ditch on the way home from daycare. I called my boyfriend to pick me up, but that was over an hour ago. Now, I’m walking to where he’s driving from so that he doesn’t have to go through all of this crap.”
The men all looked at each other curiously. She stole another quick glance to me before going back to her son who was starting to whimper and sniffle. One of the men coughed a little to get her attention again. He pointed a finger down to her feet. “Are y’all cold? I bet y’all can’t even feel ya toes anymore.”
The mustachioed man threw a hand back to his green Chevy, “I’ve got plenty of gas in my truck over there if you all need to warm up for a bit.” He had a genuine friendly tone about this.
“No… Thank you, but we really need to get going. The sooner we find my boyfriend the better.” And off she went again. Half-walking half-dragging her marshmallow banshee. Now, I can’t speak screaming toddler, but I’m pretty sure he was saying that he wanted nothing more than to leave his mother behind and jump into the nearest warm vehicle.
Mustachio followed a few steps behind. Still speaking friendly, but with a slight pinch of persistence in his voice. “Come on now lady your boy is crying for some heat. I’ll stand outside while you two get toasty it’s no problem at all.” I swear this guy was a mind-reader.
She barely turned her head back, and never stopped walking, “I said we’re fine, really. He’ll be okay.” Mustachio stopped walking and turned to face all of us. He shrugged his shoulders and put his hands in the air and mouthed, I tried. I watched the woman and her child disappear behind the hill behind me.
The Back Road (Part 3)
Ten minutes later I woke up from a half-sleep daze to the sound of a loud clunk. I pulled the seat lever again and sprung myself to a normal sitting position. Out the hazy windshield I could see Spencer standing over his open trunk. He pulled out a thick black pullover and laid it on the car. He removed the jacket he was wearing and exchanged it with the pullover. He reached back into his trunk and pulled out a large blue winter coat with a furry gray hood. He quickly slipped that on over his pullover as well as some black gloves that fell out of the coat’s pockets. He was already wearing plain gray sweatpants and a thick winter hat with green stripes and a ball top bouncing wildly to the slightest move of his head. Wow, I thought, he really came prepared. I spun around to see what I had in the back seat of my car to keep me warm. There was an old, crumpled up receipt from Wal-Mart wedged between two of the seats, an empty water bottle on the floor, a silver racquetball racquet sitting in one of the seats, and a pile of more receipts from who knows where scattered on the floor. And I know the only thing in the trunk is a tire jack, and an old Pennywise clown mask from Halloween two years ago. I did not come prepared. Not a huge deal though. Shouldn’t take too long for the salt truck to come by.After another 45 minutes of periodically turning my car on for heat and back off again to save gas I saw someone that was parked in the driveway get out of their truck and start making his way across the road. He was a man of about early 40s, skinny, and wearing dark heavy-duty gloves and a burly brown work coat. I saw him knock on Spencer’s window and say something, but I couldn’t make out the words. On his way to me I almost rolled my window down, but for some reason I decided against it. He leaned in close to the window. Up close I noticed the man had a thick graying mustache under his nose. “You doin’ okay?” he yelled through my window.
I gave him a thumbs up and yelled back, “Yeah, I’m good thanks.”
He smiled and presented me with his own thumbs up then walked back across the street to his dark green Chevy Silverado. That was a little weird. Nice, but a little weird. I leaned back into my seat.
Another half hour went by and I started observing more cars pulling up beside me, or trying their luck with the turns. I couldn’t see if anyone was making it through from my car. Every so often I’d see a car stop by the mustachioed man and they’d talk for a minute or two. Probably about the road conditions. I think he was warning drivers about this road because a few of the cars would pull into the driveway and turn around to head back. My hands were starting to get really cold no matter where I shoved them on my body, and my feet felt virtually nonexistent at this point. Why didn’t I bring gloves?
Every couple of minutes my eyes drifted over to the two empty spots still remaining on the grass in front of the mansion to the other side of the road. I wanted to move my car over there, so if I do get stranded here tonight at least I won’t be sitting on the side of the road. The mustached man must’ve heard my thoughts because at that moment he strode over to my car again (quite impressively I’d say considering the ice) and signaled me to roll down my window. I obeyed. “What’s up?”
“Hey man you staying warm alright?”
“Yeah, I’m trying to thanks.”
“Cool, mkay so I just got a call from a buddy of mine across town that the salt trucks are coming through and just shoving cars off the road, so if I was you I’d pull into to this dude’s driveway and park right on the grass there to just be out of the way, y’know?”
I nonchalantly glanced over at the spot he was referring to as if I hadn’t already been staring it. “Uh, yeah yeah, I’ll get right over. Thanks for the heads up.”
“It’s no problem man. I’m gonna go tell that other guy too, and you can just follow him in since you two are parked kinda close so just hold tight a bit.”
“Can do.”
He gave the top of my car a little pat with his hand and walked over to Spencer. As soon as the man stepped back Spencer’s car roared to life. His tires turned slowly on the road before starting to spin. It was a slow start, but he eventually got the tires to roll towards the driveway. I memorized every move his car made so that when it was my turn I could follow his path and make it safely over. I was somewhat baffled when Spencer drove into the driveway because he immediately turned right into the patch of grass that I had silently saved for myself. I was actually offended a little bit (Must’ve been the cold getting to my head). My fears were relieved when I saw his reverse lights kick on and his car rolled backwards to the other side of the driveway entrance. That was a close one. As quickly as I could I settled my car into the neighboring spot and shut off the engine again.
This spot was immensely better than the previous because I was perched on a small hill and could see the entire S turn in front of me. There were four new additions of cars sprinkled throughout the ditches. Tiny people walking around their cars trying to figure out the best plan to take. Someone had a dog with them, and I could see it running circles in the street and barking aggressively at the other stranded drivers. In the distance I could head what sounded like a baby crying, but I couldn’t see it anywhere. It looks like some of the cars that had driven by had triumphed, or at least from what I can see. I heard another noise close by, but this one was laughter. I quickly turned my head to see a group of three middle-aged guys and a woman talking a couple of feet between my bumper and a dark red minivan parked a little further down the stretched driveway. In front of the minivan was an old, run down shed looking building that was a small gust of wind away from completely falling apart. I guess that was the designated porta-potty because every few minutes one of the group members would disappear behind it and return a short time later looking quite relieved.
I cracked my window a little to try and hear what the elite group of castaways was discussing, but yet again the piercing wind grabbed the words and flew away with them before they could reach me. So I just sat there. Looking at the road ahead. Endlessly debating the pros and cons of trying to get home where I could lay in my warm bed. In my warm PJs. With my warm, fluffy dog. Oh shit, Aspen. I grabbed my phone and clicked the circle indention on the bottom of the screen. My face lit up as the phone came alive with light. I read the large printed, white numbers at the top of the screen. 4:15PM. “Shit.” I curse to myself as I bang the back of my head against the head rest. No good. The cushion is too soft to do any real damage. Poor guy is probably sitting in his kennel looking at the front door with hopeful eyes. Maybe the small feeling hasn’t quite crawled into his head yet that I might not be coming home at all (are dogs even capable of having sad thoughts like that? I hope not). Lord knows he’s gotta be hungry by now too. My stomach decided to speak up at this thought. It just hit me that I hadn’t eaten since about 11 o’ clock. I clamped my eyes shut and tried to shake the worrying thoughts off for just a little longer.
Another twenty minutes goes by as I sit in my car glaring out the various windows around me. I keep ferociously rubbing my palms together like I’m attempting to start a fire with invisible wood. A fire would be nice. For a while all of the noise outside dissipated and the only thing I could hear was the slow, steady breathing sounds coming from my nostrils. Then, from essentially nowhere, a blood curdling cry cut through the silence like a hot knife. I looked through each window searching for the sound. Out the window to my left I could see that the remaining men who were still standing in their huddle were also seeking the source of that sound. A few moments later I spotted it. Walking slowly up the hilled road toward the driveway came a young blonde woman dressed in nothing but a thin pink jacket and gray leggings. She had her left hand, and most of her forearm, shoved deep into a side pocket on the jacket. The other hand was engulfed by the hands of a small child. The toddler looked to be around three or four and was the screaming banshee that caught everyone’s attention.
Most of his body was covered in a very puffy white coat that made him look like a walking marshmallow. It wasn’t until the woman was stopped by the group of guys trying to help her that I noticed what she was wearing as shoes. They looked like slippers, or some kind of really thick socks. Not applicable winter attire. She knelt down next to the banshee to calm him down. It worked for about twenty seconds. I opened the door to my car and stood outside to get a better view of the situation. I flinched as the wind stabbed at my face and neck like needles. Once I regained my composure I looked at the woman and her child who now stood only ten feet away on the other side of my car.
She took her eyes from the group and glanced at mine as the men asked her questions. She had the brightest green eyes I’d ever seen. I would almost bet that she could see in the dark. This moment lasted only a second or two before she returned to her interrogators.
“What are you doing out here?” Asked one of the men.
“Is your boy doin’ okay in this cold?” Asked the mustachioed man.
“Ma’am, are you aware that those aren’t shoes you’re wearing?” Examined the last man.
She took a tired breath as if she had answered those exact same questions five times that day. “I got stuck in a ditch on the way home from daycare. I called my boyfriend to pick me up, but that was over an hour ago. Now, I’m walking to where he’s driving from so that he doesn’t have to go through all of this crap.”
The men all looked at each other curiously. She stole another quick glance to me before going back to her son who was starting to whimper and sniffle. One of the men coughed a little to get her attention again. He pointed a finger down to her feet. “Are y’all cold? I bet y’all can’t even feel ya toes anymore.”
The mustachioed man threw a hand back to his green Chevy, “I’ve got plenty of gas in my truck over there if you all need to warm up for a bit.” He had a genuine friendly tone about this.
“No… Thank you, but we really need to get going. The sooner we find my boyfriend the better.” And off she went again. Half-walking half-dragging her marshmallow banshee. Now, I can’t speak screaming toddler, but I’m pretty sure he was saying that he wanted nothing more than to leave his mother behind and jump into the nearest warm vehicle.
Mustachio followed a few steps behind. Still speaking friendly, but with a slight pinch of persistence in his voice. “Come on now lady your boy is crying for some heat. I’ll stand outside while you two get toasty it’s no problem at all.” I swear this guy was a mind-reader.
She barely turned her head back, and never stopped walking, “I said we’re fine, really. He’ll be okay.” Mustachio stopped walking and turned to face all of us. He shrugged his shoulders and put his hands in the air and mouthed, I tried. I watched the woman and her child disappear behind the hill behind me.
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