Drive

In our picturesque Tennessee town, I waited for Daddy Longlegs and the boys to circle the block to pick me up. I watched a man in a Dooley truck back up and forwards, try to park in a spot that was never going to be big enough for his vehicle.

He rolled his window down as he drove out the wrong way onto a one-way street that I expected my family to cruise up any minute.

I couldn’t stop myself from shouting, “It’s a one way!” and gesture with my arm to drive the opposite direction.

Thinking back, I had no impulse control. The words slipped out before my mental filter could catch them and given the opportunity, I would have done the same thing again.

The man braked and yelled out his window, “G-d it, mind your own f’ing business.”

He threw his truck in reverse and slammed into the brick wall with a crunching crush of metal, plastic and glass. The wall didn’t move so I assumed his truck made all the accommodations in the encounter.

The door swung open, and the man emerged with a silver flask in his hand that reflected light from the sun like a mirror.

Oh, this is bad, I thought trying to make myself as small as possible. He’s going to kill me right here on the sidewalk. I looked around to see where I could run and if there would be any witnesses.  

Instead of murdering me, the man surveyed the damage on the back of his truck with a grunt, got back in and proceeded to try to repark as Daddy Longlegs drove up.

I ducked and ran for the passenger door, sliding inside, I said, “Drive,” as they do in the movies after a bank heist.

“What happened?” Daddy Longlegs asked.

I had so much to explain, but first, our escape.