(no subject)
“Here’s one for the road,” he says, as he tosses me an unfiltered Lucky Strike, flattened from six hours of Levi’s to leather on I-95. He takes down the last of his coffee - black - “It’s the only thing keeps me goin’ these days,” he says. Turning to face his truck, he climbs in with a familiarity that only 18 years and enough miles to circumnavigate the globe 12 times over can teach. His rig is called Little Jane - a tribute, he says, to a dream once had by a man 20 years his junior. “Long time ago, kid. I carried her through some tough times, but life’s a funny way ‘a takin’ people in different directions.”
His eyes lose focus as her memory warms him, though not for long, as a passing 18-wheeler snaps him back to reality. “Now,” he straightens up, “she carries me. Wherever I go, Janie is right there with me, makin’ sure I get where I need to be gettin’ to.” His eyes move to the horizon. The sun is up, but still low enough for you to look straight at it and not make a face that rebukes its very existence.
“That’s my cue, kid. Gotta push off.”
It isn’t until his taillights are a distant glimmer in the morning haze that I realize I don’t have a light. My eyes dart over to the ditch on the side of the road where I tossed my last cigarette, just in time to see the ember take it’s own life along with mine. Life is cute like that, sometimes. So I tuck the Lucky behind my ear and get into my car. In twenty minutes I’ll be halfway between here and tomorrow.
But right now, I just wish I had a light.
His eyes lose focus as her memory warms him, though not for long, as a passing 18-wheeler snaps him back to reality. “Now,” he straightens up, “she carries me. Wherever I go, Janie is right there with me, makin’ sure I get where I need to be gettin’ to.” His eyes move to the horizon. The sun is up, but still low enough for you to look straight at it and not make a face that rebukes its very existence.
“That’s my cue, kid. Gotta push off.”
It isn’t until his taillights are a distant glimmer in the morning haze that I realize I don’t have a light. My eyes dart over to the ditch on the side of the road where I tossed my last cigarette, just in time to see the ember take it’s own life along with mine. Life is cute like that, sometimes. So I tuck the Lucky behind my ear and get into my car. In twenty minutes I’ll be halfway between here and tomorrow.
But right now, I just wish I had a light.