Somewhere east of Nashville, TN
Driving along a sparse country road in my town a few years ago, I noticed a bad-ass Dodge Charger, black with darker than legal windows stopped in the middle of the road. It rumbles, fast and mean.
As I approach, it backs up, going the wrong way in the opposite lane. I slow down and observe. The driver guns it, lifting the back end up and stops again. What is he doing? As if it were from the pages of Stephen King’s Christine, I’m thinking he will chase me. The door opens and a twenty-something male exits the vehicle in a wife beater t-shirt, bulked up and tattooed. His stance is cocky, on-guard then he looks at me, direct eye contact and I am frozen. He glances behind him. The road is empty. I think to myself, this could be bad.
He leaves the car door open and engine rumbling. He saunters toward me holding his hand up to remain stopped. I’m ready, I stretch my fingers on the steering wheel and grip hard. I’ll run his ass down if I need to. He steps in front of my vehicle, his eyes are brown, jawline chiseled, his expression intense. He leans over and I cannot see his hands, what is he doing? Getting a gun, a knife from his boot? I am shocked, relieved and embarrassed when he picks up a turtle and takes it across the road to the trees.
He offers a 1000 watt smile, enters his vehicle and drives off leaving me staring. Never judge my friends!
See ya in the bookstores!
This post deserved another rebirth!