Said To Contain

I drove a full eleven hours straight after my little run in with -- well, with whatever it was that I had a run in with. The urge to pull off and drain the lizard rose up every time I passed a rest area, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Saying I was scared to stop wouldn't be quite right; let's just say I had a strong aversion to getting out of my truck.

  My normal driving routine involves checking my mirrors every twenty seconds or so. I was always taught the importance of knowing what was going on around you and being sure to always leave yourself an out in case something broke loose ahead. Any good trucker uses his mirrors a lot, but I took it to a whole new level for the duration of this leg of my trip.

  By the time I got through El Paso, I realized that I was more aware of what was behind me than I was what was happening in front of my rig. It was unsafe to say the least, and it led to a few near-misses -- but I just couldn't stop checking to see if that Camry was racing up on me.

  There was no sign of Mister Kramer, but I did notice a big black Lincoln Navigator hanging back about eight cars behind me for longer than I was comfortable with. I first noticed it soon after I crossed into New Mexico, and it seemed to be sticking with me. After an hour or so of its pursuit, I intentionally slowed way down to see what it would do.

  The fact that it passed me by made me feel better, but when I would speed up I would just overtake it again and we'd be right back where we started. It had a Nevada plate, the number of which I copied down. T27-FF5... I don't know what I thought I was gonna do with it, but I wrote it down anyway -- just because it seemed like a good idea.

  The damned thing was still with me when I reached Van Horn, Texas and decided I couldn't contain myself any longer. I had technically reached the end of my legal driving window anyway, and it had been another very long night so my fatigue was almost insurmountable.

  Truckers are taught about what's called sleep debt... in theory, your body requires a certain amount of sleep each night. If you don't get it on a particular night, it doesn't just go away... instead, it's tacked on to what you require the next day. When you're driving on a tight deadline, or having a rough go at things like I had been, the hours start adding up real quick.

  There was a billboard along the highway for a strip club with truck parking just a few miles ahead. I couldn't care less about the strippers, but an ice cold Miller Lite was just what the doctor ordered on the heels of my ordeal. Thinking tactically, I waited until the last possible moment and broke for the exit; no turn signal or anything. Just as I had hoped, the Navigator blew right by the ramp and continued on down the interstate. Finally satisfied that I wasn't being followed, I hung a right and headed towards the big neon sign for The Booby Trap.

  The lot was empty; guess even lonely truckers have better places to be at eleven in the morning than a little dive bar on the side of the road. Before shutting down the engine, I called Sunspot Logistics to check in since I had forgotten to last night. I got an answering machine instructing me to leave my company name, location and trailer temp. Typical stuff for any load, really...

  Making sure to lock all the doors and seal the vent windows, I stepped out and looked down at Big Red's busted bumper. It was bent up pretty good, but I was almost happy to see it. The fact that it was still askew meant that the accident had really happened and wasn't just a figment of my overtired imagination. The severity of the damage proved that there had been much more than a simple fender bender; I was in an all out wreck, just as I remembered before all of the mind-games started up.

  When I walked through the blacked-out glass door of the dumpy establishment, I headed for the men's room like I had a rocket shoved up my ass. I didn't take a good long look at the scenery, but I saw enough to know that there weren't any strippers in this place... there were plenty of over-the-hill chubby women with their tops off walking around, but nothing anywhere near what I would call a restaurant quality exotic dancer.

  The bathroom wasn't anything to write home about either. It stank of urinal cakes and disinfectant, which I guess is better than what I usually smell in truck stop stalls. The fluorescent lights were dim and flickering, the ambience adding to my already disoriented sense of reality. I felt like I'd spent the past two days in a low-budget horror movie and would've thought it only reasonable had a thick man wearing a Halloween mask jumped out from behind a door with an axe or something. Thankfully, there was nothing like that... I took care of business and was out rather quickly.

  Back in the smoke filled main room, I sat at the bar and dug out my cell phone. Sammy would be in school at this time of the day, but my ex-wife should've been at home enjoying the life of a housewife. Her reassurance that my son was okay would have to do until later in the afternoon, when I could speak with him myself.

  Her cell number went right to voicemail, so I tried the home line. It rang, and rang, and rang -- then rang some more. After awhile, it finally went to voicemail as well... but I didn't feel like leaving a message - and she probably wouldn't return my call anyway.

  A man as fat as the brauds jumping around flaunting their mammoth chests approached and introduced himself as Bub, the bartender. In all my trucking days I've never encountered a man who had been given the name Bub at birth, but if ever there was one, I imagine he would look like this guy. He had rolls under his shirt where I didn't know it was possible to have rolls, and he was soaked from head to toe with sweat dripping from every inch of his body. His brown hair was greasy and cut close to his head, as though to provide ventilation for his perspiring scalp. His facial hair didn't qualify as a beard per se, but it was definitely untrimmed and had all the qualities you would expect in the scruff of a hillbilly slob.

  "Whatcha have?" He asked.

  I called up my favorite beer and was served a tall cold bottle, complete with that ignorant Cyclone neck that nobody really understands. Nothing helps take a load off my shoulders better than a crisp, nearly frozen brew; but this one tasted a little off. I looked for a Born-On date for a minute before realizing that those were on the other brand. The fact that it tasted expired didn't knock a cent off the price, of course, but I wasn't in the mood to argue.

  "You got a delivery to make or are you just passing through?" Bub asked in his Texas-touched vernacular.

  "What's it to you?" I snapped back, now a bit weary of people asking questions about the load I was hauling on this occasion.

  "Whoah, doc!" Bub exclaimed, putting his hands up as though to ask that I put on the brakes. "Just thought I'd strike up a little conversation. If you want to be left alone, I can do that too."

  "Look, man." I started apologetically. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude. I've just had a real bad morning, that's all."

  "No problem, partner." He replied. "I understand; believe me, I do. I know just the thing for you, though..." Bub looked off into the distance and scanned the room for a second before shouting out loudly. "Misty! Hey Misty! Come on over here for a minute!"

  I didn't even have to look up to know what I was gonna see. In all my life I've met several women called Misty, and every damn one of them has been a sea donkey of the highest degree. The name is cursed, I think -- right along with Angel and Bub. If you're a parent-to-be and decide you might want to name your little girl Misty, just know that she's gonna weigh over two-hundred pounds when she grows up as result of your decision. Hey folks, I didn't write this rule; I just know it to be true. You show me one girl named Misty who has seen her waistline in the past ten years and I'll show you a bitch who changed her name.

  Anyhow, so now here comes Misty... just as you would expect her to be. She was topless, like the rest of them, and let me tell you - she could've fought in the Civil War armed only with those titties. They were deadly weapons, believe you me... like watermelons wrapped in cheesecloth. She strolls up like she's the hottest thing on two legs, smelling like catch of the day, and throws one of her loch-ness arms around me.

  "Hiya, suga
r!" She began, her voice as deep as mine. "You want a dance this morning?"

  "She gives the best lap boogey in Texas!" Bub explained. "Worth every penny, you take my word!"

  "No thanks." I responded quickly, slapping a five-spot down on the bar. "I was just leaving - y'all can keep the change."

  Misty seemed disappointed... I would be too if I had to walk around in her shoes for any period of time. The next stop for me was bed, but I was in dire need of hearing a familiar voice, so I dialed Janet on the way to my truck. Thankfully, she answered with her typical charm.

  "Well howdy there, stranger!" She jabbed. In all the excitement of the previous day, I had forgotten to call and have my habitual rap with her.

  "The phone rings on this end, too." I volleyed back.

  "You have a rough day yesterday?"

  "Misses Jan, you don't know the half of it."

  "Well I sure am sorry, darlin', I had intended to call myself, but I got all wrapped up in work and forgot."

  "That makes two of us."

  "I do have some good news for ya', though; looks like you'll have enough cash left at the end of this trip to put that trailer in for service!"

  "Oh, I can't believe I forgot to tell you." I said. "My reefer is working pretty well now -- I think they fixed it up a little at the shipper on this backhaul, if you can believe that. I also managed to squeeze an extra thousand bucks out of the broker because this load is overweight."

  "That's great! Maybe we can shuttle that extra money into your garage-opening fund!"

  "Wow..." I replied, touched at her words. "Misses Jan, that's the first time I've ever heard you say anything good about my plan to open a garage. Usually you just tell me all the reasons why it'll never happen."

  She sighed. "I'm sorry I've been such a dream-buster lately, Randy... it's just hard when all I see everyday are the skeletons of what used to be people's finances. I'm closing in on retirement age, but there's just no way I'm gonna be able to swing it with the way things are going. I try to paint over everything with a smile, but I'm so tired it's just not as easy as it used to be."

  "Don't you worry about it, Misses Janet." I said in an upbeat tone, playing the part of counselor that is usually reserved for her in our conversations. "Everybody finds a dark cloud over their head once in a while, you just go on and let it rain. Things are gonna clear up, they always do."

  "Gosh, I sure hope you're right. I haven't been feeling so good lately... the cancer came back."

  "Oh no..." I lamented, thinking back on Janet’s battle with the disease just a few years ago. She had barely survived and ended up losing a breast in the fight. Being the valiant southern trooper that she is, she refused to have it repaired cosmetically and wore it as a badge of courage. No one deserves to go through what she had endured, especially not someone who loves to live as much as she does.

  "I found a lump last week and went to the doctor... he took a biopsy, and it came back bad. I have my first chemo session next week."

  "Next week? Misses Janet, you need to get yourself to the doctor now! Breast cancer is nothing to mess around with, you know that better than anybody!"

  "Yeah, maybe I should try to get in a little early. If the doctor will bump it up, maybe I can work it into my schedule."

  Deciding that she had enough on her shoulders, I didn't unload my problems with the nightmare and little run-in on her. These things seemed futile compared to the demons she was facing down. I tried my best to comfort and reassure her; telling her that everything was in God's hands and He wouldn't give us more than we can handle. Looking down at my little blue Jesus on the dash, I told her that Christ has always been there when we needed him; that this time would be no different.

  We said our goodbyes and I hung up, saying a little prayer for my friend before drawing the leather curtain around my bunk and laying down to sleep.

  Chapter 10