a little story for halloween. ;)
Big Joe It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled like a love-sick dog, as the rain beat a nervous staccato on the windshield. The tires on the road made an angry hissing sound, trying to keep my little bus securely on the asphalt. The wipers strained and moaned against the flood, pushing one way and then another. The road could barely be seen in the dim glow of my headlights. I hadn't see it this bad in many years. As i rounded a curve, my headlights reflected off the back of an 18-wheeler driving slowly ahead of me. I slowed down and kept back from his trailer, wishing to avoid the spray from his wheels. I could see the lights clearly and the large letters on one rear door, spelling "Big Joe" with a cartoon character underneath. The sight of this made me laught and cheered me considerably. Driving behind the truck was much easier, as his big tires moved most of the water out of the way. And I soon learned to trust his instincts as he braked for curves or swung wide for large puddles or fallen rocks. We drove on for what seemed like several hours, until the rain began to slacken and the wind died to just a steady breeze. The truck began to pick up a little speed, so I tagged right along behind. We hadn't seen any other traffic in either direction since I met up with the truck, and pretty soon, I could see the lights of a truck stop ahead. I decided a cup of coffee would be just about perfect right now, so I pulled into the parking lot. "Big Joe" hit a couple of blasts on his air horns and kept rolling down the road. I guess he had known I was back there, after all. It was still drizzling as I made my way into the coffee shop, so I got a little wet. The smell of the food brightened my spirits. The folks sitting around inside looked at me a bit more than curiously, however, and I asked the waitress about it when she came over. "Oh," she said, as she poured my cup of coffee, "They're just surprised that you made it through in this weather. Highway 41 has been closed now since three o'clock." "Well," I replied, "I'd have never made it if it hadn't been for that trucker, Big Joe." And with that, she dropped the coffee pot, smashing the glass on the floor and spraying hot coffee all over her legs and my feet. Her face was the color of the napkins, and her eyes were the size of half-dollars. "I'm sorry," I said, trying to wipe as much of the coffee off my shoes as I could. I looked around at the other folks in the coffee shop and they looked pretty much the same as she did. "I'm sorry," I repeated, "Did I say something wrong?" By this time, another waitress had recovered and brought a broom and a mop to clean up the mess. "No," she said, "It's just that we haven't heard anything about Big Joe in a long time. He's dead, you see. Years ago, he was leading some cars down the road, in a storm just about like the one tonight, when a rock slide carried him and his truck over the edge and down to the river at the bottom." This time, I was the one who dropped the coffee. |
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