That sweet old sad drooping house quickly faded in the distance as the road curved and dipped across a low water bridge that stretched over onion creek on a single country lane that ran between the flats of dried up onion and bean fields. I looked out at the long skinny finger-like mud streams that had cut out deep slivers down into the black soil as if the earth just cracked open one day, leaving a spider-web of these long mud canyons that stretched out amongst cow-fields from here to Creedmoor.
I could almost still hear us as kids mucking about like it was yesterday. We were summer crazy, running wild out there being cowboys and Indians, throwing rocks and mud clods, fishing for crawdads with our long cane poles with whole chicken necks and bacon tied to a simple kite string that we dangled down into the water from the high banks. Our boots always squishing and sinking deep in the thick mud. We poked long sticks in snake and frog holes, and tried to shoot wiggly tadpoles with our BB guns as they popped on top of the murky mud water. Sometimes a spooked moccasin would break away, winding and weaving its signature ripple across the still surface. So often we would try and smoke the wild grapevine that grew everywhere along the fences. It was hard enough though to keep the little twigs lit, especially using soggy matches, but when the tip of one finally lit with a bright ember, we frantically sucked and dragged on them real hard to keep it going, burning our throats with the hot smoke making us choke and cough like mad, and then we would do it again cheering in victory if we could blow even a hint of smoke out of our mouths. The silliest thing we did was compete to see who could pee a long arc all the way across to the other bank. Cousin Mike always won, and he would have you think he won gold in the Olympics! We liked being stupid and fun. We always searched the roadside for nude magazines after accidentally discovering them one summer while collecting paper to start a fire with. They always seemed to be strewn about in tatters, blown onto the thicket and barbed-wire like big matted cotton balls. Mostly they were Playboy or Penthouse. We never had to look too far to find any. They were either left by the older kids, or had been flung out of some passing car that some old man didn't want his wife seeing. A couple times, Johnny stole them when working for Mr. Marks at the grocery. We would sit there and endure swarms of gnats and mosquitos buzzing all around our sweaty, sun beaten heads, necks and forearms, just to get a look at the water logged, mud covered pages that were so clumped together at times, that we had to tear them apart slowly to see barely anything. We always convinced ourselves we could see more than we really could on the sun faded, rain torn pages. Every now and then though, there was a somewhat whole intact copy that was a prize keeper. Those rare ones that were salvageable, we would roll up and stick under rocks for safe keeping, and the others we would light on fire and toss into the creek, hurling them up in the air like fire balls that would spin and break apart in mid air, sending embers swirling down to the creek bed. It's not like we were pyromaniacs or anything, it was just always fun lighting stuff on fire. We would fight over who gets to light the next one, that is until one day we damn near burned down the entire creek and half of old man Jackson's hayfields, and then no one wanted to take credit for lighting anything. We didn't even realize we had caught the place on fire until we were almost back to the main road and smelled smoke, and heard this loud crackling sound rushing up behind us fast and furious! Instantly we knew it could only be one thing. We turned around in shock while staring at a wall of sky high flames already so out of control, and already so well beyond us being able to put it out, that we could have imagined the whole world burning down! I think we all screamed out loud. It was a fire so big and fast, and to our young minds, a raging inferno, which in fact actually was not an exaggeration this time. We were going to catch hell for this one. It was just when i told myself i'm not going to get in trouble anymore, i'm going to be good. For sure that wasn't our first fire, and wouldn't be our last, although this one really scared the daylights out of us and had so rapidly spread big enough to bring three volunteer fire departments in to put it out. Looking back now, it is quite amazing what we all survived some of those days, those years, and all the places life would take us from there on out, and especially this day which might be my last time on these familiar roads.
Those thoughts lingered as I sped past my childhood. Up about a mile was a big truck stop I had driven by half my life, but for some odd reason never once stepped foot inside the place ever. Things are funny like that sometimes. We are forever creatures of habit I guess.
I pulled in slowly, sizing up the place as if there might be real vampires or zombies inside. No doubt any one of the truckers drifting through here could likely be something of the sort, serial killer or worse. Can't say i ever really met a truck driver or wouldn't know if i had. The only real concern mid day, might just be drunk rednecks that don't like my hair or my car! I took my chances anyway pulling into the gravel drive, pulled right up to the front door, got out and stretched while cautiously looking back over my shoulder at the idling rigs in the back, turned and walked in without a hesitation and still not sure why.
Inside, I looked around out of curious wonder, as well hoping to see a mens-room sign. I could see this place had been froze over in a time of checkered vinyl linoleum, big mirrors and whole pies.
To my stuttering surprise, I was stunned when i caught sight of a girl so beyond pretty, it actually hurt my heart , and i was instantly 12 years old again, dead center in a spotlight......oh my gosh, it was Susan Rainey!She was putting salt shakers and ketchup bottles on the tables and appeared to be the only one in the place except for a lone trucker sunk into a back corner booth sipping his precious coffee. It was a little strange being that there was half a dozen rigs outside with their engines running and the place empty. Where was everybody? Maybe there actually were Vampires around here, although i figured the endless walls of mirrors ruled them out.
I must have been standing there staring for a bit like a fool when i realized she had momentarily stopped what she was doing and was spying me from the corner of her eye.
"You lost?", she said in a tone a little more brash and gutty than i expected from her gentle face.
