For those who enjoyed The Red Light, the journey now continues:
Rick and Pete emerged from a county road headed for a rare trip into the city. They drove a 1957 Bel Air convertible. Top down and fresh, cool air pummeling what little hair they had left. Country music blasted from their AM radio. The audio crackled as reception waned amidst the dense foliage of trees and occasional overpasses. Rick merged onto the entrance ramp towards the city. He promptly found himself battling for a lane with a semi truck fully loaded and in a hurry. Judging by the distance he had left to merge, he braked and yielded his position. He was welcome to life in the fast lane so long as he stayed in his.
‘Thanks fer sharin’ yer lane with me’ he thought to himself. He eyed Pete a moment and broke the silence, “Can’t believe I gotta go into the city fer this dang doctor appointment. Wife wants me to get a second opinion, whatever that means.” opined Rick as he drove unwillingly to his destination.
“Yeah but these roads sure is smooth and big.” said Pete, sitting shotgun with Rand McNally in hand. Its pages torn, disjointed, and coffee stained as any well used road map should be. “Look at all those fancy dashed lines out thar.” Suddenly rear lights flashed ominously in front of them. Hundred of cars bunched up bumper to bumper. They were quickly forced to slow down to a crawl. “Lookie there, all them cars blocking our way.” Pete exclaimed.
“Tarnation!” Rick blasted. “What is this, some kinda funeral procession. Ain’t never seen so many cars in my life. We ain’t going but 4 mph’s”. Unsightly signs were posted everywhere. Signs for directing traffic. Signs for restaurants and hotels. Signs for gasoline. There were even signs foretelling the end times from some local church. Large fonts, small fonts, lighted fonts, and fonts in another language altogether. For Rick and Pete it was rather overwhelming and quite unsightly. They had but one sign back in town, and it was busted in two from the last wind storm.
“Pee-ew!” Pete exclaimed. “What’s that smell? Smells like DeWayne’s service shop back in town, only worse.”
“All them mufflers.” Rick shouted. “Ain’t no fresh air to be had. Should have brought the pickup, ‘least then we could’ve rolled up the winders.” A very low pitched, regular thump began to penetrate their very souls. It grew increasingly closer as the cars in the lane beside them progressed faster. Their rear view mirrors began to vibrate uncontrollably in synch with the approaching unfamiliar sound. It came from a 1973 Cadillac Coupe DeVille as it inched slowly by them.
Pete shouted out, “Sounds like hippity hop music? I can’t unnerstand a word they sayin.” Rap was alien to their culturally virgin ears.
“Leave ‘em be Pete. They just enjoyin’ themselves like us. Here, I’ll crank up some Willie Nelson fer ‘em, hehe. Ain’t nuthin better.” Rick adjusted the volume as the Bel Air‘s speakers strained to comply amidst an unyielding cacophony of noise.
Rick saw one particular sign with the time and date: Wednesday June 12th, 3:31PM.
“Tarnation!” exclaimed Rick.
“What now?” asked Pete.
“I thought today was Tuesday. I musta fergot to flip the calendar again.” Rick confessed. “We’re a day late in the most God awful place I’ve been to in a long time. Well shoot.” But then Rick got to thinking about it. “Truth is, I don’t like doctors anyway. A strong cup of coffee and a hearty breakfast cures just about any of my ills.”
Pete couldn’t help but chime in. “This putrid city air has taken away a few of my golden years anyway, I’m sure of it. I say we get on out of here and get back home.”
Rick and Pete swore never to venture into the city again short of being dragged by wild horses. Perhaps those country doctors weren’t so bad after all. After all, who needs a second opinion when the first one is perfectly fine.
Jim
He who is slow to anger is better than the mighty, And he who rules his spirit, than he who captures a city. Proverbs 16:32