PERSONAL DRIVER

A voicemail alert flashes across the upper portion of the screen of a cellphone held in a right hand. With a gloved thumb, the driver touch the alert. The message plays.

"This call is for Johnnie Iota," speaks the recorded female. "You are being reminded to make a payment to remedy your delinquent account no later than midnight, tonight, Central Standard Time to avoid terminating your contract and thereby causing legal action to be taken against you. Visit our website for details on how to submit your payment online or call the payment center phone number listed on the agreement you signed. Thank you for taking care of this matter promptly. Good day."

The voicemail assistant speaks, "Press one to replay message, two to record and send a reply message, three to delete, four to save."

Four is pressed before end. The slim unprotected android is tossed to the passenger seat of a white sedan bearing the words, PERSONAL DRIVER, bold and black on the front doors.

The rearview mirror is adjusted to assess the scene in the background. Purple mountains, standing majestically as snow fall upon them, orients the driver-they being located north of the next pick-up. The digital icon for the vehicle's heater is pressed until the blower reaches maximum capacity. Windshield wipers are turned on. The heated seat function is activated for all seats before the PERSONAL DRIVER slowly abandons the space it was occupying in front of a popular establishment crowned Chez Luis Cuisine. The radio is turned to 106.9 FM.

"Very strong winds are expected to blow through the area until well into the morning. Wind gusts could top 75 mph in some areas. This makes for dangerous cross-winds along I-9 and surrounding roads. Postpone long distance trips, if possible. But, if you must drive, exercise extreme caution."

The station is changed to 94.9.

"These last two dollars," sings the artist whose name is unknown to the driver.

"Other one's for the jukebox to hear me some Blues," she sing along.

The car rocks from side to side in response to bullying wind, causing the driver to grip the steering wheel as though doing so will save her life. Wet ice on the road, snow falling in various directions, and a fogging windshield increases her heart rate. Fear of misfortune unfurls in her being.

"Why didn't I stay parked?"

She answers herself internally. But before she can speak aloud, her attention is pulled towards a bobbing trailer two car lengths in front of her. Dirty ice being kicked back prompts the driver of the PERSONAL DRIVER to fall back more, passing a sign informing Exit Nine is one half of a mile away.

"I gotta get it," the driver speaks when she thinks about she and her Yorkie having to live in this car due to failure to pay her mortgage. "Or die trying."

Becoming homeless is unacceptable, the middle age woman declares within. Not only do she prefer to be comfortable and warm, as do most people, Mylee is now an elder as well. Both females are fragile and would be utterly uncomfortable in experience of the driver's fear.

Three pick-ups will render enough to add to what is in the driver's bank account for her to make the payment by midnight. According to her request map on the PERSONAL DRIVER app, she have a total of five scheduled pick-ups totaling an estimate of $250. The last pick-up is scheduled for 10 pm, and it is a 45 minute trip. This information assures she will have more than enough money and time to do what is needed for her to sleep comfortably tonight. This thought almost eases her, but her future orientation questions her abilities for tomorrow. How will she afford other expectations?

This train of thought wrecks with what takes place in front of her.

Nearing the exit, she see the bobbing trailer pass Exit Nine, and seconds afterwards it is lifted and shaken as though by an invisible hand. The driver inside of the PERSONAL DRIVER witnesses this although she forces her focus upon reaching her destination. Her heart beats wildly, in panic, for the driver of the semi-truck whose trailer rolls onto its side.

She feel her car struggle against her control. Trembling claims her hands as they hold the steering wheel in alignment. The right turn signal is engaged, and then the PERSONAL DRIVER merges onto Exit Nine. Sirens are heard moving towards the misfortune that has happened nearby.

The driver in the PERSONAL DRIVER exhales, trying to get rid of fear she feel sitting on top of her chest challenging her breathing.

"I'm okay," she informs the unsettled part of herself.

Seeing other traffic moving slowly along without accident makes her feel slightly more confident about her pursuit. Maybe she should give up, she considers for a second. Giving up is automatic failure. Her head shake from side to side in contest of this thought.

"I must continue."

She check the app. 109 GRANDVIEW DRIVE is the address of the pick-up. Grandview is less than three blocks away. The sooner she arrives, the sooner she can get paid and move on to the next location.

The back tires of the car spin when the PERSONAL DRIVER tries to continue forward past the stop sign. The driver gases a bit, causing the back end to fishtail before it moves properly with the rest of the car. She brake as the car falls in behind a salt dispensing truck.

Ten more minutes of driving on a well salted street delivers the PERSONAL DRIVER to Grandview Drive. One left turn off of the main street, then a right turn brings it to a neighborhood of cove-de-sacs where 109, painted and structured identical to the other residences in its vicinity, is located in a space of its own, bordered with whitening trees.

A man wearing a black tall hat attempts to seat himself in the back right passenger seat with great difficulty. The driver watches, silently, indirectly. Once the passenger thinks to remove his hat he is able to fit inside, although a tight fit. His bald head touches the roof but still he smiles at the driver looking at him through the rearview mirror.

"Hello there. What a mess it is out here."

Wind rattles the car windows.

"If my business wasn't urgent, I would have postponed this trip, as was advised."

The driver smiles.

"Where are you going this evening?"

"I need to go to 2200 McFarlane Road."

"Okay. That's what your request says. I like to double check."

"There is nothing wrong with that."

The driver shifts the gear from park to drive. But, no sooner than she does, she feel need to return to park. The wind goes crazy, picking up speed and swirling snow about. Both, the driver and passenger stare in amazement at a nearby trash receptacle moving by invisible means. The wind howl, hungrily, as it dislocates lingering Christmas decorations to different lawns. It snatches leaves and branches from trees tossing them in a white flux. A front window on 105 shatters when struck but a flying limb. House and car alarms sound. Fear forces the driver to surrender her goal.

"We can't move, yet," she informs the passenger.

The man has repositioned his body so that he is leaning leftward with his head below the roof.

"Well, we better settle in. This could be a long ride."

His words are interpreted to be cliche, so they are ignored. The driver watches the winter display, unlike any she has ever witnessed. White fragments swirl all around. It feels as though they are inside of a snowglobe being shaken. Now the trash receptacle is barely visible, seen laying on its side in the middle of the road.

The driver's plan has been thwarted by the weather. Somewhere inside she feel sadness in response to her failure. Anger wells up directed at the circumstances. This blizzard should have waited until she finished gathering her funds. It is seven hours before midnight. If only she had more time to make the payment.

Envy for the passenger seeps into the mixture of the driver's emotions. She looks over at his home, only steps away, waiting to welcome him back to comfort. She think of Mylee waiting for her to return to their home and cringe at having only bad news to bring back. What a bad hand her life has dealt.

She turn the car off.

"I don't know how long we will last in here with the windows up," the driver says to the passenger.

"From the looks of things, we're going to have plenty of time to find out."

The passenger chuckles, making the driver wonder if he has claimed more than his fair share of air within the small space. His smile fades when the car rocks, again.

"I would suggest we take refuge in my home but, now, I realize I have left the keys inside.

The driver's head shake from side to side.

"That sounds really wise of you."

The passenger nods.

"Yes, I agree with you. As wise as you working in weather such as this."

"Obviously we drivers wouldn't be able to work if we didn't have passengers needing rides."

"My need for a ride has nothing to do with the true reason you are here, my dear. Your need for money brought you here."

This truth strikes a nerve within the driver. She wishes she didn't need money, or this job that has encouraged her to work during dangerous weather conditions. Now she is trapped with a stranger.

Her thoughts strum uncomfortable emotions, immediately causing the air inside of the car to thicken. It becomes hard for her to breathe.

She inserts the key into the ignition to start the car, and then presses the button on the steering wheel that lowers the driver's window. Immediately, wind accepts the invitation by sweeping in through the opening bringing with it dry cold snow. The driver raises the window to a small crack before turning the car back off. Even still, the menacing wind stings with its presence.

"So, what is going on with you?" the passenger asks the driver after a spell of cold silence.

"What do you mean?" entertained the driver.

"I mean, why would a woman like yourself be out here in such urgent need of money?"

"Is it really that obvious?"

The man doesn't reply.

"I'm behind on my mortgage."

The driver braces herself for ridicule, as she know she should be more financially stable.

"Even though death is embedded within the word 'mortgage'-you know mort is French for death. Nevertheless, I have known no one who has died from failure to pay it. Are you dealing with sharks? Because that's a different story."

"No. I conducted business with a reputable company. Just got down on my luck is all. My husband, Fin, died five months ago. I had to liquidate almost all of our assets and empty our accounts to be able to pay for a swarm of out of the blue expenses. I'm a retired art teacher. I quit working and became a homemaker two years before. Guess I should have waited."

"Life happens to all of us. How we respond to what happens has the greatest affect. Trust me when I tell you I have gone through several tumultuous storms in life. It is then when I remind myself the sunshine will return. I must survive to enjoy it."

"At least you're not about to lose your house. You probably have a good partnership. No need to worry about anything."

"How would you know?" asks the passenger interrupting the driver.

She gives thought to the question. How would she know?

"My wife passed away last week. It was Friday. Her funeral was yesterday. Today, I was on my way to meet with a friend of mine, he's a master stone cutter. I want to custom make Engrid's headstone. We came up with a rose design that captures several large thorns on the stem."

Instantly, the driver experiences guilt over not being aware of the other person's hardship, even though there was no way for her to know before being told.

"I'm sorry to hear of your loss."

"No need for apology. Engrid was a selfish tart. Twenty years ago, I thought I'd plucked the most beautiful rose from the garden of life. Shortly after we were married, her aroma turned foul. She is at peace, now, and so am I. That is why I have little concern about the shenanigans she and her lawyer/lover pulled without my knowing. The house is for sale and there is nothing I can do about it; or want to do about it. It's time for me to adjust, to change. I can only achieve this by taking one step at a time."

"I've been working on feeling more optimistic about my life. But, it's hard sometimes."

"Awareness of ourselves in situations is the first step of doing something worthwhile about it. How can you change something you're not aware of?"

Conversation between the two continue until they run out of words to share with each other. Eventually, the driver enters the silence, staring out into darkness glimmering with snow. She leaves the car and goes within herself. The moment feels good to her.

She acknowledges to herself, she is safe and comfortable in spite of not being able to make her payment. Through this, she can admit her finances have nothing to do with her actual wellbeing. All parts of herself are now at ease. True comfort pulls her into deep sleep allowing hours to pass before releasing her. She awaken to rainpour and lightening. Her eyes squint in response to the hazy light of the sky and the quick flash in front of her.

The scene looks different. Most of the snow has washed away. The trash receptacle is still on its side, further down the road. She turn to awaken John, and to thank him for their conversation, but he is gone. A white bank envelope rests in the place where he sat.

Words written on the envelope read:

"Thank you, Johnnie, for the ride and for releasing some burdens with me. I don't know how much you need, yet here is a small token of appreciation. We will meet again during better times. Take care of yourself."

This gift from John makes Johnnie experience several emotions at once. There are ten one hundred dollar bills inside of the envelope. This is a large gift. She wishes to give it back, telling him she can't accept it. This is a gift, she analyzes further. He want her to have it, that's why he left it for her. She sure could use it. But, how can she say thank you?

There is a FOR SALE sign not noticed before posted in John's lawn. The house looks empty. So, Johnnie decides to show her appreciation for the gift by accepting it and using what is required to take care of the past due payment.

The PERSONAL DRIVER maneuvers around the trash receptacle in movement towards the main street.