Following my missteps

Dear Reader,

I was attempting to take care of my lawn which is generally a lost cause during the six dry months of Summer. The cell phone in my pocket rang. It turned out my daughter, having freshly graduated from Louisiana State, had found employment near me in California. Apparently, the hiring company was in immediate need of her services, and she was required to report for work within a few days. That meant she was obliged to travel by air. And so, the basic reason for the telephone call emerged. Could I, with little notice, fly to Louisiana and drive her car to California? She added that her car was not in premium condition but that she was sure I could handle any automotive problems better than she. With a compliment like that, and a daughter in urgent need, what can a father say?

I was in the middle of the long drive through Texas when the engine of the old Chevy began to ping. A minute later steam began pouring out from under the hood. I slowed down and by good fortune noticed an off ramp ahead. With no hesitation I exited the Interstate. Again, by good fortune I could see the outskirts of a small town ahead.

The Chevy continued to be drivable into the center of town. I saw some dusty cars on a lot beside a gas station and promptly turned in. In the office was a friendly woman. I noticed her blue eyes though her skin was dark. She said the boss had already left and she was about lock up for the day and go home. Clearly the Chevy was going to have to wait until the next day before receiving any attention. After accepting that information my thoughts turned to eating. Esther said (for that was her name):

"There's a diner in this town but the food isn't good."

Then, to my amazement, she added:

"My house is only a short walk from here and I have a bunch of food in my refrigerator"

That offer was almost too good to be true! Certainly, too good to turn down.

Dinner turned out to consist simply of sausage, beans and some left over French fries. I was especially happy when Esther opened the refrigerator and offered me Budweiser. She had one herself. It appeared Esther was in no rush, and I certainly wasn't. So, we had another beer each. Finally, I got around to asking about a motel. Esther didn't reply directly. She reminded me I had been out in the heat and dust of that summer day, and that perhaps my next step should be to take a shower.

I pulled open the shower curtain and was nearly undressed when Esther came into the bathroom with an extra clean towel. That was considerate - even more so when she offered to wash my back and began removing her clothes.

What I remember most clearly was the white foam of the soap on her dark skin. She was decidedly an alluring woman.

In bed it is polite to engage first in small talk. Feeling already tired and short of verbal inspiration I opened up the easiest of subjects:

"Why are your eyes blue?"

"Don't you notice my Jamaican accent?" and she proceeded to inform me about the mix of races in her home island. She said that Jamaica is nearly equally populated by the three major races of this world and called them "black, white and yellow". Her lecture continued:

"Due to contentment in life Jamaican people feature almost equal numbers of black-white, white-yellow and yellow-black people."

Then she went on to say that her ancestry certainly included a white man.

Around 6 am Esther woke up. She said I should leave now. Since she spoke with some urgency in her voice I complied. On heading out of the front door and beginning my search for breakfast a man passed me. To my surprise and discomfort the man said:

"What are you doing here?"

I ignored his question and quickened my pace. I looked back and saw him enter the house I had just left. I stepped sharply around one or two corners and spotted a diner. I dove inside, glad it was open at this early hour. I found a corner seat, ordered breakfast, and managed to swallow most of it though my adrenaline was still pumping.

At 7:30 am I decided the coast should be clear and found my way to my car at the garage. Esther was there! She said:

"Joe just added water to the radiator. Here are your keys. Now go!"

Without a second bidding I did so. As I pulled out of the gas station a red Ford truck turned in. Its lefthand window was open, and I was almost sure the driver was the man who entered Esther's house earlier that morning. I wasted no time proceeding to the road leading back on to the Interstate.

One mile later on the Interstate I saw a red Ford truck following closely behind me. I wondered if the driver's window was still open and if the driver was sporting a side-arm like so many Texans. I stayed in the righthand lane and pushed the accelerator all the way down, coaxing my daughter's Chevy to its maximum speed, but it wasn't enough to shake the truck.

Two more miles and an exit sign appeared. I decided my best chance would be to drive into a town and perhaps get away from the truck with the help of a red light. So, I took the exit, entered the town and was very lucky to pass through an amber traffic light. With the truck halted at the light I skidded around some street corners, rapidly parked by a diner and dove inside. First, I headed to the restroom. Then I found a table by a window with the drapes closed. After I was well into grappling with a waffle which I could barely eat due to residual excitement, a waitress approached my table, and exclaimed:

"You are eating in the dark, honey!" and promptly opened the drapes.

Looking out I noticed directly opposite was a gas station and parked off to one side was the red truck! I decided it would be prudent to remain where I was. Naturally I continued peeking outside. I observed that the truck didn't move. Apparently, the driver was having an extended talk inside the office.

It must have been nearly thirty minutes before my pursuer emerged from the office. He was in the company of a female employee with black hair and of Asian appearance, perhaps Mexican. As they walked past his truck the woman took his arm. From my seat I watched their progress along the sidewalk. Arm in arm changed to arms around the waist.  It seemed they may be going to her house for a late breakfast??

Clearly racial origin was not impeding their togetherness. I looked at the menu to see if by chance this town was called Jamaica.

Back on the Interstate I calmed down and re-entered the routine of driving. I have to admit that every few miles my mind returned to the town I left behind - Jamaica or otherwise. I pondered my lucky escape and felt grateful for whatever distracted his mind. Of minor concern to me was their breakfast menu (sausage, beans and French fries?) and whether the plate or the pillow took precedence. Sorry I can't provide that information to you, the Reader.

P.S. All the above is strictly confidential. It is NOT for the eyes or ears of any Louisiana State graduate.