The Jewels of Nebraska, Episode 3; A Gloved Hand

To start this series from the beginning.

Kohn stood on the back platform of the train. He saw many things most would not: where deer, dogs and other fauna had crossed the tracks, where hobos had hopped, as well as, jumped from the train and their numbers. He could see up-turned leaves, bent branches and gravel disturbed from a foot fall like you or I might read a book. It's my notion that there was more to it than his regular senses. His eyes took in the whole of the receding scenery without a turn of his head. When he saw what he was looking for, he went back inside the rail car and grasped the emergency brake. He paused and smiled.

He waited. His thimbles tapped gently on the brake handle. He waited even though it meant a further walk to the spot along the tracks where a couple of kids had rolled into the brush, likely kin the way they were holding on to one another. It was a good five minutes before his moment arrived.

The large woman who had earlier eyed he and his thimbles with disgust, rose from her seat to make her way to the privy. She had also spoken ill of him to her young traveling companion in a voice loud enough to be heard, but quiet enough to pretend it wasn't.

Kohn yanked on the cord. The train wailed and screeched like a wounded animal. The sudden stop sent the woman flying in a rustling bloom of petty coats. She gave a soprano wail mid-air and landed in the aisle like a beef side on a butcher's block.

Kohn thought he could hear her corset pop several seams upon impact.

He pulled his sachel off the rack, stepped out the door and off the back of the train. He walked East, ignoring the conductor's calls to him.

“Sir, SIR! Return to this train at once!”

My kids huddled in the pines just short of a meadow looking at the quiet looking farm before sun up. They had never seen so many trees in all their lives, but they were too hungry to care about the scenery. Billy had his eyes on the chicken coop. “Look Ruby, eggs!”

“You set foot in with them chickens they're gunna raise cain and next thing you know you'll have a blast of rock salt in your seat. 'Sides, how we gunna cook em anyhow?”

They carefully plied the tall grass towards a patch of garden. They stepped over a wire fence that aimed to keep the critters out. Ruby grabbed small heads of cabbage and green tomatoes off a vine supported by a trio of sticks. William found him a strawberry patch.

“Ruby, look!” he whispered.

“Shhh!”

He held out his shirt and dropped the berries in, though most were pinkish and hard. Some were dark and soft. They smooshed in in fingers.

“Hey!” a man yelled from near the farm house.

The kids' heads popped up like startled deer.

“Run Billy.” shouted Ruby.

Billy tried to jump the fence but his boot caught the wire and he went down, squashing his loot of berries. He stopped to collect them. Heavy footfalls him scared him into off the tall grass before he'd recovered a one.

Ruby ran in a parallel path of her brother's for the pines. Her dress and its stolen contents she held up in her one good arm. Her bare knees scraped against the weeds and grass, they felt raw and cold. A hidden rock met her boot and she sailed forward and crashed onto her arm. She cried out. Pain shot from her shoulder in its tender state. Her toe was throbbing to boot.

“Ruby!” Billy cried out.

“Run!” cried her voice from somewhere in the grass. “Run stupid!”

Ruby heard footsteps in the grass making their way towards her. She felt around for a rock, a stick, anything to defend herself with. A figure with immense shoulders filled the sky above her. A hand reached down and grabbed her by the arm. She shrieked in pain. The hand let go.

“You're hurt,” said a surprisingly gentle voice.

Ruby limped back to the small house with the man. She glanced back at the pines.

“Come on back boy, no one's gunna hurt you. This girl's hurt, we're going to get her fixed up.”

William stayed hidden.

“I've got eggs, little bit of bacon if you're hungry.” Shouted the man back towards the pines as he helped Ruby along.

A head popped up out of the grass.

In the house the broad shouldered man helped Ruby into a chair.

“What'd you do to that shoulder miss?” He said noting the underwear sling she was wearing.

“I... fell.”

“Right off a train from the look of ya.”

She looked up at him. “Maybe. Not that it's any of your business.”

“Like stealin' from my garden? No matter. Let's get some chow going, then we'll have a look at that shoulder.”

“William, slow down!” Ruby said to her brother. He was on his second plate of bacon and eggs. His shirt front was stained red from the cache of strawberries he had landed upon.

“Ah, he's hungry,” said Ben. “Now we gotta fix you up girl,” he said wiping his hands and hanging the rag in front of the stove.

“You a doctor?”

“Better, I was a medic in the war. Pull your dress down over your shoulder so I can take a look.”

“I'll do no such thing!” Ruby clutched her collar. Ben just stood before her. Ruby grumbled and looked downward. She fumbled with the buttons with her good hand.

“I'll do it,” Ben said. Ruby shrunk back but he reached out pulled her back straight. “It's just doctorin', girl it don't mean for nuthin'. Yer just a skinny thing anyway."

"I ain't that skinny."

Ruby lowered her good arm, but she couldn't keep from blushing. Ben un-did a few buttons and pulled her collar to the side, baring her shoulder. He looked at her just as if she was a lame calf or a broken plow. His large hand nearly covered her entire shoulder as he palpated the injury. It was warm and rough.

“Just as I thought. No cuts though, that's good.”

“What? What is it?” Ruby said pulling her collar back shyly and held the ends together.

“Hold still.”

Ben walked around behind. Two large arms wrapped around her.

“What are you doing? Unhand me!”

The arms squeezed her tight and his hand gripped her wounded wing pulling it back and outwards.

“Ow! OW! Stop it, you're hurting me.”

He only pulled harder.

“OWWW!”

Her arm felt like it would be pulled right off her body. She screamed. William jumped on Ben and began beating his back. Ruby felt her shoulder pop with a sharp pain. Ben released her and paid no heed to the boy hanging on him, fists still pounding.

Ruby jumped out of her chair and backed away. She instinctively rubbed her shoulder. Her expression softened.

“Hey... the pain, it's all gone!” Ruby rotating her arm experimentally. “It feels... a little sore, but fine! Billy... BILLY! Get off him.”

Billy's boots clomped to the floor when he let go.

“How'd you do that?” she said.

“Your arm bone was out of the socket. I just reduced it, popped it back. It'll be a little sore for a few days, but...”

“That's amazing!” Ruby said moving her arm every which way. She was feeling lightheaded in the sudden absence of the pain, almost euphoric.

“You some sort of wizard?” William asked, rubbing his fists.

“Nope. Saw a few things like that in the army. Wish that was the worst I saw.”

“Our Pa died in the war.”

“Billy, hush.” Ruby chided.

“But he did!”

“It ain't polite.”

Ben was quiet for a long spell. He fixed Ruby some breakfast.

I can't imagine what that man saw. Sure enough, I was there in France myself, right in the trenches. But my number came up before my boots were broke in. You want to think of life like a hand of cards: you loose, you get another hand, and another; always another hand. But I hadn't fired a single bullet and it was all over for me, no second chance at bat, no more innings, no more games. The loudest sound I'd ever heard in my life was followed by the greatest silence I ever could have imagined. Like I told ya though, I wasn't angry, that all goes away with the noise.

I'm watchin' over my kids, as you know. I can't explain to ya how, but I'm sittin' in the state hospital with my Lottie every moment at the same time. Even now she looks prettier to me than she ever did. Living eyes would barely see the girl I first met.

Yes she was a head turner, a real lady of a well-to-do family from Philadelphia. I was the son of a man who hauled bags of flour on his back. I was dirty and covered with sweat from doing the same when I went meet my brother at Burlington station in Omaha. She was an angel dressed in finery being helped from a private car with a gloved hand.

No one ever would have guessed on that day I would be the lucky man to put a ring on her finger. No one except me.

Continued in episode 4

the Jewels of Nebraska, Episode 2: Thimbles and Long Johns

To start this series from the beginning.

Kohn Bördson should have been in an asylum, and he might have been if there was anyone crazy enough to put and keep him there. I'd heard of him when I was alive. Shoot, everyone in Western Nebraska had. He was a big tall Swede with graying red hair and eyes so piercing light blue that he seemed to create a shadow behind anything he stared at. No one I had talked who had cast that shadow seemed very happy about it.

Kohn had lived with a tribe of Lakota Sioux for some years as a youngun. He could track anything that drew breath, so said, and above all, he had a strange preoccupation with thimbles; wore silver thimbles on his fingers at all times. Some people thought he had lost the tips of his fingers in an Indian rite or some accident, but this was not true. He wore them because hated the feel of touching anything. He had also grown partial to the sound they made tapping on a table or scraping along the grand stair railing of a fine hotel.

“Kids?” he said pulling on his mustache, “waste my time.”

“You are in my debt Mr. Bördson.” Bodene said. He tried altering his posture in the chair to see the man's face beneath the brim of his hat.

“I pay you another time. No kids.”

“Did someone get you to church?”

“No, kids too easy. It's insult.”

“Your past debt, plus five thousand.”

Kohn drank his whiskey in one gulp and turned the glass over looking at his thimbles through its semi-clean surface.
"Booze illegal to everyone but you? Its broad daylight for Pete's sake."

“Each,” said Kohn.
"Pardon?"
"Five thousand," he put his glass down, "each."

Before he could complain, Kohn raised his head and his black Stetson making the full gaze of his expression visible to Bodene. His thimbled fingers made a galloping motion, threatening to strike the barroom table, only coming close.

“Okay, okay, five thousand each,” Bodene relented.

Kohn's unchanged face told him that the deal, and the conversation, were done.

“I'm hungry.” Billy said.

Ruby woke up to her little brothers voice. She was cold, like it was fall. She couldn't make out much through the open box car door. She pulled her mama's shawl tight around her shoulders and went to the door. When she looked up she could see stars but right in front of her it was as black and nothin'. The line between the two was a jagged line of rock that wavered up and down with the motion of the train. They were next to some sort of rock face only a few feet from the tracks. The rock face fell away and she could see further. Ruby took a breath. The air was perfumed with pine and the sweetness of a blossom she did not know. For the first time in her life, the horizon did not make a straight line. Its silhouette climbed and fell in peaks and valleys.

They were in the mountains.

She thought of a dancer she had seen on a trip to Omaha. Ruby had seen pictures of mountains in a National Geographic at Doc Fox's house, and now she was there. She wished for daylight.

“I'm hungry Ruby,” he repeated.

She reached into her bag and broke off a hard piece of biscuit. Billy held it close to his face in the dark, made a face and threw it out of the open box car.

“What are you doin'! That's our food you little...”

“I want eggs!”

She wanted to hit him. Then she saw the faint glisten of a tear on his cheek. She drew him to her.

“I know, so do I.”

Kohn stood on the tracks. He looked East, then West. He bent down and held a handful of gravel in his hand. He got up and strolled to the station. His thimbles drummed on the ticket window until a frail old man emerged.

“Yes?”

“Grand Junction,” Kohn said, "one way."

The train started to slow in lurches and screeches.

“C'mon,” said Ruby.

“We're getting' off?” said Billy.

“There ain't no food here. Sit on the edge.”

“But we're still moving.”

“We don't it's not just going to speed up again. Hold my hand.”

My kids waited for what looked like a soft patch of land and jumped. No patch of land is soft at fifteen miles an hour though and Ruby felt a sharp pain as she hit.

As their Papa, you'd think I'd be worried and fixin' on how I could help 'em, make 'em safe. I can only observe, there's nothing I can do to help my children anymore. I'm not sure how to put it in words for ya, but there is no fear for me anymore and with it went away anything that could vex me. Might have made me crazy when I was walking the earth mortal like, but in the split second before I died, all I could think was that I'd never see my children again, that I broken my promise to Lottie. Yet there they were; my precious children along side the tracks near Eldorado Springs Colorado. Being with them, however it that be, was a blessing I'll never be able to find the right praise for.

 When Ruby jammed her shoulder jumpin' from that train. I didn't feel the angst of a father like I would have. I saw that she did it protecting her little brother.

Billy remembered breaking his shoulder falling from the hay loft when he was a spot younger. Doc Fox put his arm in a bed sheet so it hung from his neck. He fashioned one for his sister out of his long johns.

“I ain't wearing that thing.”

“Ruby, you got to, you can't barely move it.”

“I can't go 'round in your underwear.”

“It's the only thing long enough to tie around your neck, less'n you wanna tear up one of your dresses.”

He had her there. “But what if someone sees.?”

Billy looked around at the wilderness and back at his sister. She humph'd started walking down the tracks.

“Why you going that way?” he said, running to catch up. “That's the way we came?”

“There was a town, some houses. Maybe we can find a garden before someone wakes up. Food or not, I'm just hopin' for a bed sheet on a clothesline so I can get your smelly skivvies off me.”

Continued in episode 3

The Jewels of Nebraska, Episode 1 -The Telegram

This is a new series I will be updating with a new episode every Saturday at 3PM Eastern/Noon Pacific. These episodes will be shorter than my blog has been in the past and easier for both you and I to manage. My goal is for each episode to be a five minute read.

Yay! 

I can't say how long this series will last, like on television, it will depend on interest. That said, I anticipate several months of episodes.

Enjoy...

The Jewels of Nebraska

Episode 1, The Telegram

It was just like the telegram, early in the afternoon, but the thunderstorm storm made it nearly as dark as night. The sound of the Model T plying it's way through the mud track could barely be heard above the din of the wind and rain.

It wasn't only those similarities that had Ruby's mind stewin' with worry. She and Billy had been alone in the Nebraska farm house since the day before. Their Mama was in one of her states and took the truck to town. No one in their right mind would come out in this storm unless it was news, bad news.

The Sheriff stood on the porch holding his dripping hat in both hands when Ruby opened the door.

“It's your mom. She's alright. She's... safe.” The sheriff said, “Ruby, I had to lock her up, she was really scarin' folks this time. They're coming to take her to the state hospital tomorrow. I had to do it Ruby, you understand.”

“Yup, fraid I do.”

“Why don't you and Billy come back to town with me, you can stay at my sisters till social services can...”

“That's okay Sheriff, uh, Henry is going to check on us later, we'll go back with him. We're closer to home that way.”

He looked back at the storm to hide his relief. “Maybe that's best.”

You can't blame her fer lyin' no sir. They'd had a taste of being wards of the state before fer a spell. Them kids had been on their own in any practical sense since that telegram. Their mama, god love her, had never been the same after that day: July 19^th, 1917; I had been dead in France for nearly two weeks before my family knew a thing about it.

“Is Henry really comin' by?” said Billy after his sister closed the front door and stuffed the edges back up with rags.

“No.”

“What'll we do when those people from the county come by?”

“We won't be here.”

I s'pose if I'd know'd their Mama was going to have the time she did loosing me and being left to raise a nine-year old girl and a five-year-old boy, I'd have rotted in shame in some jail cell before goin' off to fight the Kaiser. Least she'd know'd I was okay and those kids would have a papa again some day.

My dear Lottie did the best she could for five years, but I guess she just run outta steam. Lord knows the medicine she got from that travelin' show didn't do her no good. She took too a strong liking to it and when it run out, she used whatever she could find.

The next morning, before dawn, Ruby and William crept through the Alliance switch yards. Ruby found a Westbound boxcar. She helped her brother in and darn near missed it herself with the train pulling away. Good strong legs that girl, even though she's still kinda small and skinny.

She had a feelin' her mama wasn't coming back this time round. I suppose there was somethin else that made her jump that train. That girl and her brother snuck into the pictures every chance they got.

“Where we goin' Ruby.”

“Hush! They beats them that rides the rails, if they catch 'em.”

“But what about my dog, and my climbing tree?”

“You'r dog'll be fine, the Hendersons will take it, and everything else I s'pose, before the bank comes. You don't need a climbing tree where we're goin anyway.”

“But where's that?”

I had never been much further West than Alliance, Nebraska myself. I was born in 1888, about the same time the railroad came through, but I was born back East in Omaha, same as our Ruby in 1908. Alliance was still considered the frontier when we bought our farm, when Ruby was just a baby. Billy came about four years and three still borns later. Maybe I shoulda known Lottie wasn't right before I got drafted in '17. Farming is a hard life. Loosing a baby is harder, but there were crops to tend and there wasn't much time to grieve. My wife worked as hard as anyone and didn't let on how much she hurt I don't reckon. When William was born strong and healthy, she was so happy and I thought she'd be right as rain again.

Then my number came up and I was on a train to Georgia. She was scared but I promised her I'd be back.

I had only been in France a few days when it all ended, but I kept my promise. I kept it the only way I could.

I could feel Ruby was scared but at peace somehow for the first time since the telegram. She was sleepy too, but being the big sister she was, she watched over William, his head on her lap. The boxcar was windy and noisy. It smelled of sawdust and coal smoke. The sun got higher behind them, it was already warm. The sky was the bluest it had been all summer, not a cloud in sight. Fields and farm houses passed by endlessly. She wondered about the girls her age on those farms. They had papas that came home from the war, and mamas that didn't cry for hours every day. She wondered about the people they would meet in their travels. She hoped they'd be the kind Christian sort.

The train crossed a switch and jostled Billy awake.

“Where's Hollywood Ruby?” He said inside of a yawn.

“California, a long way off yet. I don't spect we're in Colorado yet,”she said.

“We're gunna be in pictures?”

“That's right.”

“And you're gunna be Lillian Gish?”

“That's right.”

“Who can I be, Charlie Chaplin?”

“No, Jackie Coogan.”
"Jackie Coogan?"
"Yeah, you know, the Kid."
"Oh. I remember."
"Get some sleep Billy. Dream of California."

Bodene Kruger stepped out his automobile stood toe to toe with the sheriff. The Sheriff took a step back. “You did what!” Bodene said.

“How was I to know she was lying about being checked on?” said the Sheriff, “you saw the weather last night.”

“I saw it alright.” He kicked at the mud clots on his Daimler. “That family owes my bank over ten thousand on that farm and they're holding out on me, she was from money back East, part of of why I let em sign. Those Newberry kids have jumped on their debts, and with a bundle of cash or stocks or something, I just know it.”

“I don't know bout that Mr. Kruger. Did you see how those folks lived? Wasn't always food on the table. Sides, what do you expect me to do. I can't just go chasin' after a couple runaway kids. If they're in Box Butte County, I'll find em, but otherwise...”

“Put out a wire, a wanted poster.”

“ 'Wanted, dead or a live, fourteen-year-old girl and her ten-year old brother'? They haven't broken any laws, you have no proof that they stole anything. I'll notify Morrel, Scott's Bluff and Sheridan maybe, but that's really all I can do.”

“If you're not going to do your job Terrence, I'm just going to have to find a man who will, and I think I know just who.”

The Sheriff looked up for the first time. “I sure hope you're not talking about who I think you're talking about.”

Continued in episode 2

And all the Trees Were Weeping Willows -The Ice Storm of 1991

Winter seemed to be winding down in Rochester, New York. There had already been several jacket-free days. For you Southern Californians; this means forty-five degrees or above. Crocus was already blooming, it was enough to lull you into the belief that winter had done it's worse. Even if you knew better, which, of course, everyone did.

I hadn't seen my roommate in a while. He had gone off on a week-long trip that was going on three. I didn't even know where. Things were either going splendidly for him, or horribly, horribly wrong.

I was happy enough to have the house to myself.

When he did show up, the first, and practically last, words out of his mouth were: “I'm moving to New Orleans!” I appeared to be happy for him, but I was mostly just happy for me.

He packed every inch of his Hyundai, leaving a small spot to see out the windshield and left behind everything that wouldn't fit, including the table I am sitting at here in California twenty-one years later.

He also left an unpaid electric bill of over six hundred dollars and a notice from the power company that they were going to disconnect the power on Monday, March 4^th.

It was Thursday.

That night I was leaving myself on a weekend road trip to Tennessee with my brother. From a payphone in Nashville the next day, I explained to Rochester Gas and Electric that I was a new tenant and so there would be no need to shut off my power thank-you-very-much. They explained to me that with a copy of my new lease they would be happy set up a new account and not leave me in the dark. I couldn't get a hold of my landlord before the close of business that day so that, as they say, was that. I would just have to deal with it on Monday if possible, or live a few days without power.

My brother I and took turns driving on the fourteen hour trip home. We left Sunday night with hopes of arriving in Rochester before rush hour. The only sleep to be had that night was by the one with the steering wheel in his hands. Knowing this, the one in the passenger seat sat wide awake with half an eye on the groggy driver. The driving shifts got shorter and shorter as the night progressed.

As the Interstate passed close to Lake Erie the wind blew rain and the road became crusty with ice. Driving wasn't any easier, but the bucking and slipping of the car made it easier for the driver to stay awake, and impossible for the passenger to even close their eyes.

In the the sky above us, a rare set of conditions were forming: layers of warm and cold air had formed at relatively low altitudes and the surface temperature was steady just below the freezing point. Upper atmosphere snow was being melted by the warm layers of air, the resulting droplets supercooled by the cold layers then turning to ice the moment it hit the ground, pavement, or building...

...or tree branch.

On the radio: advisories and warnings, but our radio, wasn't on.

The Sun was coming up. Between our fatigue and the weather, our plans to beat rush hour were dashed. We were doomed to spend the last hour of our dreary journey being repeatedly jolted awake by brake lights and being elbowed by the wide-eyed one in the passenger seat.

The daylight showed a different landscape than we had expected. Trees seemed to glisten in the morning light. There was no snow, yet everything was a shiny white. I looked closely at a chain-link fence along the 490 Expressway. It was a solid glass sheet of ice from top to bottom. The holes between the links had completely closed!

Something was wrong with the trees too. They were all weeping willows, hanging low in graceful sad arches. These were not willows though, trees of all sorts were bending to their breaking point and beyond, laden with an inch-thick coating of ice on every twig. Thousands and thousands of pounds of ice.

Something else was wrong; more wrong and out-of-place than anything else we had seen. We didn't notice right away because it something we weren't seeing.

Traffic.

We were ten or-so miles from a medium-sized city at the height of rush hour on a Monday morning, and there was no traffic. None!

“Is it some sort of holiday we forgot?” I asked my brother.

“There's some traffic on a holiday.”

True that. There would have been more traffic at 3AM... in Minot, North Dakota.

We were, in fact, the only car on the road. It was as if we were entering a shining, deserted crystal city. Combined with our lack of sleep, it was a truly bizarre experience.

It wasn't until we got off the expressway that we learned just how bizarre. The view down Goodman street normally went for a good half mile as it sloped up towards Highland Park, but all we could see were trees hanging so low they nearly brushed the pavement. Huge branches that had succumb to the weight of the ice lay in the street, some of them the size of trees themselves. We slowly drove around the debris on whichever side of the street was open. It was a war zone. 

There were no people to be found: no cars, no pedestrians, not a light in a single window or business, even the traffic lights were dark.

Had I been a bigger believer in the rapture, I might have been quite concerned.

We wound around the fallen arbor and drove carefully over the litter of smaller branches and broken bark towards my house. Goodman Street looked impassable, so we entered my street in the other direction from Clinton. A long branch blocked the entire street just a few doors from my own. We got out of the car and hobbled stiff-legged on the icy pavement. The air was still and dead without the usual sound of the city, but it was not quiet. The continual creaking of the ice covered trees was all around us. We made several attempts to move the branch but it was too big, too heavy, and our feet just slipped on the ice.

An old man came out on his porch. “Get inside!” he shouted pointing up at the other trees bending and groaning under the weight of the ice, “you could be killed!”

His point was made by a sharp gunshot sound a couple of blocks away, followed by the dramatic crash of a branch, an immense wooden chandelier and it's icy crystal hitting the ground.

We got back in the car, turned around and attempted an approach from Goodman again. Despite it's appearance, it was clear just far enough to get to the other end of my street and get to my house.

I carefully walked up the slick steps to my kitchen door and waved to my brother as he pulled out of the driveway to trek to his apartment about a mile-and-a-half away. Once inside, I knew there wouldn't be any power, but by instinct I hit the switch anyway.

Over 300,000 people were in the dark and cold. The trees and branches that had fallen had taken down many power lines in their path.

I learned later that the deserted streets were because of a general ban on all travel at that time. Had the police not been completely beleaguered with emergencies, we probably would have been stopped or road-blocked outside of Rochester somewhere.

In downtown Rochester, ten foot sheets of ice were falling off the glass windows of tall buildings making it perilous to walk below.

Disasters were declared in 19 counties in Upstate New York. Five percent of the states total power output had been taken out simply by the gentle accumulation of frozen water.

Forty miles to the South. A large tree in my parents' front yard, one I had climbed and swung from as a kid, had grown so heavy it toppled over, roots and all. It fell towards their house damaging the roof and pounding a four-by-four fence post straight and clean into the rain sodden earth like a hammer hitting a nail. It's presumably still there.

My folks were also without power for days.

It all started out as a novel adventure, for my Dad at least, who found great photographic opportunities exploring the surreal ice world. After a couple days when all the ice had melted leaving a typical brown and muddy March, and of living in the 19^th century, even he had had all the adventure he could stand.

My parents were luckier than some. They had wood stoves to cook on and heat their home with. Many ended up in shelters for days and weeks.

I myself got pretty handy with a chainsaw helping my dad dispose of his fallen tree. It was fortunate that he already owned one. Generators and chainsaws flew off the shelves of hardware and farm stores within hours. Batteries and other consumables disappeared from everywhere else.

It took over two weeks to restore power to all who had lost it in the storm. Power companies from several states and even Canada flocked to help in much publicized convoys.

The long-term damage was to the trees themselves. 

If you're not from the area, it's hard to appreciate the amount of Upstate New York that is covered and shaded by trees. Over 100,000 trees were completely destroyed. Many more times that were severely damaged. There was hardly a tree or shrub anywhere that had not been mangled in some way. For several years the damage was plain to see. Much was never recovered; people simply got used to the less green landscape and eventually forgot about the shady spots they'd lost.

The fallen and damaged trees and branches were collected by the city and taken to improvised dumping areas where they formed scores of house sized piles of wooden carnage.

That summer, everyone's gardens were covered with one of the only bounties of the ice storm: more free mulch than you could shake a stick at.

Ironically, for me, the whole thing was just a sweet deal. When I had flipped the switch after coming home that morning, the lights had come on!

I talked to my brother later that day. He asked me what I was going to do about my ex-roommate's delinquent power bill and RG&E turning off my power.

“Nothing,” I said, “they won't be able to even think about my new account, let alone turning off my power for at least a week.”

I did get them a copy of my lease and set up a new account, and I did it in my own sweet time.

Despite one of the biggest and longest power outages in Rochester history, I, the guy who was supposed to have his turned off, never lost mine.

Detour, Part II

This second half of the story will make more sense it you read Part I first below.

Nathan and Annabelle sat unmoving in his car. It had been seven minutes and twenty three seconds since he had thrown his BMW in Park. Engines in the cars on the detour around him turned off one by one. The Astrovan ahead of them went silent, the exhaust pipe shuttered briefly, then was still. Nathan let out a labored sigh and shut his own engine off.

“I'm going to find out what's going on.”

He opened the door and got out. He walked up to the mini van. The windows were all open. The driver was in his forties, a thick black mustache hid his lips. He was leaned forward with both hands still on the wheel. He didn't seem to notice Nathan standing there. Nathan felt like he knew the guy after staring at his van and the graphic of his family and pets.

“This is crazy huh? What do you think is going on? Did you see any construction? It's Miguel, right?”

The man turned and looked at Nathan.

“No, no... see the picture on the back of your van, it says 'Miguel' so I...”

The man said nothing. His hands never left the wheel.

“Okaaay... Ah, no hablo? Right-right. That's cool.” Nathan walked ahead to the next car, an old 280Z. The windows were up. Nathan had to bend down and shield his eyes against the headlights of the minivan to see in. Nathan waved to get his attention the guy just stared forward wearily gripping his steering wheel.

Nathan made his way up the line of cars. Annabelle watched him until he passed into the dark and out of view.

She whistled a little tune.

“Getting chilly out there,” Nathan said closing the door and rubbing his shoulders. “I can't believe we're in the friggin' country, 'howdy do' and all that, and I'm the friendliest guy out there. I must have walked up a quarter of a mile. Not one of these idiots will say a word to me, not one. Weird!”.

“I could have told you that,” said Annabelle.

“You'd think people would want to stretch their legs at least.”

“You'd think.”

Headlights turned off one by one. Nathan's blueish halogens were soon the only light visible. Air escaped from Nathan's lips after a while. He reluctantly switched them off.

Nathan settled in his seat. He couldn't get comfortable. In the silence, every move he made against the black leather seemed embarrassingly loud, obnoxious even. There was no noise from Annabelle's side of the car.

He flattened his palm against the blue and white checkers of the BMW logo on his steering wheel. The horn exploded into the dark silence like a flash of sound and a mushroom cloud of reverb. He held it down hard until he was sure there was no doubt how pissed-off he was. Then, he held it there a little longer.

Nathan expected to here a cacophony of horns after his own. People often followed his leads, especially when descent was ripe.

Not a sound. The horn blast was swallowed by the night.

Miguel in the minivan was jolted awake by the horn blast. He gripped the steering wheel hard until he could convince himself that he had not fallen asleep driving down the freeway; then that's why he was there, why they were all there. He looked at the strange woman in his passenger seat.

“Debo estar loco. ¿De dónde vienes señora? ¿Dónde está mi familia?”

“tal vez debería volver y encontrarlos.”

“Feel better?” said Annabelle after Nathan had released the horn.

“What?”

“After yanking the chain on your steam whistle there Casey Jones. Did that help?”

“I don't get it. Why aren't these other people pissed off? They're all sitting here, just taking it, like lambs to the slaughter.”

“Not you though.”

“Hell no! If I was passive like the rest of these victims, I'd still be in the mail room and driving a shit box like that one. Look at these idiots, there aren't even any road cones, someone could just drive off through this field or whatever-the-hell-this-is and escape.”

“So what's holding you back? She said.

“Are you kidding, this is a B. M. W. -have some rock take out my oil pan, or catalytic converter, no thanks, I'll wait with the cattle.”

He clicked on the GPS. Her face glowed in the soft blue light.

Searching...

Searching...

“You're not cattle yourself, just stuck amongst them?”

“I learned to get what I want. It's not my fault that someone else settles for less, allows themselve to be taken advantage of. It's not my fault that they don't want it as bad. That's what makes them cattle and me, not.”

“Desperation?”

“Ambition, taking responsibility for getting what you want out of life.”

“A Beemer.”

“'B... M... W' Among other things.”

Searching...

“What about your son?”

“They'll be more time for him later. I can't slack off now, I'm making hay you know?”

“Hay?”

“Hay, while the sun shines... money, success.”

Searching...

No Signal

“So that's what you want?” said Annabelle.

“I want out of here that's what I want.”

“It's kinda nice. You see stars.”

Annabelle pointed up through the moon roof. Nathan glanced up with his eyes only.

“I just want outta here,” he said.

Car engines began starting up in the distance and closer until the brake light on the Astrovan painted their faces red. Nathan shifted impatiently in his seat. Annabelle kept looking up through the moon roof. The odd tree branch passed overhead.

The line of cars and trucks slowly rolled forward. The BMW rocked over gentle bumps in the grass. The ghosts of trees appeared at the edge of the dark. The path began to slope upwards.

Nothing had been said for several minutes. Nathan clicked on the radio out of boredom.

Static.

The path sloped down then leveled off. Dust rose in the air ahead. Gravel crunched under the succession of tires.

“A road! It's about damn time!” Nathan exclaimed.

“We're always on a road,” said Annabelle.

“Do you always have to do that... Chief Sitting Bullshit.”

“I have ironic slogans on my panties too, wanna see?”

“You know I do.”

“C'mon, lets pull off and make out!” she said smiling.

“But we're finally getting somewhere.”

“This crowd? Don't be too sure. Who cares anyway?”

“Annabelle listen, I'd love to fool around with you,” his hand moved to her thigh, “just hold that thought for a few minutes and let's see what happens,” he said.

“Suit yourself.”

The traffic was moving faster. Nathan's BMW shifted into second gear briefly.

“I wish these trees weren't so close, I really want to pass this dude, minivan Miguel here. He's got a whole football field in front of him.”

“Stop!” said Annabelle.

“What?”

“Stop the car!”

“What? Here?”

“Just stop!”

The black luxury sedan crunched to a halt. A cloud of dust drifted by them. The line of cars compacted behind them stopping one after the other.

“What is it?” Nathan said.

“There's a road. Don't you see it?”

Nathan's window whined and slid open with a solid shunk. Another gravel road intersected the first at a perfect ninety degrees. It headed off into the darkness both to the left and right.

“Let's go!” she said.

“Go where?”

“Wherever, down the road.”

“Which way?”

“Take your pick? Where's that take-charge spirit of yours when you were driving all over people just to get a couple car lengths ahead?”

In the clearing dust Nathan could see the gravel of the other road in the collective of headlights. Not a single tire print.

“I don't know. Where would this take us.”

“Might just take you all the way handsome.” Annabelle winked.

He laughed. “Tempting, but...”

“But not quite enough,” she said.

Annabelle reached down and picked up her purse. She leaned over and gave Nathan a kiss.

“It's been a pleasure traveling with you tonight Nathan. Give my love to your son when you see him.”

Her purse on her shoulder and began walking down the road that extended to the right. Nathan jumped out of the car and laid his arms on top.

“Annabelle! C'mon, what's wrong? Come back.”

“I'm right here Nathan. Come with me, let go of all that crap that you are afraid of, leave that precious car of yours and lets walk down this road. You won't regret it. ”

“I thought you dug the car."
"It's you I like Nathan, not the car, not the money. It's the same for you son by-the-way.”

“Annabelle, what's wrong? What'd I do?”

“Don't get this wrong Nathan, I'm not a girlfriend, not a date, not the way you're used to, I'm not hurt or upset. It's just time, you can come with me or go on your way, it's not too late but it is time for you to make a decision.”

“You're insane, where are you going? You're going off alone in the middle of nowhere.”

“Just like when I found you. Go... go see your son Nathan, he misses you more than you let yourself believe.”

“But Annabelle!”

“Be well handsome.”

Nathan was speechless. He watched her walk away into the black of the wooded road. He got back inside and looked at her through the window but she was already gone. Cars were beginning to honk behind him.

He clutched the steering wheel and looked ahead. What the hell had just happened?

More honking.

“Shit! Alright, alright you morons. I've spent a lifetime trapped behind your slow asses. It's not like you're going to get very far.”

The BMW spit a fist full of vengeful gravel and lurched forward. Literally and deliberately, he left the honking cars in the dust. All too soon he was looking at the rear of the Astrovan and following the line of brake lights leading off into the dark of the trees. No one had run out of gas pulled off to the side, he wondered why. He checked his tank, it was pegged at full.

The grade of the road increased again. He could hear a truck laboring in a low gear up ahead. The road had degraded some sort of logging road: two ruts with a patch of grass between. Nathan had to slow for deep pockets that had been large puddles at one time. The path began to curve more left and right. Keeping half an eye on the road, he grabbed his phone from his attache and turned in on.

Zero bars

He tossed the phone into the empty passenger seat. He missed her, not the usual: too-bad-I-didn't-get-laid; she had been sitting there for less than three hours and now there was a new empty spot on that half of the car. He pictured her walking down that mysterious road in the pitch black, smoking a cigarette and whistling a little tune. He it hear it as plain as if she were in his own head.

He started humming along.

Between the notes, it hit him. If he ever escaped this bizarre detour he would drive through the night, what was left of it, and see his son on his birthday and every one after that, every soccer game, every play, whenever he needed him he'd be there. No excuses!

The traffic seemed more infuriating than ever. Maybe he could turn around and go back to that other road, find another way back to a real highway, town, a cel signal, a farm house and a phone with a rotary dial... anything! What if he could find Annabelle, she could get him back, he'd introduce her to his son. She was a powerful ally, he never should have let her go.

The trees were so close now there was no room to pull off, say nothing of turning around and going back. If anyone had engine trouble they'd all be screwed. The canopy of branches overhead had grown lower, thicker. He could see broken branches from trucks. Whoever had laid-out this detour really had there head up their ass.

A branch scraped against his door.

“Jesus! If there's a scratch, Caltrans is going to hear from my lawyer.”

Nathan amused himself imagining Miguel showing some Caltrans exec the damage to his crappy-ass Astrovan, his wife following behind, chattering-on in angry Spanish.

The Astrovan pulled further ahead. It was getting difficult to keep centered on the track without more scratches to his BMW. Likewise, the line of cars behind him was more spread out, he could only make out two or three sets of headlights in his rear view mirror. The path turned sharply to the right.

“Damn, glad I'm not driving a truck. Those dudes have got to be pissed!”

The narrow turn was impossible for a truck. No damage to trees or branches. Where had the trucks gone?

More branches screeched across the black sedan. Nathan cringed and swore. The Astrovan was far up the hill, in-fact, he could only see the slight glow from the single working tail light on the overhead trees. The car behind him had not yet reached the sharp turn. Nathan suddenly felt lonely for the his friend Miguel, driving that horrible minivan and the stupid cartoon family staring at him. Nathan drove faster. Branches smacked and scraped along his paint job, it didn't matter now.

Nathan crested a hill hoping to see the friendly red tail light but there was only a glow, even more faint than it was before. He drove even faster, thirty... forty... the scratches against the sides of his beautiful car was a constant scream. He steered the narrow path with the concentration of a Grand Prix driver on a wet track. Fifty miles per hour on a logging road or whatever the hell this was. The car lurched and rumbled on the uneven track. He briefly caught air over a large bump. A low hanging branch banged against the roof, he landed and bottomed-out the four-way active computer controlled suspension. The noise was horrible like the sound of one's own bones breaking.

“HOLY SHIT!”

He did not slow. He was fighting now, fighting this road, this damn forest, fighting his way to his fellow detourees, fighting his way out of this mess so he could see his son.

Nathan flew up over a rise.

More air; a long one. Worthy of a Hollywood stunt.

The BMW tipped nose down as it went earthward. His headlights shined down on a log laying across the path. Nathan closed his eyes.

Impact!

The nose of the car dug into the dirt. A terrible sound. It sheered off the bumper cover and rolled it under him crumpled up like a piece of paper. The car slid to a halt the log jammed against the rear wheels.

Dust flew around him. Nathan sat at the wheel breathing hard. He wiped a single tear from his eye. He had been gripping the steering wheel so hard with his sweaty hands it was sticky. In his rear view he looked white as a ghost.

No cars ahead or behind.

He was alone.

He opened his window. Twigs slapped in, he fought them with his hands. He turned on his high beams, halogen fog lights, hazards, dome light, map light... anything he could think of to illuminate this strange place he found himself in. The growth was thick. Even walking through it would be difficult. Some of the branches had sharp spikes growing from them. Though it was early September, there was not a single green leaf to be seen. All the branches were bare and gray, He tried to open his door. He could only work it open a couple of inches against the forest.

“What is this,” Nathan said in a deep swallowed voice. “What the fucking hell is this.”

He shut off his engine. There was a hollow silence.

“HELLO!” he screamed. “ANYONE!... WHAT IS THIS!

“ANNABELLE... ANNNNAABELLLLE! ARE YOU OUT THERE?”

His voice was sucked into the forest without an echo.

“I've got to get out of here! Where I can at least get out of this damn car, I've got to find Annbelle.”

Nathan started his engine.

Reverse.

The tires spun against the log.

Faster.

Rubbing, squealing.

Faster.

Smoke.

Nathan swore as he slammed his transmission into drive. He didn't want to any further but his temperament wouldn't let him stay in one place.

He rolled forward slowly. Branches screeched on all sides. Twigs whipped his face through the open window. It wouldn't close.

The track was no longer any sort of road. A single footpath. Nathan forced his sedan through the underbrush. Tears streamed down his face.

“I'm tryin' Zachary, I'm tryin'. Your dad's trying to get home to you buddy. I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry...”

Nathan repeated his promises and apologies over and over. His words seemed to slur into the hum of the engine.

Down the path the passable clearance grew smaller and smaller like a constricting tunnel, the growth thicker, the grass and brush taller. At any point he might grind to a complete stop and be stuck forever, but he kept moving.

Forward.

Forward.

Underbrush filled his windshield, he could not even see his headlights. The branches turned to small twigs and the twigs became grass-like fibers as if he was being squeezed through the inside of a bail of hay. The endless scrapping on all sides of the car morphed into a dull roar.

Nathan was no longer driving. His wheels were not on any sort of ground. His engine dieseled and sputtered to a stop, yet he kept moving slowly forward, pushed through this dense tunnel by some unseen pressure behind him. He was not steering. There was no left or right; only forward, slowly forward. He would have taken his hands off the wheel... if he could.

He would be screaming... if he could.

It had been hours maybe. What's an hour? It had been a long time and a numbers of long times strung together. Nathan's windshield was filled with a solid mass of dirt and gravel inching slowly to the sides and past his moon roof. It was packed so tightly only small pieces of it fell in through his open window. All around him was nothing but the soft rubbing sound of his car inching forward.

On.

On.

He moved slower and slower until, almost imperceptibly, he stopped.

Trapped.

He remembered faintly telling a joke about wanting to be buried in his BMW. He felt the hints of an unpleasant sensation.

Nausea.

Nathan did not move. It was something he no longer did.

He was the same yellowish white color as the seat, the steering wheel, the dashboard...

There was a noise. Scraping, lifting. A massive grooved pink object pressed over his window and against his shoulder. It was warm.

Up.

Dirt fell away from around the car. Daylight stabbed his eyes. They wouldn't close. Nathan felt himself moving as if in an elevator going many stories.

Up.

An immense eye looked straight at Nathan where he sat motionless behind the wheel.

“Annabelle!”

She was dressed differently. A conservative yellow dress, her hair up in a bun, glasses. She smiled at the little man behind the wheel.

“There you are,” she said.

She brushed dirt away from the car and polished it a little on the hem of her dress. She placed the car in her purse and continued down the path. Sun dappled through the leaves in dancing patterns. She sat on a bench and whistled a tune. Nathan knew it well.

“What's the matter? You look kinda sad.” she said to the boy who sat down on the other side of the bench. The boy said nothing. She looked up at a group of kids and parents at a nearby set of picnic tables. A colorful piñata dangled from a tree branch.

“Sometimes birthday parties aren't much if somethings bothering you huh?”

“It's my birthday,” said the boy.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks,” he said.

“Your party didn't turn out like you hoped?”

“It's okay I guess. I was hoping my dad would come.”

“Maybe's he's just late.”

“Nah, he never comes. I was just hoping.”

“You can't let that get you down. Looks like everyone is having a lot of fun.”

“He didn't call either. And...” The boy picked at a chip of paint on the bench. “The phone rang late last night. My mom didn't know I was awake. She was real upset about the call. This morning, she wouldn't tell me who called or what happened. She's pretending like nothing happened, but I'm worried about my dad.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Annabelle said.

“Thanks,” said the boy.

“You know, Annabelle said opening her purse. “I might just have something for a boy who isn't having the best birthday.”

She handed him a small black toy car. A plastic man was at the wheel. A little phone, a bump in the plastic, was sitting on the seat next to him.

“It's just like my dad's new car!” he said.

“It's yours, if you want it.”

“Sure, thanks Mrs...”

“Ms. Jude, Annabelle.”

“Thanks Ms. Jude.”

Nathan looked back at his son through his plastic windshield. “He's getting so big,” he said somewhere inside. He laughed at the irony.

The boy walked back to the party flicking the wheels of his new car. Annabelle got up from the bench and walk down the path.

Whistling a little tune.

Detour, Part I

(c) 2011 Joel T Johnson

Nathan was at one with his car. The dash lights of his BMW were dimmed to perfect level. The six parameters of the motorized seat were adjusted to his precise size and posture and locked into both memory settings. He was cruising North on the 101, slicing through the night without apology. His automobile was so responsive, it was like merely thinking his way around the scattered traffic, like he himself was the car, gliding and sliding from lane to lane like, a speed skater. The slower cars (all of them) were like static objects to slalom around; there just to make things more interesting. No music; late at night with the warmth of two martinis in his blood, he preferred the sound of the road. Driving at over a hundred with the windows and moon roof cracked open was entertainment enough.

Nathan's phone was powered down and packed away in his attache. The deal was done, slam dunk! He could almost feel the back slaps on Monday. Once again he had saved their sorry asses. After weeks of wining and dinning degenerate aldermen, getting them laid, he could take a breath and think about getting himself a piece of ass for a change. For now, his reward was the silence and peace of a late night drive to nowhere the anticipation of what—or who—was to come. He had all weekend; maybe he'd end up in San Francisco or some nice Inn along the coast, as long as there was a bar and some lucky bimbo.

No one saw her emerge from the dark surrounding the gas station off a remote section of freeway. She walked as she might along a path in park on a sunny Saturday. She whistled a little tune. The clerk didn't notice that there were no cars in the spaces or at the pumps when she paid for her Camels and a Bic with a fifty.

“I can't take a bill like that after midnight.” he said.

“Keep the change,” she said.

“You don't understand, I can't drop that bill in the safe, I'll get in trouble.”

“I'll tell you what,” she said, articulating, “I'll pay you fifty dollars to let me walk out of here with cigarettes,” she held them up, “and a lighter,” she held it up. “You can figure out the rest without my help I think.”

The clerk slowly pulled the Jackson off the counter and stuffed it in his pocket.

Nathan pulled turned off the freeway ramp and into the gas station. The island lights made elongated, aerodynamic amoeba patterns on his sleek 750i. An attractive woman smoked a cigarette just outside the door., the fingers of her free arm hooked on her elbow.

She didn't look at him, she didn't avoid looking at him. He found an excuse to go into the store after he replaced the pump. He smiled when he passed her.

She did not.

She was young but dressed smartly, a business person of some sort, cool, confident, sexy as hell. He'd seen heels like those on women getting out of Bentleys, she was not for want of money. If Nathan had dreamed up a girl more his type to encounter in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, he wouldn't have done as well.

He came back out of the store with a package of beef jerky and cup of coffee. He stopped outside the door. He stared out into the night towards the silent freeway. The woman glanced at him after a while.

“It's possible that I'm waiting for someone.”

“That's nice.” Said Nathan. He laughed nervously. “I didn't, um...”

“Didn't you?”

“Okay, a little curious--girl like you.” He looked around.

She didn't respond. Nathan took a sip of coffee and rocked back in a mock stretch.

“Car trouble? Boyfriend coming to pick you up?”

“There's no car, but I suspect there's trouble out there somewhere. To be honest, I'm not sure who I'm waiting for. It could even be you 'Robb Report'.”

“Oh hey, hey, I'm not looking for...”

“Oh please, do I even look like that?”

“Not remotely.” He laughed. He offered her a piece of jerky. She only stared at it.

“Nice car... Yours?” she said.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Let's get out of here Robb.” She stepped on her cigarette and started walking towards the black beemer.

Nathan almost choked on the coffee he had just sipped.

He pressed the start button. The instrument panel came to life and chimed. The engine roared somewhere deep inside itself, but was barely a whisper where they sat.

“I just wrapped-up a honey of a deal, on little victory drive, you know? I'm headed North... just wherever.”

“Fantastic,” she said. She extended her hand. “Annabelle Jude.”

“It's Nathan, not Robb Report.” He shook her hand.

“Yeah I know.”

“You know my name?”

“I know you're a still few paychecks short of making the cover.”

She winked.

She had a champion handshake. This girl has closed a few deals of her own, played the big leagues in one commodity or another.

The freeway was empty. Radar on, he took her up to ninety. Annabelle said nothing.

One-Oh-Five.

Nothing.

Traffic was starting to show up again. The passing lane filled with cars passing a wide load. Nathan slowed to eighty. Without hesitation he eased off the pavement to the left shoulder around the other cars. The driver's side wheels sped on the gravel like it was glass. A Ford focus had cleared the truck but was clearly offended by Nathan's bold maneuver and did not yield the lane. The Ford accelerated for all it was worth, attempting shut out Nathan. Nathan hit the floor and his car easily out-gunned the the Focus. Just before Nathan sacheted back onto the pavement, a good sized rock pinged his undercarriage.

He flinched, as if he himself had been wounded. “Damn it!” He eyed Annabelle without looking. She reached up and adjusted the temperature for her side for the car.

“What is it with you type “A”s and Beemers?” she said after a while.

“I dunno, only make I've ever driven,” he said. “Borrowed my dad's old 320 through college. Got my first after graduation, an eighty-nine, terrible shape. I spent more time under the hood than behind the wheel. God I loved that car! This is my third, the first one dealer new. By-the-way: true BWM folks never call them 'beemers'.”

“Adorable,” she said. “But why a Beemer? What's wrong with a Porsche? Stud like you.”

“The car is part of the image, you should know that. A Porsche—at least you pronounced it correctly—it, says that a man is more interested in his own dick than doing business. Mercedes: old money, says your inflexible. 'adventure' weekend vehicles, Jeeps and shit, say: not enough commitment, SUVs and crossovers, too many, Hummer's and custom pickups are no different than driving beat-up Japanese piece of crap; no dick, no self respect. Volvos; too political, Subarus; way too political—you've got issues bro. Audis; close, but no cigar.”

“Does this have the V8 four-point-four, or the V12 six liter?”

“This is a 750i, the V12 is the 760.” He looked at her. “Wow, I think I just fell in love. You know the 7 Series?”

“In my business I find it's good to know men and the things they love, what they're afraid of.”

“What business is that?” said Nathan.

“Lost causes, one could say”

“Junk bonds huh?”

Annabelle laughed. “Similar.”

Nathan gave her a nice long up and down. It was time to test the waters a bit. Was this foreplay, or 'chore-play'. She certainly felt his eyes on her but said nothing. Her eyes, like the headlights, looked only foreward.

“You're very beautiful Annabelle.”

She smiled.

Headlights.

Nathan took a breath.

“What are we doing here?” he said.

“I hope you're not this quick and eager on all your closes.”

“Well sweetheart, a strange, very beautiful woman gets in my car in the middle of nowhere, and believe me, I'm good with it all. I'm just not sure what to call it.”

“Call it kismet... or maybe 'George'.”

“Yeah? You gunna respect me after 'George'?”

“You assume I respect you now.”

“And she's funny too. I just gotta wonder just what kind of woman turns up at a gas station without a car in the middle of the night.”

Annabelle leaned over and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You worry too much.”

“What me worry?” Nathan made a face.

She laughed.

“You gotta wife?”

“Divorced, you?”

“Nope, no wife,” she said. “Kids?”

“Yeah, I have a... Oh crap. I can't believe it. Shit!” He smacked the steering wheel and waited for her to inquire.

She said nothing.

“My son, it's his birthday tomorrow...” Nathan looked at his Rolex, “today now. I promised... Ah shit.” Nathan flicked the steering wheel. “I've broken a bunch of those lately.”

“It's not too late. You could head back now, be there by morning.”

Nathan glanced over.

“How do you know where he is?”

“If you're not LA from head to toe, I'll shave my head.”

“Damn, rely on stereotypes much?”

“Every day. So do you handsome.”

Nathan for waited a prescribed amount of silence to pass.

“So, where are we going Annabelle? Where are you from?”

“Neither of us are going very far,” she said, “look!”

On the next hill, brake lights were multiplying. The mist over the rise glowed a steady red.

“Awe crap!”

Nathan held his speed and dodged cars. At the crest of the hill they saw it: his freeway, the surging veins of a young man, had crumbled into the angina of road construction. Yellow lights flashing arrows closed the right lane half a mile ahead. Nathan continued to dispatch the cars in front of him at speed.

“You've got to act while you can, before we get blocked in,” he said. “I could be saving us hours right here.”

“Please! Do you think I'm from the past or something?”

Ahead, an old Honda crept into the passing lane next to a Hyundai with dealer plates. By all indications they were moving at the exact same speed.

Nathan flashed his brights at the offending car as he closed-in fast. The Honda was unmoved. Nathan braked hard.

“Whoa Nelly!” laughed Annabelle.

This pissed him off a little, he was doing battle here. Was she making light or making fun? He flashed his brights a few more times and laned back and forth twice behind the slow movers trying to pick a winner.

“You morons... C'mon tards, somebody do something for fuck's sake.”

The Honda progressed like a minute hand despite helpful comments from Nathan. The moment there was a car length of space behind the Honda and in front of the Hyundai, he dove into the free lane and rocketed away. Nathan dodged around a few more cars then took to the right lane as everyone else had merged left in anticipation of the closed lane. A red pickup with a patriotic bumper sticker was halfway between the lanes, holding his place in line while policing the empty lane from anyone bold enough to poach their way to the end. Nathan merely past him on the shoulder without slowing and gunned his way to the bitter end where the road cones sliced into the lane. He nosed his way in front of a white hatchback like a gear in a cog.

In line: the part Nathan hated, cattled into a chute with no way out. His view would not change for a while now and it was one he grew to despise in under a minute.

A mini van, worse, an Astrovan, dusty and faded, inched along in front of him. It's right tail light cover was missing and replaced with red tape. The light itself wasn't working anyway and the working one seemed twice as bright as it was supposed to be. When the brake light was not blinding him, his entire view consisted of Jesus bumper sticker in Spanish, a radio station slogan in the same and a line-up of tall-to-short decals of a family, plus two dogs and a cat. They took up the entire rear window. Cartoon Miguel, Felicia, Hector, Edgar, Martin, Juanita, Pilar, Miedo, Sisi and Tigre stared at him, all grinning from ear to ear, smug that they were one place ahead of him in line.

The traffic moved slowly forward; not slow enough to stop, but not fast enough not let it idle along without hitting the brakes every few seconds. Nathan shifted in his seat and hung his wrist over the top of the wheel. He adjusted his visor repeatedly to block out the beaming single laser bright brake light. It didn't work.

“Tell me about your son,” Annabelle said.

“Good kid.” Nathan exhaled.

She looked at him, waiting for more. “Yeah... apparently.”

“No, I mean... Well, I was just thinking... he's getting big, so fast.”

“How old?”

“Seven... no wait, eight... or is he turning eight? He starts third grade next week. Geez!”

“Got a picture.”

“On my phone I do, it's turned off.”

“So, you know the specs of your car and give me a life history of all your beemers...”

“BMWs.”

“Beemers... and I have to ask you about him to get two words about your son and you have to stop and think about his age.”

“You think I love my car more than my son?”

“No, no I don't think so, but the car is a lot easier, isn't it? ”

She redid her pony tail, holding her hair band in her teeth while she ran her hands through her hair. He was grateful she didn't push the issue. He was already feeling trapped. It was pretty obvious she wasn't going to reveal much about herself so he didn't push either. He didn't want to kill his chances for later. Even the damn traffic didn't seem so bad with those legs to look at. There was a serenity to her as well that calmed him a bit. She was as un-phased by his take-charge driving as she was by being stopped dead in some God forsaken field. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful again but he held his tongue.

The K-rail moved them across the right lane then off onto the shoulder where a quickie paving job made a temporary third lane which lasted for only two miles, but the thirty minutes it took made it seem like a whole zip code. The K-rail disappeared, thin orange barrier markers took it's place. He chit chatted with Annabelle, hoping to learn something about her but her pleasant redirects always brought the conversation back to him and before he knew it, he had revealed another chapter of his life to her.

An orange sign up ahead, he couldn't read it yet, not an official sign, just a four-by-two piece of plywood written on with spray paint by some construction worker.

“What's that sign say?” he asked.

“Detour.” Annabelle said.

“Shit, really? This is going from bad to worse. You can really see that far in the dark?”

“What else would it say?”

Closer to the sign he could seen the traffic moving off the shoulder and down an incline. Nathan steered his auto between the cones. They left the pavement and guided the traffic onto two tracks of well-matted grass. The road cones ended and the traffic was guided only by the tracks in the grass. The tracks led the cars and trucks downhill away from the freeway, through a hedge row via a mound of dirt and continued on matted grass. The world was black outside the headlights and tail lights. Nathan opened his window to see if he could get a better look at his surroundings. He got a face full of exhaust fumes.

“Man, this just sucks.” Nathan said, coughing.

The minivan ahead of him came to a halt. Nathan inched forward with several jerky brake holds until the cartoon family filled his windshield.

Completely stopped.

“Shit. This is weird man, really weird.”

“What are you worried about Nathan? You got someplace to be—you know besides back to for your son's birthday? This is an adventure, enjoy it.”

“I prefer adventures I'm in control of.”

“I think you need to look up the definition of 'adventure'.”

Annabelle reached over and massaged his shoulder. Nathan would normally, almost involuntarily, have  suggested something lewd. “A slap on the face is well-worth knowing if you're wasting your time,” he would tell his friends. He said nothing to Annabelle. His shoulder was tight, he needed the rub.

Part II of “Detour” next Saturday.