the way to hell

Post-divorce life was made bearable by the sight of my window-watching puppy standing atop the bookcase to welcome me. She was all that was left. In my world of dodging chainsaws and briar cuts, her happy face made our house a home. I named her "Trixie" after "Trixie Delight" in "Paper Moon."

I was motoring down Ellisboro Road, just a few more miles to tongue attacks and pee spot of the day. My thoughts of her were displaced by an approaching vehicle’s rapid-fire headlights. In these parts, that meant just one thing, license check ahead. The forgers in Sing-Sing had nothing on my false credentials. Borrowed plate, no registration, no insurance....handcuffs for sure.

A old country store that still awaits its hundredth customer was just to my left. I broadslid in, intending, without sirens and rectal checks, to find another way home. Some creek-hatched mechanic in a used Sears windbreaker approached. The rag plucked at his grease as a stall-backed newborn calf. Though the wind had been dead-still, it whistled loudly as he neared. A once in a lifetime tumbleweed rolled across the lot. I asked him if he knew how to get to Hines-Chapel Road. His dangling jaw revealed the cause of the local dentist’s suicide. A bottom tooth interspersed beer spittle with his tongue. I knew if the first word began with "p," I would’ve drowned. "You go down east one-fiftee-ate til you cun to Cold Water Road," he grumbled. "Turn rite at bluh-bluh-bluh and then you bluh-bluh-bluh and then go-on-down-till-ya-thar." Before I could ask him to repeat the last part, he pop-farted at a dust tornado and went away. He was done.


Knowing I’d see bones before another customer came, I climbed back inside to stuff my vices in the glove-box. I fastened my seatbelt while huffing a big breath (to make sure it was the only click I’d hear that day). With my hands in the ten and two o’clock positions, a black cloud formed above. The pavement seemed to mind my return, so I went toward 158 apologizing for my conception. In between a bacca barn and some broken fence was an unnoticeable sign declaring that this was the road. This must’ve been my turn because my stomach was gurgling up in cramps. Bluejays screeched in unison as I made the turn in. The pulsing crickets pushed a turtlehead to moisten my drawers.

"God please let me come in below the cops." Near the crest of the long dirt road, the taller weeds encased my car on either side. I took a look in the rear-view and was amazed at the amount of dust I was stirring. To an outsider, I was a dust trail without origin. As the top of the hill approached, I noticed a glint of blue light across the back-lit grass. I hit the brakes and made a cloud of dirt roll right across the top of my car. Doing a three-point turn in a sand storm is worsened by breathing a car-full. My temples tried to meet as my pounding heart sent mixed signals to the turtlehead. How could they not see me? Was a sniper ready? I kept an eye looking back, preparing for the mow-down from K-Mart. The road seemed to have no end. The main road allowed a clear vision of my escape. I would make it home, though exhausted and pale. Trixie would be asleep, but still waiting in the window.