Bad Company

Jitterbug

My back rested against the windshield of my truck as the sun heated the hood beneath my thighs. The warmth didn't bother me though as my gaze softly caressed the wildflower fields where my mind overlapped the ghostly memories of my childhood with the vibrant colors of the flowers. I could still see images of my parents walking together hand-in-hand as little me ran ahead, giggling and urging them to hurry up so we could get to the lake faster. My daddy would wink at momma before peeling away from her and chasing me as I squealed and ran away with my momma watching us with loving eyes and a wide, infectious smile.

She and I were my dad's whole world, but that little world of his came crashing down when he got the phone call that momma had been in a car accident. She died when I was eight years old, but I still remembered her as if she had died two weeks ago, like my dad. He had declared himself the only man I'd ever need in my life because I was his little girl, and there was no way he would ever give me up. He never mentioned what'd happen if he left first.

"I'm gonna miss you both so much," I sighed brokenly as I swiped at my eyes to knock away the tears. A gentle laugh quickly passed my lips as I thought about how my dad would tease me if he saw me crying over him. His green eyes would sparkle softly with humor, and laughter lines would quickly follow. He would lift my chin with a curled finger and tell me how he never wanted to see me cry over a man, even if that man was my dad. "Well, I don't really wanna leave y'all, but I've decided to go surprise Uncle Dusty down in Macon. I haven't seen him in almost six years, since my eighteenth birthday, I think. I'm really excited to see him again, and I'll let him know that you both say--"

I froze mid-sentence as I remembered that I wasn't actually talking to my parents. No, my parents weren't even there anymore, but I couldn't help but speak as if they were. Maybe it was denial, but, either way, it brought a fresh round of tears springing to my eyes, the matching pair to my dad's.

Not having the emotional strength to say anything more, I slid off of Sam's hood and walked around to the cab of the truck where I hopped into the driver's seat and cranked the truck to life. The fabric seats were splitting open and the dashboard was cracked from the unrelenting sun beating down on it, but I could never bring myself around to selling old Sam. He was my first vehicle, one I had been driving since I was twelve. My dad would take me out in the truck and teach me stick shift. Since then, I was attached at the hip to Sam.

With a final wave goodbye to the field, I shifted gears and drove across the uneven land to the little paved road. My eyes fell to the left where my childhood home was. To the right was a hand painted sign with the words "Now leaving Mason, Texas: Population 1,563. Don't be a stranger, and come back to see us!" I looked both ways before pulling out on to the road, passing by our town's sign with a heavy heart.

********

After a grueling eight hours of driving, I finally passed the familiar silhouette of a broken down barn that marked the outer territory of Macon. The sun was long gone, and my phone read 7:04 pm.

A tired yawn stretched my lips, but I knew I was almost where I wanted to be. The town limit sign for Macon popped up then quickly faded away into the evening light. Unlike Mason, Macon was a much larger town, but Uncle Dusty lived on the outskirts of the city where there was more 'stretching room', as Dusty called it.

Not long after seeing the sign, several houses began popping up on either side of the road, and it wasn't much time after that till the town's outermost intersection came into view.

About half a mile before the intersection though was a large bar with a red tin roof called Hell's Riders. Dozens of motorcycles were parked out front, and I was extremely careful not to plow into them with my truck as I pulled into the gravel lot because the last thing I needed was an angry motorcycle crew out for blood.