| Last call was long gone at the Soap Creek Saloon, and it was time I was, too. It would have been a short hop up Congress to my home in the live oaks, but there she was hitchhiking a block from the bar. The gal was probably damned good looking when she wasn't stumbly-assed drunk, but I was never to know. I did know she needed help getting somewhere off the road, and I just hoped it wasn't too far. "Where you wanting to go," I enlisted as she struggled to climb into my Jeep. "Fort Worth," she slurred back at me. "Well, I can run you over to the interstate," I said, pulling away from the curb. She slung her bobbing head around, hair strung over one eye. "Naw....naw, I want you to take me to For' Worth." I blew out a heavy breath. "Sorry, darlin', but I spent too much of my life trying to get out of that town, and I'm damned sure not driving 200 miles back to it at two in the morning. Now, If you need a place to crash tonight, we can handle that." She shook her head, banging it against the side of the car. "Naw....naw, I got to get back tonight. You can take me to For' Worth, cain'tcha?" It went on like that until I pulled onto the shoulder of I-35 North. "Just catch a ride going that way," I told her, pointing straight ahead, "and you can get there in about three hours." She wasn't opening the door. "Naw....naw, I want you to take me to For' Worth!" She pulled her purse up tightly against her chest and settled back into the seat. "Okay, this is old. Get out," I firmly told her. She began digging in her purse. "You....are taking me to For' Worth," she declared, slowly fumbling with a small pen knife she had drawn from her bag, opening the blade with the same ease she'd having threading a needle in gloves. There was ample time to laugh, shake my head and peel the blade from her feeble grip. "Give that back!" she barked. "Not very nice," I admonished her, tossing the knife out the open passenger window. She half-shrieked. "Now," I instructed. "Get out, collect your weapon, and bear due north." She did get out, sloppily crying and cussing, but fell to her knees and began patting about in the darkness for her lost edge. Instead of pulling off, as I should have, I watched, and felt sorry for her, a stranger so alone in the night at the side of a road in the wrong city. In my swirling waves of whiskey compassion I wondered if I been a jerk for tossing her steel, or if a spontaneous jaunt to Fort Worth might turn out to be a kick. Damned if I didn?t help her look for her knife for a couple of minutes before my head cleared and I climbed back behind the wheel and waved bye-bye. Sometimes I really surprise myself by what a fool I'll make of myself over the wrong woman in the middle of the night. |
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| Poemission |
| Short Ride |