During my first long distance drive, my car died between Denton and Forth Worth, on the same strip of highway that Henry Lee Lucas frequented for years in his killing spree, burying dozens of girls in that lonely Texas landscape. My car had cost a little less than a thousand dollars and was a brilliant gold color that gleamed in the sun. I couldn't go anywhere without alerting people from miles around thanks to the awful screaming noise that it made while it was running. As I drove into that particular night, I could see my headlights getting dimmer and dimmer and a cold stake of fear drove itself into my body. Ever since my rape, I had the odd feeling that if I prepared for anything, it would happen so I drove around without any money or protection. These were the days before cell phone and the nearest filling station was at least twenty-five miles away. The car died and so did a little piece of my sanity. My only choice was to flag down a car or crawl into a ditch. After a long minute of pounding my head into the steering wheel, I got out and a car stopped. I hoped not to see Henry Lee or his evil twin cousin Frankie Lee or any asshole with three names. Three names almost never indicates anything good.
This story has such a happy ending I could have never written it. The man who stopped drove, I shit you not, a black Porsche. He had stood up his date so he pulled a good Samaritan move to improve his karma and drove me back to the nearest town so I could call my dad. He let me choose the radio station. "I felt so bad, but I couldn't bring myself to see my girlfriend again. It's over and she's going to hate me. I wonder if she's still at Bennigan's?" I thanked God over and over under my breath, leading my new friend to probably wonder at his luck at picking up some crazy muttering loon. I never saw the man in the black Porsche again; he dropped me off and told me not to worry about it, that he was glad to help. I would drive that strip of highway hundreds of times over the years, and now it's a lot more built up than it used to be. But there are still lonely stretches where nothing is on the horizon except the kindness of strangers and the ghosts of girls who, as they say, weren't so lucky.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Wherever you are, we must do the best we can. It is so far to travel and we have nothing here to travel, except watermelon sugar. I hope this works out." Richard Brautigan
Drinking documentary suggestion: Jesus Camp
Benedictions and Maledictions
Congratulations to my beloved Pistons for crushing Chicago last night!