I followed, climbing up and closing the door with the requisite slam, reminding myself yet again that I really needed to get the thing fixed. I'd been telling myself that every time I drove the truck for approximately the last two months. Still, it was nice to think I'd actually get around to it sometime.
I allowed my thoughts to drift in this insignificant manner as I turned the key in the ignition, listening as the engine growled it's way to life, then began the slow drive. There was something soothing about the dirt road, the way the truck bumped leisurely along the familiar turns. Perhaps it was that I knew it so well. Most mornings this time of year I'd just walk, but given the earliness of the hour and the chill that accompanied it, today was an exception. Plus, I'd need the truck later on, and I didn't relish the thought of making the trek back to the house in the beating sun.
Two months. The number was stuck in my head, and I was trying desperately not to consider why, because my subconcious was well aware of the reason. If two months had gone by without the door getting fixed, that meant it had been two months or more since - I couldn't complete the thought. If Sam were - around, yes, that was the word - he'd have gotten it fixed within the first few days. He was always such a stickler for things being in proper working order, whether it was a gate being hinged just so, or a tractor running as well as the day he acquired it. It wasn't that he was compulsive, he just didn't want to be bothered or distracted from whatever he chose to devote his attention to. It had taken me nearly a year after I met him to figure that out, and -
"Damn." I swore to no one in particular as I felt the sting of budding tears, and I pulled the truck over to one side of the road, parking it, and flinging open the door with a great deal more force than was strictly necessary.
It looked like I'd be walking after all. It wasn't much further anyway.
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I allowed my thoughts to drift in this insignificant manner as I turned the key in the ignition, listening as the engine growled it's way to life, then began the slow drive. There was something soothing about the dirt road, the way the truck bumped leisurely along the familiar turns. Perhaps it was that I knew it so well. Most mornings this time of year I'd just walk, but given the earliness of the hour and the chill that accompanied it, today was an exception. Plus, I'd need the truck later on, and I didn't relish the thought of making the trek back to the house in the beating sun.
Two months. The number was stuck in my head, and I was trying desperately not to consider why, because my subconcious was well aware of the reason. If two months had gone by without the door getting fixed, that meant it had been two months or more since - I couldn't complete the thought. If Sam were - around, yes, that was the word - he'd have gotten it fixed within the first few days. He was always such a stickler for things being in proper working order, whether it was a gate being hinged just so, or a tractor running as well as the day he acquired it. It wasn't that he was compulsive, he just didn't want to be bothered or distracted from whatever he chose to devote his attention to. It had taken me nearly a year after I met him to figure that out, and -
"Damn." I swore to no one in particular as I felt the sting of budding tears, and I pulled the truck over to one side of the road, parking it, and flinging open the door with a great deal more force than was strictly necessary.
It looked like I'd be walking after all. It wasn't much further anyway.
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