Designs in the Sand

Joy heard a loud thump and felt the car begin to shake. Oh no, a flat tire, she thought. The steering wheel felt like it had a mind of its own as she struggled to pull the car off the road in the edge of a yucca patch. Lordy, she thought, I hope there are no snakes out here. She knew if there were any, they would surly be in the plants. Rattlesnakes and water moccasins grew healthy and large in the south, and they were not shy. There was not a vehicle in site, she had not seen one for the past twenty minutes. As she got out of the car, she looked down at her sun dress, and stacked sandels and realized changing a tire in this attire is not the ideal situation, but it had to be done. She popped the trunk open and was struggling to remove the spare tire, “God it’s hot!” she exclaimed. Sweat was beginning to roll down her neck as she fought with the tire, obviously it was winning. The heat and the heavy rubber had conspired against her today. She was intent on not letting it get the best of her when she heard a voice behind her. “Mam, let me help you with that.” Joy almost jumped out of her skin. She had not heard a vehicle drive up and here she was on this deserted stretch of road, with a disabled vehicle and a strange man standing beside her. Joy stepped back, and this tall lanky man, probably in his early forties, dressed in a red plaid shirt with jeans and boots, reached in the trunk with a muscled arm, grabbed the tire and swung it out on the ground in one motion. He was certainly strong, she thought, he can probably strangle me just as quickly. She took another step back. “Shore is hot out hene, ain’t it?” with that he reached back in and pulled out her jack and tire tool, rolled the tire around to the side of the car in the yuccas and proceeded to release the flat from it’s hold. Had there been a snake in there, it would have been afraid of the man, she was sure of that. Joy stepped aside, just trying to stay at least an arms length from him, just in case he decided to do more with the tire tool than change the tire. She looked back at the truck he had pulled up behind her. It was an old green International, probably early seventies model with a camper cover over the bed. It had several beer cans lying across the dash with one sitting upright, she was sure it was the current selection. There was a gun rack on the back window and was filled with at least 3 rifles and a shotgun, with a rebel flag on the antenna. She could hear Willie belting out Whiskey River through the open windows. He left the motor running, she thought. Probably to make a quick getaway after he murders me. As she watched him change the tire, she remembered she still had her little 9mm pistol under the seat. She walked nonchalantly around to the drivers side, opened the door and sat down under the steering wheel. As casually as she could, she bent over, and ran her hand under the seat as far as she could reach, but felt no gun. Darn! she thought. It must have slid back further than I can reach. She sat up, opened the door, all the while keeping one eye on the stranger. She stepped out of the car, slowly bent over, trying not to look obvious, and ran her left hand a little further under the seat, hoping to retrieve some kind of protection, just in case she needed it. She was still struggling to locate it when she caught a glimpse of him walking around the back of the car towards her, wiping his hands on an old hankerchief he must have had in his pocket. “You alright, Mam?” He asked as she got a good look at his face. He was tan, dark hair and a beard. Not an unruly beard, but one that could use a little TLC. He had brown eyes, but not bad looking. He looked like he could use a bath, and some fresh clothes and a dentist. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you,” She could tell her voice was a little shaken. She smiled at him, trying to relate her sincere gratitude. “How much do I owe you for changing my tire?” She asked, trapped between the drivers door and the steering wheel. She had backed away from him as far as she could go. He had a distinct odor of fish about him. He walked a little closer to her, invading her space just a bit, and smiled a beautiful snaggled tooth grin, and said, “Awe shucks, Mam, you don’t owe me nothin. Changen that there tare fur you was my pleasure. We don’t get a meny perty women thru these here parts often, and it’s a treat for me, just to look at you.” Joy didn’t know what to do next. She thought of the movie Deliverence, and wondered if he had buddies in the back of the truck. Where is that pistol when I need it? she thought. It is a tradition in the south that everyone learns to shoot, and the girls especially were experts in pistol shooting. Southern Belles may look soft, but they are tough as nails and are dead eye shots when it comes to protecting themselves. Their daddies make sure of that. They all carry a pistol, sometimes they had a couple of them, one for their vehicle and one for their purse. If a southern girl doesn’t carry a gun, then they had either moved there from the north or their families did and just hadn’t learned they ways of the south. This man stood within a couple of feet of her now, and she didn’t know what he was going to do next. OK, she thought, she is either going to kill me or kiss me, she wasn’t sure which. Joy smiled nervously, “Are you from around here?” Well, of course he is, she thought. He looks like he just came out of the swamps. That was a dumb question. “Yes Mam, he said. Me and my brothers works down at them docks fur Rowe Cutter. We’s fishermen. They calls me Bo. My real names Boudreaux Kershaw,” with that he reached out his former greasy hand to her. “Pleased to meet you Mr. Kershaw,” she shook his hand out of courtesy and wondered if she would ever get the smell of fish off hers. She believed his story about being a fisherman, she got another whiff of him as the wind gave her a soft puff of the pungent odor. “Thank you so much for changing my tire. I work for the Cutters, also. In fact, I’m going to find Mr. Cutter right now.” She thought if they had a kinship, maybe he would back away and nobody would get hurt. “Mam, my names Bo. Rowe, he’s taking sum time off this week, but he don’t go no where when hes off, cept home and out on that there sailboat of hisen. That’s whur you’ll find him, home or in the water.” “OK, thank you Mr. Kershaw, Bo. I’ll find him.” With that, Bo turned around and hauled his lanky frame up in his truck, turned Willie up with ‘On The Road Again’ streaming out the windows and sped off down the road. As he pulled off, she saw a bumper sticker on the back of the truck – “I break for possums”. Joy laughed and said to herself, “I’ll just bet you do.” “She slowed to a stop for a minute, and stepped out of her car, just to take it all in. She drew a deep breath from the breezes that brushed her face. The sands were almost pure white, washed with small placid waves that were pale green and full of foam. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes were drawn out to the great expanse of the water. She was always surprised and delighted in the way the green faded into blues in the distance and turned to a hazy slate along the horizon where the water and the air converged. Although the waves were not strong enough to fill the air with their noise, they mixed with the vast unhindered wind moving shoreward. Together they made the beach sound, which like fire to the eyes, is one of the earth’s great sensory spells. For Joy, the ambience drove words from her mind and induced the yielding relaxation that follows the waves as they were leaving, like the feeling that comes from good love making. There was no other place in the world she wanted to be. How is it possible, she thought, that I could choose to live anywhere but a place like this?”