text: Late one night after my shift at the amusement park, I drove down the winding four fifths of highway 76 that remained out of sight and mind of tourists. It was the end of the week and I was headed back to my parents country home in a forgotten ghost town. The sun had long since set and as I topped each hill I came closer and closer to the next turn in my travel at the intersection of 76 and 5. At the outskirts of that town cursed to bare the name Ava. As I got closer so did the thunderstorm looming on the distant horizon. Barely visible save the silent flashes of lightning. Muffled threats reached my ear from within the can of my little Geo tracker convertible. Storms always made me uneasy. You'd be ignorant not to be on edge. Many a time hurricane force winds would knock down ancient trees who had withstood the war of centuries past but could not withstand the collision of two opposing fronts of wind. If it weren't winds or tornadoes there was always a devastating payload of water that would raise up the rivers and streams washing away the chaff. It didn't take long for the road to come to a four way stop around the corner and down a hill. I'd driven these roads so many times that consciousness of them usually drifted behind my channel flipping mind. I pulled up to the lonely,red, flashing four eyes of the traffic light and took a right as I barely counted off 3 seconds of a stop in my head. Highway 5. I knew it all too well. In my youth it was a 30 minute drive to and from school or really any sort of public form of civilization. You knew where the deer crossed and which way to look. No pass down the lonesome highway was complete without passing over at least one road killed skunk. Green signs for towns miles down little side roads that you'd never believe existed. Often they didn't exist in any form other than a post office some poor postmaster operated as a form of retirement. More hills and turns but less trees and more visibility. The thunderstorms were closer now. You could smell the rain. I came over a hill and my headlights lit upon a figure walking along the shoulder. Tired and ready to be done driving I thought little of him at first. But quickly all sorts of questions came to mind. I knew no one lived near this particular patch and no one had any good reason for walking in the ditch of the highway carved out of the crumbling bedrock of the hills. I also knew I wouldn't want to be left walking any distance in this country with a storm out. So I slowed down and turned the vehicle around in the middle of the road. I'd at least go back and check on him. I had my window rolled down and I could smell him just as soon as I saw him. He reeked of alcohol. “You alright out here?” Before I could ask “Thank God! You're a life saver. Can you give me a ride?” Too polite to turn him down I opened the door. He stepped in and fell against the passenger seat. The poor little vehicle was now at capacity. He wore a Detroit Pistons jersey, and had a mohawk sprayed blue? with some temporary hair dye. “Where you headed?” “Mansfield!” Great, an hour in the opposite direction that we both were previously headed. He was very lost and even less sober. I decided this was just a test of my good will toward men. He told me he had inherited a small house from his mother in Mansfield. He thought everyone around were narrowinded judgemental pricks so that's why he had decided to don such an outrageous appearance. He didn't look too unfamiliar to these parts however. Just not the kind of familiar anyone wanted around. “I was headed to a party and had to pee so I told them to let me out. So they pulled over and let me outta the truck and then they ditched me! I don't have my wallet, my cell phone, my keys, nothin!” He repeated this story over and over again with newly added or remembered details. Apparently he, his father, his girlfriend and best friend were headed to a party in a town half an hour south of my parents place. And here we were headed in the opposite direction to leave him home alone to sober up. He insisted that he hadn't drank very much but when we got back to that same four way stop I had just left in Ava, he confused it for being Mansfield. For a second he got upset thinking I was lying but I told him and showed him the sign and he again thanked me more for my life saving abilities. Really I was only possibly saving him from himself. Awkward silence was avoided by his drunken blubbering and we made it within 10 minutes of his final destination. “I didn't drink that much, those assholes. I'm going to kill em. No, not really, but I'm mad. They left me without my wallet, my keys, my phone, nothin! My best friend, he's like a brother. And my girlfriend. And even my old man! I didn't even have that much to drink. Just three natty lights, and some whiskey, and that tequila, oh and a Jaeger. But I'm not that drunk I swear. You're a lifesaver! Why I owe you, man. You go to the AA Auto Shop and you tell them you're looking for Big Mike. You need a small engine fixed, I've got you covered. Everybody has a lawnmower or somethin that needs a small engine fix! You tell em Big Mike sent you. You're alright.” I was an hour and a half out of my way and ready to unload this buffoon before he did something stupid. We found the driveway to his house? His dad's? I wasn't sure whose but he was familiar with the place. I stopped with my headlights illuminating the dirt driveway in front of me. “Welp, here we are!” Big Mike hung one foot in my floor board and one foot on the gravel. His hands, one on the roof and the other the open passenger door. I was ready for him to stumble to the door but he just wanted to linger and sing my praises. I thought we had finally got to the end of his ado's when headlights lit up the plastic rear windshield of my Trackers convertible top. Pulling in front of me was a black extended cab truck. Large enough for three passengers at least but not welcoming to one lone drunk. Just the segue I needed and the most unusual timing. Mike went swinging and shouting many slurred words that for the most part started with F. Out from the truck was undoubtedly the matching call of his mate. I gunned it in reverse and watched a scene from COPS fade to the black screen of night as my high beams turned to the main road for the long drive home made longer. A sheriff passed, lights flashing to join the party back at Big Mike's. I didn't see Big Mike again for two weeks. He was black and white and staring glumly when I did. My father showed me his face in a newspaper clipping. He inherited a new, smaller home. He no longer sported such colorful, personalised attire and I don't think he'd be getting too drunk too soon. Apparently he had been taken to the county jail that night. His girlfriend begged and pleaded that her father bail him out. He did. Not too soon after, his girlfriend's neighbors made a call, they'd heard gunshots. Big Mike answered the door when they arrived. He did a real shit job of hiding the gun but nothing like what was in the garage. He'd lost his head further in jail sulking over the betrayal of his closest friends and most betrayed by his girlfriend. He got out thanks to her and was able to get a hold of some crystal. He suspected she had been cheating on him and wouldn't hear otherwise. So he shot her dead. But while the neighbors called the cops he tried to store her body in four separate five gallon buckets. I don't think I'll be hitting him up for that favor.