Back at the Office

I was at my office on Money Road. 

This was the first time in I can't remember how long that I stopped at the Volunteer Fire Department in Money, Mississippi to get off my bike, cool my butt, and rest my legs. In a slow grind to what I hope is a return to some level of fitness, I was on the road, alone, in what was to date, the hottest day of the year.

I must have looked as tired as I was judging by what the driver said. I barely looked up when the Ford Bronco slowly eased into the parking lot. I did look when he asked, "You have a light?" By "light," I assumed he meant a light for a cigarette.

He was rough looking, but sweet talking. Someone sat in the passenger seat, but I could not see his or her face.

This used to be fun.

"You look tired."

"I am."

"Have a blessed day."

Then his Bronco slowly passed to my left, my peripheral vision noticing the vehicle disappear behind the building at the speed of a large snake sliding down a deep hole. That bothered me a little.

It was the slowness of it all that set off my alarm button. On that side of the fire department is a white rock drive that leads to the county road that crosses the Talahatchie River and winds west through the farmland before joining Highway 45 a few miles away. 

After a bit I startled when I realized I never heard the Bronco's tires make it to the pavement. I stood up, put on my helmet and gloves. Then I heard a car door shut on the side of the building. I didn't wait to see what would happen next. In less than a second, I was on my bike and headed south. I didn't look back. I can't. Besides gaining weight easily, one of the symptoms of my advancing age is my inability to look over my shoulder.

On the bike and on the road, I felt safe. If they were after me, they could easily drive me down and take my phone and bicycle. Surely they didn't think I had money.

As I pedaled away, every car that approached from the rear I expected to be a Ford Bronco. It, they, never showed. It was the door slam that sent my caution into overdrive. If he had not slammed that door I might still be there. Why did he do it?

As I rode along and thought, it occurred to me that maybe he got out to pee and slammed to door getting back in. That makes sense.

Was I a mark or did a guy do what guys love to do: pee outdoors?

I'll never know. 

Such a world.