It ain't pretty being easy... (soopageek) wrote,
It ain't pretty being easy...
soopageek

A couple of miles up the road from my parent's is this house where J.L. Royalty used to live. I used to work for him during the summer when I was in high school. He doesn't live there anymore. Katie McDaniel - the preacher's daughter, my first-date-ever, the first girl I ever over-the-clothes felt up, Katie McDaniel - lived there, too but she doesn't live there any more either. In fact, I don't really know who lives there anymore. Which is funny because I can't figure out why the hell my car is parked in their driveway.

But I have to go get it and I have to walk. So this afternoon I decide to take the 2 mile walk to this house from my parent's. It's a mild and breezy afternoon and I'm enjoying my walk. For entertainment purposes I've decided to bring a long this little book of really bad jokes - which is a really bad idea. I suck at doing more than one thing at a time. Ask anyone, if you talk to me while I'm driving I'm likely to miss turns or forget where I'm going altogether. So trying to walk and read at the same time is a bit challenging. I walk a little ways then realize I've strayed into the middle of the road and have to keep correcting my path. But it's the country, I'll hear something coming long before it ever gets to me and won't get hit by a car or anything.

After straying WAY too far into the road I look up from my book and out of curiosity I glance behind me. Much to my surprise, dismay, and embarrasment there is a Suburban creeping along at the pace I am languidly strolling in the road. It's so new and beautiful and convertible! Must be why I didn't hear it's engine - all that souped-up industrial-strength polymers and space-age technology. Now blushing I'm sure, I sheepishly smile and mouth the word "Sorry" while stepping aside.

The Suburban pulls along-side me and seated in the driver seat is a pretty woman and beside her is what I presume to be her husband - both about middle-aged. They ask me where I'm heading and, still recovering from the embarassment, fumble around with the words "road", "the" and "up" with enough cohesion to communciate my needs and they offer me a ride. Cool!

I begin to take a seat in the back when they insist on me riding shotgun. So they do a really bizarre switch-a-roo where he is now driving and she is riding in the back seat. But ok, whatever's clever. So now we're driving and making little conversations and the wind feels nice blowing my hair from my forehead. I forget to tell him we've reached the house because, well, I was talking and trying to navigate at the same time now and spoken words can be so much effort. The navigation simply got overlooked at a rather crucial moment in our brief journey and so I apologized profusely and we turned around in the church parking lot about a hundred yards on the other side of the house and headed back for it. I was sure to utter "First house on the right, now" as he was making his U-turn should I neglect my navigational duties again in the last 30 seconds of our trip.

We pulled into the driveway and I thanked them very much and slung open the door of the Suburban. I rotated slightly on my butt to throw my legs out of the car but for some reason they seemed a little heavier than usual. So I leaned way back, almost laying down and pushed my legs out the door until they were bending over the edge and my feet were resting on the ground. Was I in my sock feet? I know I'm absent minded and all but surely I put shoes on before I left, right? I sit myself up slowly and begin to inspect the situation and get out of the car and into mine. That's when I woke up sitting on the edge of my bed at 1:15 this morning.

Man, dreams are weird. Now I gotta get to Battle Creek.
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