Third time the tapestry of life brought George into my life was the summer after the car auction when I received an email from him regarding one of my newspaper columns. A teacher shared a parable creating both conflict and awareness for me. A wise man and student were walking. They saw a man in the water. I have trouble asking for help, and a tendency to help before invited. I admit, too, my nose has been bent and broken. Three young guys and two gals had a mini-tailgate party going in the rear parking lot.
A macho white Jeep towed a majestic jet boat; invasive speakers blared out music. Among Big Mac cartons were alcohol bottles, obvious that the three gents had consumed far more than burgers. I verbalized my hope one was the designated driver, subtle as painting a target on my nose. After less than complimentary remarks about my age and drinking abilities, I went inside where I noticed one of the young ladies. At my smile, she nervously approached. Then I realized how she reminded me of another sixteen-year-old I knew.
Headed back to my car, I rounded their group and commented on the boat. Stepping up on the trailer, I leaned over the right side.
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The key with a red float was inserted below the curved mirror on the dash. I saw the young girl in the reflection — before I palmed the key. On the other side, I pulled the float loose and dropped it in the boat, figuring it might keep them off the lake. While pondering what to do with the key, one guy stepped over the trailer tongue.
His faded purple tank top hung loose, revealing big arms that flexed with the mere gesture to his comrade. Looking past the roll bar to the guys at the trash bin, I stared only a moment at the unattended keys. We can have 2, thoughts for every 2 seconds of time. I pulled what resembled car keys, three in all. I shoved it in with my new key collection. Then I tossed the remaining keys back upon the blue bucket seat watching them bounce once before I slipped into my car.
Maybe I should have just hoped the kid got pulled over. And then, I remembered the young lady. I wondered how the disappearance of the keys and registration would be explained.
But most of all — I wanted you to know that someone was listening to your plea — so I wrote this column to let you know that I hope your life is a spectacular one. It may be a dry heat but the hinges of hell still get hot, so I took him up on the chance to cruise from Scottsdale to a cooler climate. I knew my assistant, Emily, could handle it if any publishers called with an author on a book tour.
George had to deliver the Mustang to Illinois and wanted me to be his co-pilot over the 1, miles. After the dry heat of Arizona, I appreciated the cool breezes of Flagstaff and Winslow, passing truck stops in Albuquerque and Gallup, through Oklahoma City, and across to St. Louis, as we headed east across the central flatlands of America in that sweet Dynasty Green Mustang hardtop. I really dug George. His ice-blue eyes were unmistakably his most notable feature.
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I can say that as a guy with no homophobic fears. His pepper-colored hair with a mind of its own fanned out as he drove. My arm hung out the window, occasionally grasping at the gentle raindrops, wetness exploding in my hand, accenting the grain of my fingerprints. I pulled down the sun visor, enjoying our ride into the unknown. The cross-country road trip was a great place to let my thoughts take an unbridled journey.
With a trusted buddy at the wheel, no kids aboard, and abiding an occasional pothole, it provided a favorable atmosphere to record my thoughts. Plus, the silence of writing creates a safe arena for me to be verbose. It also helped me practice reticence which George had explained as selective speaking, having no need just to be heard. Not one of my strong points. We rode on in stillness. I was staring in my notebook at the blank sheet staring back. Pesky page.
Teasing tablet. Luckily, George broke the silence when he noticed I was fidgeting. Did you ever think of all the thoughts in you just waiting to be thought? Listen to the words and spell through all three levels.
The Puddle Dimension | An Intriguing Science Short Story by Kay L Moody
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Synonyms for puddle Synonyms: Noun billabong [ Australian ], mere [ chiefly British ], pool , stank [ British dialect ], well Visit the Thesaurus for More. Examples of puddle in a Sentence Noun She accidentally stepped in a puddle and got her shoes wet. First Known Use of puddle Noun 14th century, in the meaning defined at sense 1 Verb 15th century, in the meaning defined at intransitive sense.
Learn More about puddle. Time Traveler for puddle The first known use of puddle was in the 14th century See more words from the same century.
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Dictionary Entries near puddle pudding time puddingwife puddingy puddle puddle ball puddle bar puddle duck See More Nearby Entries. The Merriam-Webster.
More Definitions for puddle. English Language Learners Definition of puddle. Kids Definition of puddle. Comments on puddle What made you want to look up puddle? Get Word of the Day daily email!
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