Room for You(4)

“First of all, it’s a 3-hour drive, not that long. Second, if the weather is that bad, I wouldn’t get a flight out today anyway. And third, I have a ton of shi-” I stopped myself as she raised her eyebrow at me, “stuff to do at home. I’ll be fine. And before you ask again—no, I won’t leave my truck here.” I walked over and picked her up off the ground in a bear hug.

“Please call me every 5 minutes.” She muffled into my shoulder, the worry evident in her voice.

“No problem. I won’t be able to see through the downpours anyway, so taking my eyes off the road to keep calling you shouldn’t be a problem.”

She squirmed out of my arms. As soon as her feet hit the ground, she punched my arm as hard as she could.

“Not funny, Brody Michael.”

It’s amazing how even at twenty-seven years old, when your mom says your middle name it reduces you to feeling like an eleven-year-old kid who just broke the living room window with a baseball. Or in my case, a hockey puck.

Bending my knees, I lowered myself to her level and put my hands on her shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes.

“I. Will. Be. Fine. Please stop worrying.”

“When you have kids one day, Brody, you’ll get it. They may grow up and leave your house, but they never leave your heart. You never stop worrying.” She sighed, narrowing her eyes at me. “And when your son is Brody Murphy, you tend to worry more than most.”

“Ha! Thanks for the confidence, Mom. Seriously though, I’m good. The meteorologists were saying this morning we might not get as much rain as they were originally thinking anyway.” “Yeah, well the meteorologists are idiots. It’s already started south of here, and a lot of it.” She wrapped her arms around herself, and her hair practically turned gray right in front of me.

“I’ll just drive really fast through it. No problem. The longer I stand here, the longer it’s going to take me to get home.” I winked at her and hopped up into my truck as she returned a death stare. I’d already said good-bye to the whole family inside, but somehow I knew she’d follow me out, begging me one last time to stay, and I loved her for it. The engine roared to life as I started my truck and quickly pulled out of the driveway before she decided to throw herself on the hood. I rolled my window down and gave her one last wave on my way down the street.

“Okay, a big cup of coffee and we’re good to go,” I said out loud to myself as I pulled into the Dunkin’ Donuts. I reached over to the radio and flipped it to the AM station to get a weather update. Mom would never know, but I was a little nervous. They were calling for one of the worst strings of storms we’d seen in a long time and I really did want to beat it home. I meant to leave a couple hours ago, but she insisted on feeding me first and who was I to turn down my mom’s biscuits and gravy and bacon? The clock read 11:30.

Shit, I gotta get moving.

About an hour and a half later, I was tempted to call home and tell her what every mom wants to hear from her child.

You were right.

The roads were a slick mess and the rain was coming down so hard, I could barely see through my windshield. I drove by car after car pulled off to the side of the highway, cars spun out in ditches, cars lined up at every exit. All of the motel signs I passed had their ‘no vacancy’ lights on. It was coming down hard and fast. My eyes were strained from focusing so hard, but I kept telling myself to just get through this bad patch and then I could pull over and take a little coffee break. And a bathroom break, thanks to that large coffee and Big Gulp I had.

Up ahead of me was a small silver Civic, half off the road. I looked in the window as I passed and there was a woman sitting in the driver’s seat with her hands covering her face, looking completely freaked out. I pulled over to the side and reversed my truck until I was just in front of her car. I threw on my baseball hat and hopped out of my truck.

As I made my way back to her car, she got out and met me halfway.

“Thank you so much for stopping,” she called over the rain in a shaky voice. As I got closer I realized she was closer to my grandma’s age than my mom’s.

“No problem. Looks like your front end is stuck in the mud, huh?”

“Yeah, I slid off the road and now I can’t get out.”

“Let’s see if we can get you out of here and on your way. I have chains in my truck to pull you out. I’ll be right back.”

About 20 minutes later, I waved goodbye to her and climbed back into my truck with a fresh blueberry pie. Turns out, the sweet old lady was out in this weather delivering pies to her church so they would have them for their bake sale this weekend. She tried to give me money after I pushed her car out. I said absolutely not, so she insisted that I at least take a pie. How could I tell her no? I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the pie and sent it to my mom with a text that said…

At least if I skid off the road and no one can find me, I won’t be hungry tonight.

She should love that text. I laughed to myself as I put my phone back in the center compartment of my truck. It chirped a minute later and before I even opened the phone, I was pretty sure I was in trouble.

DO NOT make me come and find you. Eyes on the road, Mister.

I swear she would still ground me if she could. She was right though; the roads were getting worse by the minute and I needed to pay attention. Four very slow and torturous miles later, I decided if I was going to continue I needed a gas station and a bathroom, fast. After a quick pit stop, I pulled out of the gas station with a full gas tank and a fresh cup of coffee in hand. I turned back toward the highway and continued through the stoplight that I just came from.