Driven to Drive
There is no sex in this story.
I recognized him as soon as I saw him. The man having lunch with my wife, Marcy, was Craig Butler, her old college boyfriend from twenty-three years ago. Once a Frat boy, always a Frat boy. I didn't like him then, and I still didn't like him. She hadn't mentioned having lunch with anyone when I left for work this morning. I assumed that it was going to be a normal workday for both of us.
My name is John Turrell. Everybody calls me the xerox man, even though I don't fix them. It was a name I got years ago when xerox was the standard of the industry. Today, I take care of just about any type of office machine. I am not nuts about the job, but it paid the mortgage and put my two daughters through college.
Monday is my usual day to be in Harrisburg, but sometimes things change. I was urgently needed at the Americo Insurance Company in Allentown. I didn't need my regular service truck, so I took a company car. I finished quicker than I expected and decided to stop at The Outback for a quick lunch. She didn't see me come in or leave.
I found Marcy's yellow Mustang in the parking lot and waited for them to depart. The white company car was nondescript, so I had no trouble following them to a nearby subdivision.
It was a small ranch house. He pulled his BMW into the garage, but Marcy parked out front along the street. They got out of their cars and talked for a few minutes in front of the house. She was smiling and laughing. Every once in a while, she would shake her head 'no' but smiled when she did it. I was parked halfway down the street but had a good view. She finally gave him a small kiss on the cheek and walked back toward her car. He waited a moment and then waved as he went in the front door.
That was when things got nasty. Marcy opened her car door but did not get in. She hesitated. She sighed as she looked back toward the house. It seemed like a long time but was probably only a few seconds. I watched with fascination as she took off her wedding rings and placed them in the front seat console. She hesitated again and then took off her earrings. They appeared to be the diamond solitaires that I got her for her last birthday. They also went into the console, along with her cell phone.
She slowly walked up to the front door and knocked.
I wasn't big on confrontations, so I decided not to do anything stupid. I slowly walked over to the car, removed all the items from the center console, and then drove home to Reading. In less than an hour, I had quit my job and cleaned out the bank account. Two hours later, I was in Frackville having a beer with my brother, Ken. I left her rings, earrings, and phone on the kitchen table with no note or explanation. I was sure that she would be able to figure it out.
I spend the next few days with Ken and his wife, trying to drink all of the Yuengling in Schuylkill County. Friday morning, I was in Carlisle at the Franklin Driving Institute. Three months later, I had completed all of my training and apprenticeship requirements and became a fully certified over-the-road trucker. I had no trouble getting affiliated with the reefer division of Franklin National, which gave me a guaranteed income and a brand new rig to drive.
Shortly after I left, I called Clair, my oldest daughter. I explained what happened to her, and in return, I got a five-minute lecture on how insensitive and inconsiderate I was. I haven't contacted either one of my daughters since.
I got a new cell phone.
I will not bore you with the unbelievable complexities of interstate trucking. Between the government regulations and the company rules, it was truly oppressing. Yet, I persevered. I was happy, though a bit lonely.
For the next two years, I was able to stash away most of my salary. My needs and expenses were minimal. I did stop and see my brother a few times, but never overnight. Marcy had never contacted my brother, and he had no information on what her status was.
It didn't take long for me to figure out how to make the most of my time on the road. I got into various programs with Love's, Pilot Flying J, and Travel Centers of America. Free showers, laundry, and gyms made life a lot easier.
oooOOOooo
I met Norma Langford in Enid, Oklahoma. She was trying to buy gas with a dead credit card and cursing like a sailor. Being a gentleman, I asked her if I could help and was quickly told to mind my own business and go to hell.
Ten minutes later, I was just starting to enjoy a Chick-fil-a sandwich when she plops down at my table.
"I am sorry I acted like a bitch out there. Things are not going well right now, and it is not fair for me to take it out on you or anybody else."
I just looked at her and nodded.
"Norma. Norma Jean Langford." she held out her hand, and I gave it a half-hearted shake in response.
"John."
After a few minutes, she spoke again. "You offered to help when we were outside. I actually could use a little help. Is that offer still good?"
"What do you need?"
"Could you spare two bucks for one of those microwave burritos?"
I slid a ten spot across the table. "Here. Go over to the Chick-fil-a counter and get something decent." She grabbed it without hesitation and headed for the counter. Five minutes later, she returned with a tray and pushed three ones and some change back to me.
It took her twice as long to eat as it should have. She was a chatterbox. I finished my lunch and sat and watched her. It was a bit fascinating, to say the least. Her voice wasn't unpleasant, but it was continuous. She never said anything important, just ran on and on. As unusual as it sounds, I was not annoyed by it, in fact, it was just the opposite. The only conversation that I had with any woman over the past three years was with waitresses. I was smiling to myself over the ridiculous things she was saying.
