I could hear a log truck roll by. It was making a groaning sound, rather than a growl. Smells of freshly cut pine filled the air and I knew it must be loaded down. Then came the whine of a motorcycle. I peered out of the kitchen window to look at traffic roll by, and was surprised to see a woman sitting down by the ditch.
She did not appear to be in distress, but I was curious as to why she was there. The neighborhood dogs were ignoring her, which was strange, and only added to my inquisitiveness. So I decided to go check the mailbox, as an excuse to get a closer look. Walking out there I watched my step so as to avoid stepping on an ant bed or a canine calling card. “Hope this woman checked the grass before she sat down!” I thought to myself.
As I passed by her, I said, "hello," and she looked up in surprise. “Why are you sitting on the ground by that muddy ditch?” I asked her.
“Waiting for a ride,” she replied.
“Is someone coming to pick you up?” I further inquired.
“No,” she answered with a shrug. At this point, I realized she was drunk and stranded and became concerned.
She was a skinny, pale woman, about middle aged, with black and gray hair piled up in a tight bun. She had on jeans and a greasy t-shirt, and she was barefoot. “Where are you headed?” I wanted to know.
“Got to get to my Aunt Jean’s place,” she explained. “Can you give me a ride?” she added.
I looked at her feet and saw that they were scratched up and sore looking. “Guess so,” I offered, feeling more sorry for her than I should. She stood up with some difficulty, clutching a half empty bottle of wine.
“Just a minute,” she said as she turned the bottle up. Then, she offered it to me.
“No thanks," I replied, noticing her black and yellowed teeth.
“They ain’t contagious,” she snorted, which made me feel caught on to.
We got in my dusty old car and I asked her where her Aunt Jean lived.
“Right outside of town. It ain’t far,” she reassured me.
I found out her name was Roxanne and she was from South Georgia, but had been living here with her Aunt Jean for a few months now. “She’s a nosy old cow. I can’t do anything without her putting her two cents in,” she complained. Then, she wanted me to stop by the store on our way out of town.
We pulled up in front and she wanted me to go in and get her another bottle of wine and some cigarettes.
“I am still in my housecoat. You’ll have to go.” I stated, impatient to get this over with.
She started to get out, but stopped and said she had left her purse somewhere and could I loan her some money. I gave her a ten, thinking it was the easiest thing to do. Well, it wasn’t. She proceeded to chug half the wine as soon as she got back in the car. Then, after we got out on the highway, she asked me to pull over because she felt sick. “I shouldn’t have drank all that hot wine on an empty stomach,” she sighed.
So there I was, feeling sorry for her again. “We’ll stop by the drive through and I’ll get you some french fries,” I offered. When we got there, she ordered a burger, some fries, and a hot pastry. And before I knew it, I was paying for all that, too.
As we drove out of town, I asked her again where her Aunt Jean lived. “It ain’t far,” she replied. “Can we stop at that white trailer up ahead? My purse is probably in there,” she added.
So I did. After sitting there waiting on her for about thirty minutes, I decided to blow the horn, even though that was an extremely rude thing to do. A big hairy man with tattoos up both arms came out to the car and asked if he could help me.
“I’m waiting for Roxanne,” I explained. “Oh, she left about fifteen minutes ago. Stole my bottle of vodka, too," he replied.
“I’m supposed to take her to her Aunt Jean’s house,” I said in surprise.
“Oh yeah? You better check your wallet!” He laughed. I didn’t even bother to look.
