Fog flowed in. Little tendrils of mist tiptoed through the forest as night approached. A lone rooster crowed as if in answer to the cheep cheep of several cardinals that roosted nearby. Dervin sat in his rocking chair out on the deck and smoked a sweet smelling cigar. His wife, Deborah, was busy stirring bacon into the greens as they shriveled in the pot. They lived on the edge of a great swamp-forest with their two cats and a mule named Henrietta.
It was a quiet life. A down-to-earth life, one they both desired and appreciated. Dervin, however, had a wild streak in him. The peace and quiet got boring after awhile.
Deborah could see it in his eyes and knew what was coming. Maybe that was what attracted her to him in the beginning. Now, it was just a disturbance in her otherwise predictable life. When Saturday night rolled around, accompanied with a moon on the rise, Deborah sensed the restlessness in Dervin. So she got ready for the inevitable.
She snuck out while Dervin was putting on some fresh clothes and unhooked one of the distributor wires in the truck. Around eight thirty that night, when she was already in her pajamas and brushing her teeth, she heard Dervin trying to start the truck. She smiled, knowing what his next move would be. And, sure enough, a little while later, she heard him saddle up Henrietta, their mule, and unlock the gate. Then, she drifted off to sleep after only two chapters in her romance novel.
The next morning, Dervin’s brother came to pick them up for church. Deborah looked around, but there was no sign of Dervin. His brother, Sammy, got very concerned, knowing that Dervin was apt to pull a crazy drunk stunt of some kind or another. Deborah was calm as could be and not worried in the least. “Let me go feed the mule and grab my hat,” she smiled.
“Dern it, Deborah, he could be mugged in some alley or stuck in the jailhouse by now," Sammy raged.
“I been married to him for almost thirty years and I know how he gets!” Deborah explained. She told him how she had disabled the truck, which gave them both a laugh. “He’s out there sleeping off his hangover in the barn right now,” she giggled. “Because Henrietta, unlike the truck, knows the way home!”