Out of the corner of my eye I saw a nip hit the already full trash can next to the gas pump. It was a small bottle of E & J brandy, rather than the popular Fireball or Smirnoff. On the other side of the pump, a young man was lying in the bed of a pickup truck while another filled it with gas.
A voice said, “Good evening, sir.”
“‘Evening.”
I thought he then said, “It’s almost the weekend.” It was a Wednesday evening so I said, “Yup, hump day.”
He was very hard to understand and I thought he repeated, “It’s almost the weekend.” He must have seen the puzzled look on my face and spoke slower, but still slurring his words. After a third try, I finally figured out he was trying to say, “It’s almost Mother’s Day weekend.”
Unsure where the discussion was headed, I said, “My mom died about nineteen years ago.”
“I wish I could talk with you. Mine died a week ago.”
“That must be hard.”
“I was right there with her. A massive heart attack. I’m not sure what to do.”
I said, “I guess you’re not looking forward to this weekend.”
He went on, “Nope. But she was a good Christian woman.”
“It’s sad, but at least you know she’s with the Lord.”
He reached out his hand to shake mine and said, “God bless you, man.”
“God bless.”
And that was it. The pump clicked off and I closed the gas cap. As I drove away I saw three others standing outside the pickup truck. I didn’t catch the license plate, so I don’t know if they were local or passing through Daytona Beach.
Most people at the gas pump do their thing and drive off. Occasionally I’ll have a random conversation. The culture of convenience stores is interesting, including huge cups of coffee, tiny bottles of booze, and plenty of scratch off lottery tickets.
Waite for it... 