“Yeah?” “We don’t have a car.” ”WHAT?” “Yeah, you have to pick us up.” ”Pick you up.” ”Yeah.” I take a deep breath. ”Right, right sorry,” I say in my best life-keeps-punching-me-in-the-stomach voice. I just, I didn’t . Ok. you want me to pick you up?”
Sunday morning the June heat already rising at 8am. I drove 20 miles to get to Brad’s address. The whole way driving my beat up red pick-up truck I kept thinking . Where did my life go? Who are these people? The address on the mailbox matched. I shifted gears in the truck and drove up hill on a dirt road to a little white house with black shutters and a red front door.
Orchard trees filled the side and back of the house. I parked and the red door opened. I could hear movie music. He had no shirt on. Only wearing a full 6-pack. Sweat pants that laid real low on his hips. His mop of blonde curly hair lay inches below his ears and dropping into his eyes. His face adorned with a short stubble.
He started to walk towards the truck. Or should I say strut. He had a strut that made me want to get out of the car and tackle him right then and there on the dirt. I rolled down the window and hollered, ”Brad?” I got out of the truck and he walked towards me. His handshake was smooth and his grip firm. His eyes dead center into mine. The feelings were mutual. More said in a stare than words.
Damn Jilliie your 57 and good ole Brad gave me the up and down look with a huge grin. My smile fell off when out of nowhere a huge black and white Pit Bull leaped on me, wiggling all, over. “Clarence” Brad yelled. “Sit down boy.” Brad’s thick curly hair bounced onto his forehead and it was all I could do to not push it out of his eyes.