The Detour

“It’s time for the Morning Brunch. Taking requests at 555-5555.” The Deejay sounded garbled through the front speaker of my car. I’ve got to get that fixed. It’s on the list of things that I’ll never do. Maybe I should call in and request that he fix my speaker. I was late as usual and encountering detours. An hour before, torrential rain and wind had struck the area, causing trees to uproot and fall over power lines. Instead of being my usual late self, I’ll be the superhero of lateness. Thank you, Mr. Storm. My boss would disagree if he heard that comment. According to him, storms are definitely feminine, due to their passion and destruction. No doubt his opinion is based on the three divorces he’s had and their destruction on his bank account.

When I came to the fourth street blocked by utility trucks and workers struggling to get a tree off the road, I decided it was time to take the shortcut. Normally I avoided it because it took me through the Bottoms, a bad area of town that drew trouble to it like a magnet does a paperclip. But as I drove past the shacks and rundown homes, I didn’t see a soul stirring. Accustomed to approaching storms, maybe they were still inside waiting for another to pass.

On the outskirts of the Bottoms was an illegal dump area for mattresses, raggedy furniture and non-descript trash bags, which spilled their contents in spite of the manufacturers’ promise of strength. City officials ignored it because it wasn’t marring the beauty of the Upper side, the rich area of town. I was almost on top of the dog standing at attention in the middle of the road, before I saw it. My tires screeched as I pressed the brake petal. The smell of burning rubber almost masked the odor of the dump.

“What the hell? Get out of the damn road, you stupid mutt.” I shouted unladylike, feeling a vein pulse at my left temple. The dog ignored me. I looked to see what held its attention with such intensity.

The dump area was shrouded with oak and pine trees. The sun could barely get through the canopy of entwined limbs, causing deep shadows that stared back at me. But there was a patch of sunlight that had miraculously found a trapdoor through the treetops. It bathed the ground in golden green, giving life to the grass that rarely saw light. In the center of the halo of sunlight stood a woman with her back to the road. Not exactly what I expected to see. I figured the dog was looking at some deer or other wildlife, not a woman of mystery.

She was a drastic contrast to the discarded trash that littered the ground. Her long curly hair was bathed in a red gold light, giving sheen that made it look alive. She wore an expensive cut leather jacket and form-fitting black pants that were tucked inside elegant black leather boots. Her motionless was surreal and I thought for a moment I was having hallucinations. Until she slowly turn her head to look over her shoulder. A breeze stirred her hair, electrifying it. The strands were pointy fingers, exposing the voyeurism of the canine and I.

The hair on my arms and at the nape of my neck stood on end. A hollow pitched whine emitted from the dog, as it turned and ran towards the woods on the other side of the road. I stomped the gas. Fear drove me to speed away before her eyes were revealed. If they touched me in anyway, I knew I would die. My primal instincts whined as loudly as the dog’s. I just had better control of them. Somehow I made it to work without incident. How I got through the day, I do not know.

A few days later, I was stuck in the after five traffic. I listened with irony at the traffic report from the radio, warning about a fatal traffic accident that had traffic backed up for miles. I was in the midst of it. The cars crept along, slowly enough for Gawkers to get a glimpse of the twisted metal and the ground tinted dark with blood. A small crowd gathered close by the wreckage. As I inched by, I caught sight of curly hair framed with red gold light. A leather-clad arm was visible. My impulse was to slam down on the gas, but I fought it. There were enough fatalities for one day.

I kept my eyes on the car in front of me. My breaths came and went in shallow gasps. When I cleared the traffic jam and was a safe distance away, I pulled into the parking lot of a convenient store. My white knuckles were stiff from clutching the steering wheel. Who was this woman and why did she frighten me enough to want a cigarette?

Now was the time to break my six months of abstinence from smoking. If I didn’t deserve to smoke one, I don’t know how did. A huge sign on the window facing me of the store proclaimed that my favorite brand was on sale. Maybe it was my lucky day after all. There was a short line in the store. My mind was still on the traffic scene that I had driven by. It was as if no one in the crowd standing close to the woman was aware she was there. Musing over this I missed part of the conversation around me.

“…that body over at the Bottoms is a big mystery. No one knows who cut the man and left him to die. How he got there is weird! No car tracks were found. My brother knows a detective and he told him that the man’s face was at peace, almost as if he were dreaming. It was a gut wound. I hear those kind are agony.” A woman spoke in hushed tones to a man in front of her.

He replied, “The man was from the Upper side. A big wig with the bank. Probably robbed by some delinquents and left for dead. He was reported missing about 3 days ago. Did you hear about the auto accident that just happened? Four dead. Some guy didn’t stop on red.”

The woman looked at me and said, “Honey, you can go ahead of us. We’re catching up on the local gossip.” I smiled and stepped around them to the counter.

“Marathon Lights, please. And a pack of matches.” I tossed some dollars on the counter and grabbed the cigarette pack.

I turned from the counter with the cigarettes in my hand, to find the gossiping woman staring at me. “Those are going to be the death of you, honey.”

I pretended not to hear. As I put the pack in my coat pocket, both doors of the store burst open. Several people in ski masks and armed with guns entered. Yelling at us to get down.

“She’s got a gun.”

I didn’t hear the gunfire, nor did I feel the bullets tear into my flesh. My eyes were on the red gold light of the woman I was becoming accustomed to seeing. She must have come in with the robbers. No one else noticed her. This time I felt no fear because to my joy, her eyes weren’t frightening. They were moist from tears. Tears for me. She reached for my hand. I wasn’t afraid of the Angel of Death. I felt peace. Even the fact the gossipy woman’s prediction was right didn’t bother me. Cigarettes did turn out to be the death of me.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

This morning we had torrenial rain and wind gusts at 70 MPH. Caused lots of damage...fallen trees, etc. I had to detour through a bad section of town. I did see a girl standing in the center of a dump area--she looked just as I described her... I wondered what she was doing there. She was so out of place...

...and thus a story was born.