Vivid Writing Practice #1 Submission
WARNING: The following may contain strong and/ or offensive language.
I regretted the moment after my arse touched the stained half torn cushion of that beat up ā67 Ford pickup. I only knew the year because the driver, Dale, wouldnāt shut up about it. I simply continued to nod, in between gasping for air, as he rambled on and on about his damn truck. It was stifling to say the least and it had only been five minutes since Iāve been sitting there. I kept telling myself, āit wonāt be long now; the petrol station was just down the road.ā It wasnāt. You see, as good looking and charming andā¦ absolutely charismatic as I am, I believe, it would be fair to say, that I am not the sharpest tool in the shed. I was still having trouble converting from the metrics system to whatever unnecessary system that Yanks are accustom to; and so, fifteen miles seemed more like 5-7 kilometers- in my head.
Even though I was on the verge of decorating the interior of his āprized possessionā with the contents of my stomach- which would have been a significant improvement for the interior visual and odor, I found restraint where none dwelt in a simpler man.
He was something else, sitting there in his fat sweaty marvelous glory, the epitome of Simple, American, and Southern. He was obviously 20 kilos over weight and he struggled to breath at every attempt at moving a muscle. Even the simple task of driving seemed to exhaust him. He had this repetitive motion of removing his grease stained John Deer cap and wiping the sweat from his brows with his forearm; and I would gag every time his actions would cause him to raise his arm to reveal his unkempt underarm bush. The odor would assault my nostrils like day-old liver and onions and I would cringe so hard that the joint in my jaw would lock like the ceasing of gears. He was disheveled and unsightly to behold; and at this point, I hadnāt my wits about me. I felt inebriated like a new smoker getting a contact high but not in the best way. And in case you were wondering, he was still going on about that fucking truck!
I was sick of it and motioned to roll the window down the second I felt the pulp of my breakfast rise to my throat and linger; but no sooner than the moment my fingers graced the rusted latch, that old cheeky bastard motioned me to stop. His hairy forearm grazed against my skin in the process and I winced with displeasure; and I was certain my disgust was audible. I shrieked like a young lass and curled up to the passenger door; and it too squeaked with consternation at the sudden contact.
āYou alright son?ā he had the audacity to ask with suchā¦ concern. If he cared like the tone in his voice alluded to, he would have leapt from that moving vehicle to spare me another moment in his presence; but he just sat thereā¦ looking at me then back at the road and then back at me. I lingered reluctantly on the lost expression in his face. His scruffy mustache had what seemed like chunks of āleftoversā stuck in between his bristles; and as he spoke, the flakes of food would fall into his mouth; and he was none the wiser or just didnāt care. I didnāt know which of the two bothered me most; but I knew I had to be away from that filth of a man. Ā
Ā āStop the truck please,ā I pleaded with a halfhearted breath.
Ā From the corner of my watery eyes, I could see the confusion deepen on his face as he looked over at me.
Ā āSon, the gas station aināt for miles. You sure wanna get out here?ā
I choke back another chunk of vomit as he spoke between what remained of his tartar crusted teeth.
āNothing would delight me more, thank you.ā
Ā āNow, thereās a storm pushing on through and there tends to be a whole heap of tornadoes round these here parts.ā
Ā āA necessary risk Iām willing to take sir.ā
Ā āAint no hospital for miles if someāā
Ā āI sooner die sir.ā
Ā āWell alright little fella, best to yahā
Ā The truck came to a stop on the desolate highway southbound; and I quickly opened the door and dismounted without hesitation. The air outside was clear; and the fog from my mind dissipated with one large breath. I looked out at the prairie in front of me and then to my left- just highway and black clouds. I knew there wouldnāt be another vehicle for several hours. I looked once more at the travesty called Dale and he motioned to speak; but I slammed the door before his tobacco stained lips could part.
