Fishin’ at the Crick
It was not my day.
I was already late, in the middle of no-where, damn near lost, and really, really, not enjoying my Saturday.
I should have been though. Somewhere in this backwoods country was a sandy lake beach with my girlfriends, super cute guys, a cooler of cold ones, and absolutely, positively the best time ever. Or least at least that's what I was told. Trish is usually a pretty gifted socialite and knows a good time a mile away. Or in this case, like 50 miles away. I told her I really wanted to come but had to work until noon at the city pool. So she was like "No problem, I'll Google-map it for you! Just print it off cause I don't think there's much coverage out there."
She was right about that. My smartphone showed a whooping zero bars. I guessed that before I even opened my purse and checked it. But I did it anyway. Probably because a part of me want to confirm just how crummy the day had been so far.
I honestly didn't know what the F was wrong with my car. I'm not much with cars anyway. I know it's a Honda. I know its a Civic. And I know it was made in 2004. I had furry dice because I'm awesome like that and a bumper sticker that said "My Other Car is a Delorean." That bumper sticker was there when I bought it from the senior going to college two summers ago just before I started my Freshmen year. Dad helped me buy it. And it had been pretty good. But now it was dead. Just up and died on me. No warning, no weird lights before, just up and died while doing 35 mph down some forgotten red dirt road with two ruts for a path, lots of bumps, trees and grass on either side, and a bitchin' hot sun warming the interior.
Oh yeah. Definitely warming the inside.
And, of course, the power windows didn't work. It was like the battery simply died with out some much as a "Mother, May I?" No lights, no little red engine light, no dinging sounds, nothing. Not even now.
God its hot in here.
I had changed out of my Red Cross lifeguard two-piece and into my bikini before I left the pool. It was my showy one. Halter style triangle string bikini with low raise bottoms and ties on either side. Lots of boob exposure on the top. Completely black. Not made for the pool or any place with kids and families, definitely. But made for what a bikini is supposed to do. You know you're being appreciated when guys track you and their heads bob like there's soundtrack accompanying your passing. I like being appreciated. I like to tease. With my black hair pulled up and back, two stud earrings, a tiny diamond (well, not real diamonds, but still...) starfish necklace, and hemp bracelets, I was ready for whatever Trish had in mind.
I don't think she had me being stranded in mind.
Ok, its too hot now. And the car still isn't working. Goddammit it all.
I got out, my coverup actually starting to stick to the chair. I grab my purse, my beach bag, throw the water bottle in the bag, and close the door.
The way I came: two ruts in the road and the trees closing in. The way I was going: two ruts in the road and trees closing in. Lots of sun, some humidity, and some bugs.
And one worthless car.
Maybe I can get a signal if I go . . . . um, that way, I select at random.
I'm not a woodsy girl to start with. I mean, I live in a small town and I'm used to country fun, redneck or otherwise. But tromping through the woods just isn't my thing. And three steps off the "road," I was reminded why. My super cute yellow keyhole coverup dress has sparkles around the keyhole front, is sassy, cut pretty generously, clinches just below my 36C breasts, and goes just a little pass my little butt (I'm curvy, but certainly more so on top than bottom). It accents my breasts nicely and really pairs well with my black bikini and gladiator sandals.
But it does nothing to stop the tall grass and weeds from scratching my shaved legs. Neither do these sparkly sandals, cute as they are.
God, I could scream.
Or, I could smoke. That was a better idea. I needed to calm down and think.
I get back on the road behind the car, drop my bag, fish around my purse for my cigarette case of Camel 9s with the lighter inside, find it, light up and inhale deeply. I take the Camel out between my two black nail polished index and pointer fingers, close my eyes, take in another short breath, and slowly exhale a column straight up. Another one like that and I feel my senses return. Still holding the case, I lean on the trunk, cross my arms and legs, and open my eyes to look around, to some extent, for the first time.
I see my crap car. I see trees. I see grass. I see a long road in either direction. I think about probably ten or more miles out from Trish and company. And I think I left the highway about five miles back. The pavement stopped about three miles back, the gravel two miles. I passed some side paths here and there a 4x4 could probably use, but no forks or anything else to make me think I'm actually lost. And I hadn't seen anyone since the highway.
I snap inhale, exhale, and look through the trees for the first time. It’s actually not that dense. In fact, as luck would have it, the way I was going, before that inconsiderate grass scratched up my legs, actually slopes up to something of a hilltop that looks fairly high.
Maybe high enough for a cell signal? I arched my eyebrows and ash the Camel. One way to find out.
But first things first. I took off my cover-up.
Dangling my smoke, I reach into my beach bag and pull out my socks, trainers, and jeans. I had packed these with a tight tank top, black bra, and panties just in case the festivities lead us back into town. Letting the smoke mix with my breath, I pull my dark blue low raise boot-cut jeans partially on. Then I take off my sandals and put on my socks and shoes. These white with green stripes Adidas won't be white much longer. I then stand up, pull my jeans cuffs over my shoes, and shimmy my jeans up, working them up and over my bikini. Out of habit, I pull them up, fold the top inch or so with the belt loops down, pull out my bikini strings, and make sure the front material is folded down. I don't usually button or zip my shorts or jeans when I'm wearing a bikini. Given how hot it was, today was no exception.
I slip my cigarette case into a back pocket, take a real drag, take the cigarette out, exhale, and repack my beach bag, putting my phone and keys into my other back pocket, and put my purse and beach bag into the now oven-like car. Shades on, one last inhale for the road, I smash my smoke on the dirt.
Time to get moving.