Elmwood, population 5,962, just
a dot on any trucker's map, but every trucker knew it was "the friendliest place
this side of the Mississippi." Even though you had to follow Rt. 50 right through
the middle of town and almost always got caught by all three traffic lights, somehow
you never considered it a nuisance. Folks walking by would give you a great big
grin, wave, and holler up "Hello!" Somehow, you just couldn't resist smiling
back and returning their friendliness. At least that's the way Harold Morgan felt
about Elmwood and he had been trucking through these parts for ten years or more.
He knew a good many of the folks by name and felt concern for some of their woes
and problems. Why town gossip was the favorite, and sometimes only, topic around
the bar nd pool tables at the Half Moon Diner where he now pulled his rig into an
overnighter's
parking slot. Climbing wearily down to ground level, he headed
for the front of the building.
Rounding the corner, his gaze was drawn to
a new sign posted on the window..."Disco Dancers Nightly". Racing lights
chased each other ‘round and ‘round the neon letters. "Ain't nobody gonna miss
that announcement!" Harold mused to himself.
Opening the faded green
door, he was greeted by the usual "Hello! Come on in, coffee's hot!"
"Hi Mary!" Harold shouted back and a broad grin accentuated the wrinkles
age had already etched upon his rugged countenance. "What's this shit about
disco dancers? When did this place start to rockin'?" Harold parked his gargantuan
frame on one of the stools at the counter and accepted the brimming cup of black
coffee already waiting for him there.
"Where have you been?" Mary
set the cream pitcher in front of him and continued. "Oh yeah, the boss decided
we had to keep up with the times. Bessie's been movin' and groovin' up on that there
stage for a couple o' weeks now. Heck, Harold,
you just missed her last performance
for tonight though." Mary winked and laughed.... well, guffawed would have
been more accurate. "Yes siree, the whole place rocks when Bessie comes on!"
Just then, a scream pierced the air and brought instant silence to the raucous crowd.
"Kee-rist! What's was that?!" Mary shouted and ran toward the back of
the diner where a makeshift dressing room had been set up for the dancer. Before
she could reach the entrance, Bessie burst through the curtained doorway, bathrobe
hastily thrown on over her costume, her all too abundant curves not quite concealed
as she tugged and jerked the little man she held in her clutches into the main room.
"Here!" she rasped as she shoved Victor angrily toward the astonished group.
"Take this vermin and keep him away from me! Some plumber he is! He's been
back here six times to fix the leak in my dressing room sink and it still squirts
water in my face every time I turn on the faucet. NOT to mention the fact he can't
keep his beady little eyes off every move I make!"
Victor stumbled
and couldn't regain his footing.
"And," Bessie blustered, "how
come he only comes to work on the pipes when I'm trying ta change clothes?!"
Harold sidestepped Victor's form as he landed in a heap on the floor between the
tables and heard the crunch of glass as Victor's bifocals skidded across the floor
beneath the feet of the curious onlookers. Red-faced and bruised, Victor picked
himself up, quietly apologized to Mary and slipped quickly out the door.
Huffing and puffing, Bessie jiggled her ample curves back toward the dressing room
and the diner once more returned to its usual din of loud conversation, high-pitched
laughter and blaring music.
"What a night!" Harold observed as
he took his seat again at the counter and raised the still steaming cup of coffee
to his lips. "Have things been this lively every night since you went disco?"
"Well...no," Mary replied, "Only other thing of any account was the
rats across the way in the trailer park." She leaned close across the counter,
her garlic breath just inches from his ear, "Why folks are startin' ta worry
about those critters. Giant pack rats they call ‘em. They say they like to collect
things, but they always leave somethin' behind ta replace whatever they steal."
She leaned on her elbow and wiped the counter top in small circular motions as she
continued. "Ain't that weird though? Heck, Harold, if you'd believe the tales
that's spreadin' ‘round here, those rats are as big as raccoons!"
Harold's
eyes grew large and he drew back, as much to escape Mary's garlic breath as to appear
incredulous of what she was saying. "You don't say!"
"Yes
I do! Some people say they're feeding off the leftovers from the mortuary and startin'
ta get a real taste for human blood. I heard the sheriff trapped a couple of ‘em
and has ‘em caged up downtown. I haven't been by to get a look at ‘em yet, but just
about everybody else has!" Mary winked and couldn't keep a straight face as
she saw the doubt in his eyes.
"You're puttin' me on again!" Harold
stood, tossed two wrinkled dollar bills onto the counter and shook his finger playfully
in Mary's face. "You always did think I was a gullible old fool didn't you?"
Pulling a ten from his wallet, he slapped that down
on top of the other bills.
"Here's for the parkin' spot. I'm gonna go take a snooze for a few hours."
"No problem big fella. See ya in the mornin'!" Mary cocked her head to
one side and muttered under her breath, "Hmmm... I don't think he feels real
great... didn't even finish his coffee."
Harold headed toward the men's
room. He quickly emptied his bladder and washed his face and hands. Making a mental
note to return it in the morning, he took a glass someone had left on the sink, rinsed
it out, filled it with water, and walked out to his rig.
He appreciated the
hospitality afforded him by Mary and Ron, the owners of the diner, and had often
spent the night curled in the sleeper of his cab while parked at the rear of the
diner. The large open field gave him plenty of room to maneuver his truck and the
diner closed at midnight leaving the area quiet and peaceful with the exception of
an occasional baby crying or some domestic altercation going on over at the trailer
park across the field. All the truckers agreed and there was seldom an empty slot,
especially on the weekends when Mary personally cooked breakfast for any of ‘em still
there around 6:00 a.m.
Making preparations for the night, Harold removed
his false teeth, placed them into the glass of water, and set it on the dash of the
truck. He placed his jacket on the seat and rolled down the passenger window, letting
in the cool late night breeze. With increasing effort these days, he pushed his
rotund form into the sleeper. He was tired and sore from a long day on the road
and quickly slept, although fitfully, tossing and turning within his narrow lodgings,
his dreams racing alternately between Bessie's curves and the sight of angry red
rodent eyes staring hungrily into his own. Several times he almost forced himself
awake, sure he had felt a furry form brush his leg or sharp claws upon his body.
It was, however, the delicious smell of bacon frying which finally opened his eyes
to the morning's light. Half awake, he fumbled for a fresh set of clothes from his
bag and slid down into the seat. The air was damp and the chill from the open window
sent a shiver of goose bumps down his hairy arms. Harold felt for his jacket on
the seat where he had left it. It wasn't there. Instead, his fingers gripped twisted
metal and shattered glass. A drop of blood appeared on his thumb and ran down towards
his wrist. "Victor's glasses! How...?" Harold's silent question was
interrupted by his continued glance around the cab. Within the glass of water where
he had placed his false teeth, there floated a human eyeball staring blankly through
the bloodstained liquid, and bits of gray, furry hair clung to his trousers.
Mary heard the roar of the truck as it careened out of the parking lot and wondered
why Harold hadn't stopped in for his usual breakfast. As a matter of fact, neither
Harold nor several of his friends were ever seen there again. "Those truckers
sure are a fickle bunch," Mary told Bessie later, "‘though I don't know
how they could've found any friendlier place than Elmwood to spend the night!"
