Where Would I Be Without You - By CJ Hawk Page 0,100
was all mud covered, and my tires kept sliding in the ruts. My knuckles were white and my fingers blue from the death grip I had from holding on to the steering wheel for the last hour.
To help keep a calming reserve to my mental status, I spoke aloud to myself. "Hope Forrester, how the heck do you keep getting yourself into this mess?" I took a moment to look into my rearview mirror and noticed the red rim of my cried out eyes. My brown hair appeared to be in a bit of disheveled mess in a ponytail about to fall out. I pulled out the band that had held my hair up and ran a hand quickly through it before needing to grasp the steering wheel tightly again.
I kept asking myself mentally, over and over, why I felt the need to pack up, leave my well-paid job and move to the first place that looked well, hopeful for a new beginning. On the map, it looked close to civilization but far enough away from my troubles, that I would feel safe. This four-hour drive was turning into six with all the high winds and low visibility from this unsuspecting terrible storm.
With the constant words of ‘WHY?’ circling my brain, my hands were suddenly forced to turn the wheel into the ditch as a resounding ‘pop’ exploded under my car.
“For the love of Pete!” I hollered at myself, inside my car. No amount of soothing country music on my car speakers was going to cheer me up. I was sure the pop was a flat, and I was in a ditch no bigger than a foot deep. Nevertheless, that foot might as well felt like the canyon lands with my small tires spinning in mud as I tried to ease back up on the main road to have a flat surface to change my tire.
With one hand, I shut off my car and then reached over and turned down the happy-go-lucky country songs I had been trying to listen to in hope that music would cheer me up. I reached down to my floorboard to locate my cell phone in my purse; I heard the load drum of tires from a cattleman’s truck quickly blazing by my car in the ditch. By the time I sat upright, it was red taillight city. I gave a middle finger salute to the decent human being in the truck as their taillights faded fast into the drizzling rainy night. I prayed cell service to call my new landlord and ask for help, because without cell service, I would be, well, in a ditch.
Oddly enough when I located Hope Spring Falls on the map, I had no idea what to expect. Only the heart filled, cheery words of the woman, who the real estate agent put me in touch with to rent from. A home that was just about the only available home. Julie Hoffman, my new landlord, talked like a prom queen recipient and made Hope Springs Falls out to be the home of Andy Griffin and Gomer Pile, a real Mayberry experience. A white picket community with cherry pie festivals and true all American lure. I was sold on the appeal of a laid-back break from my very chaotic life that just happened. I didn’t ask why the all American prom queen had her house up for rent; I was just glad it was.
Since Julie Hoffman’s cell number was the only local number I had, I went ahead and dialed it hoping she was home, and could help me get a tow truck. By the fifth ring, I was about to give up knowing a message would kick in on the next ring. I started to cry inwardly with just the feel of the tears streaming down my face. I couldn't hold back the emotions as I felt so raw from everything that just recently happened to me.
The sappy sweetness of Julie’s breathy voice yanked me out of my dark spiraling hole I felt like crawling into. “Hope. Honey is that you? Are you there? I couldn’t find my silly phone in this cute new knock off purse I bought on the strip yesterday.”
I listened to her rambling on and realized I had not even breathed a word. That Julie must have recognized me by caller I.D. on her phone, and if I did not talk quick, I might not get a word in. “Julie! I’m stuck out on the county