I traveled down the 405

after another week’s work.

I loosened my tie with one hand

and gripped the wheel with the other hand.

It was only a fifteen-minute drive

and thirty minutes with thick traffic.

The weekend arrived.

But I had nothing to do

and no one to do it with.

I’d soak up the darkness on a gloomy

weekend, eating TV dinners for dinner.

Come Monday, I’ll tell co-workers

about the dates I entertained.

I rehearsed the lines

in the bathroom mirror.

I did it until I meant it.

The sun sank, and dark clouds

replaced the day’s rays.

The Seattle showers quickened.

I twisted the windshield wipers

to slap the aimless drops.

I drummed my thumbs along

the steering wheel to This Wild Life.

Warmth pushed through the vents.

Approaching headlights blinked

through passersby’s unspoken wishes.

Singing along to Looking Back,

I crinkled one eye.

Steam hissed and pushed with force through

the hood, escaping my stranded fate.

I hit my hazard lights, which brightened and dimmed orange.

I moved to the road’s shoulder.

I slapped the dashboard. “Damn it!”

Cars swooshed past me,

and I waited for a drunk driver to hit me.

I thought about ending it all.

But those plans didn’t stick.

I rested my head on my hands and slouched

over the steering wheel.

Lights strengthened behind me.

I lifted my gaze.

The rearview mirror blinded me

with the car’s lights.

I removed my seatbelt

and threw my arm over the passenger seat.

I twisted around.

I moved my eyes.

A knock on my window

had me throw a hand on my heart.

The person motioned. “Roll down your window.”

I paused. This woman had a nurse uniform with her long, red hair pulled behind her ears.

I rolled the window down. “I broke down,” I said before she could ask.

“I figured that, dude.” She smiled. “Mind?” She pointed at the passenger seat. “I don’t want to get hit by a car.”

“Be my guest.” As she moved around the car, I fixed my thick, purple hair in place.

She opened the door

and slid in.

“I’m Elsa.” She offered her hand.

I embraced her soft palm and shook her hand.

Elsa’s ring finger needed a ring. “I’m Darron.”

“What’s a good-looking guy like you doing broken down on the highway?”

I stroked my chin. “I thought it was my car,” I said before I realized I was spilling my guts to a stranger. “But now, I think God is telling me something,” I said.

Elsa shrugged. “Telling you what?”

“That I’m broken,” I said, blowing out my lips.

“I’ve felt the same for a long time,” Elsa said.

I returned my gaze to hers. “Really?”

Elsa nodded. “I’ll never find anyone who likes to watch horror movies and then pray after reading the Bible.”

I arched a brow. “I want that, too.”

“You weren’t scared to let a stranger into your car?” Elsa said.

“You weren’t scared to get into a stranger’s car?” I folded my lips under my teeth.

Elsa tilted her head and studied my eyes. “Fair enough.”

“Were you going to share the gospel with me?”

“Need to hear it?” Elsa said.

“My father is a pastor.” I laughed.

We talked for an hour, almost forgetting the reason we were there.

Elsa grew up in Quincy.

Our school played basketball there.

We graduated the same year.

Elsa graduated from Washington State University.

I joined the military, spent time in the South,

and returned to Washington State

for college.

Our office contracted with the hospital Elsa worked at.

I’d never seen her before, but Elsa noticed my car.

Elsa visited my office but couldn’t muster the courage to talk to me, so she left before knocking on the door.

And the mechanic wasn’t cheap.

Elsa repaired my broken soul.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States

Twitter: AC0040