Burning Desire, Pt. 1

A blast of hot dry air blinded me as the door rose. While waiting for the initial blast to dissipate, I grabbed the rake that was leaning up against the wall. Shivering, inspite of the intense heat, I stirred the ashes. My intellectual side noting that the contents were burning evenly. Emotionally I was spent. Drowning out the sound of the industrial fan carrying the sanitized billows of smoke out into the frozen starless night, a continuous loop of thought was threatening to unravel my cloak of cold determination. "This is not my life!" "This is not my life!" Over and over again, screaming through my head.

The buzz of the timer penetrated my chaotic mind. Turning off the oven, opening the door, spreading out the contents, all was accomplished without any thought. Now for the hard part. Two hours is how long I calculated it would take to cool completely. Two hours before I could continue the process. Two hours to do nothing, but sit and wait with my thoughts as my only companion. Two hours to go over my steps. Two hours to insure that I have committed the perfect murder.

Winter Hero, a true story

Where once there was the hum of a motor, all that remained now was the sound of the wind. The dashboard lit up reminded me of an instrument board on a jetliner. Warning indicators that have never been lit before stare through the darkness. Flashers on, I cautiously steer the silent car to the edge of the interstate. Wheels slowly grinding gravel as the tires leave the pavement. Rolling to a stop, the desperation of my situation begins to seep in. Praying to all that is holy I turn the key, "click." Icy cold slithers in around the doors and windows. Black starless night presses against me. 18-wheelers fly by rocking my little car like a hammock in a windstorm. 2:00 glows the dashboard clock.

Resignedly, I accept the only plan of action available to me: walk to the rest area up ahead. Leaving the house in a hurry I was not dressed for winter weather. The thin dress and lion-head slippers were appropriate for puttering around the house, not for a wintery early morning trek along a busy interstate.

Closely watching the rearview mirror, I eased out of the car. Keeping as far to the right as possible, I began my hike up the interstate. Trucks barreling out of the night spalshed my legs with shards of icy mud. Mucking through the muddy slush I listened for a motor changing gears, hoping for a kind samaritan.

My golden lion-head slippers, frozen to my numb feet, were now black with road grime and mud. Plodding on, focusing on the lights of the rest area, never seeming to get any closer. White frozen hands holding down my dress. Gales from the passing trucks whipping my dress up around my waist. Teeth chattering. Frigid ears sending a message my brain was too cold to receive. Horn honking yanking me out of my frozen-funk.

Headlights blinded me as I turned towards the noise. Easing up beside me a kind, concerned face peered out of a large pickup. "Ma'am, are you ok? Can I give you a lift?" Heroes do exist! "I'm going to the rest area," I replied through chattering teeth. "Hop in and I'll take you up there."

With no fear for my safety, I loaded my wet frozen body into his truck. The warmth of the cab barely touching my frozen places. Clumsily, I attempted to explain my attire. "Friend ran out of gas in Coeur d'Alene. Jumped into my car without grabbing a coat or even changing into shoes." My hero's kindness kept him from lecturing. Simply, "it is pretty cold tonight," was his reply.

Pulling into the rest area he offered change for the payphone. Having my calling card number memorized, I declined. Thanking him profusely for the ride and the offer for change, I extracted myself from the warmth of his cab. Giving me a "farmer wave" he drove off into the night.