Where Rubber Meets The Road

WHERE RUBBER MEETS THE ROAD

  By: Yvonne Remington

  Copyright 2014

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author's imagination and used fictitiously.

 

  I arrive at my home, such as it is, as the dawn breaks, traffic notwithstanding. The snowbirds have arrived in full swing in Poseidon and most of South Florida. Snowbirds are a fact of our economy. They fly (by plane) down anytime from November to January and stay until sometime around Easter, whenever that occurs. By law, Canadians can only stay six months but they are an amiable group and add nicely to the ambiance.

  When this influx happens, locals, such as me, learn not to frequent certain restaurants unless it’s before 6:00pm and allow more time on the highway whenever you need to get somewhere, not a big deal. In the summer, the locals hole up in their air conditioning but we enjoy the run of the roads. The diversity adds to the charm of living in "The Sunshine State".

  When I entered my little duplex corner of the world, I sensed immediately the lack of heat, again. I have a programmable thermostat and it is set for my schedule, which is really the opposite of most people, since I work nights.

  Oh crap, the heat is off again. It’s the middle of January in Poseidon, Florida and the rest of the country is experiencing a deep freeze. So why do people think it doesn’t get cold here? Poseidon is a stone’s throw from Sarasota and the beaches, but far enough inland to get an occasional frost. This winter the weatherman predicts at least one freeze, maybe more.

  Why do I keep accepting this? You'd think I live in a dump. However, my rent receipt couldn't prove it. I could afford to move. I just chose not to. Life really is all about choices. Maybe I just am not ready for a change that stressful. Today’s shift was extremely frustrating and not just because I worked overtime by three hours. I am a dispatch operator with the local county sheriff’s office. Been doing it for almost five years now and every week I say I’m going to quit. Obviously, I haven’t done it yet. Since the night shift is the least desirable, it is always possible to get more hours than one would normally want. I have no living, breathing creatures waiting for me where I pay my rent so it doesn’t matter if I work extra hours. The income helps, especially since I like to travel, but with these hours it doesn't happen as much as I like. It is hard to say “no” when asked to work. Retirement is looming over the horizon and I am not only unprepared, I keep going backwards financially.

  I checked the thermostat to confirm what I already knew, and then dialed my maintenance man, Ernie Hampton.

  “Ernie, this is Carol in 4246, are you in the complex?” My duplex is one of twenty-three units along with some apartments in another section. Ernie plus a helper, Manuel, maintains my quadrant

  “Yeah, I can be there in ten, what’s up?” Ernie tries to be cool, but in my estimation, he doesn’t get it. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a hell of a nice guy. However, he is somewhere in his middle fifties and dyes his hair and moustache black to cover the gray. His jeans hang below his waist, which he hasn’t seen in years and he is a chain smoker. He knew it was a waste of time to hit on me. He tried once but I put him down, somewhat gently and we've been friends ever since. His interest flatters me. I always thought of myself as still attractive for my age. I kept my size ten figure for my entire adulthood, even after childbirth. I, too, keep the gray away, but mine is the result of a high priced hair salon. I love nice clothes and only wear expensive but minimal jewelry. A couple of officers at my station have asked me out. I do enjoy toying with them. In fact, I am very good at flirting. However, I have a rule about dating someone I work with.

  "The heat is not working, again.” I didn't have to say any more. This would be the third time he worked on the same problem since I moved in. The management company won't replace some thingamabob that they are not willing to buy, so we play these games when it gets cold. As much as I didn't want to face it, if I want a resolution, my choices are either to move or start a rent boycott. My revolution days are long over. That leaves moving. I will give it some thought.

  In precisely ten minutes, Ernie knocked and I opened the door. "This is insane. It's not suppose to be cold this far south. That's why we move to Florida. So when is that cheap bastard going to fix my heater?"

  "Do you want the truth, or do you want my version?” Ernie worked the same job through three different management companies. He has no plans on jumping ship. He likes status quo and has no problems telling you so.

  "I don't care what you do at this point. Use spit and glue, but get me some heat. There can't be that much more cold weather left in the month. I just know I can't take a shower at this temperature." My voice climbed at least an octave before I realized it.

  Ernie led me to the kitchen. "Put on a pot of coffee and take ten deep breathes,” he said. “By the time you do that, you'll have heat and we can share a chat over java."

  Ernie could always get me down off the ceiling when I felt the world closing in on me.

  The coffee pot produced its final swoosh as I readied the kitchen table for coffee talk. That's what Ernie called it. He enjoyed coming by to chat. I don't have a problem with that.

  "Do you feel it?" Ernie leaned against the entrance to the kitchenette with his thumbs proudly stuffed in his tool belt, worn like a gunfighter’s holster.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. Sure enough, I could feel the heat emanating from the ceiling vent above me. I removed my denim jacket, placed it on the back of the chair and invited Ernie to sit.

  "You have earned coffee as well as my admiration."

  "There is very little I can't fix, given the right tools. Can't guarantee how long it will last, though."

  "There's a warming trend coming tomorrow. We'll have the windows open the next day."

  "I suggest you buy yourself a space heater if you want to continue living here. Lot of folks have them. Cause, to tell you the truth, they're not going to invest what it would take to fix that system. It’s just not going to happen.” Ernie poured his coffee and took a piece of Danish I had picked up at the bakery on my way home from work.

  "Say, Carol, I have kind of a favor to ask of you."

  "Shoot. You never know, I might say yes."

  "You know the woman who lives across the courtyard, the one that rides that Harley."

  "I don't know her personally, but yes, I know of her."

  "You knew she had an accident with it and life’s been kicking her in the butt ever since."

  "I heard that. Now get to the point."

  "She's about to be evicted. She has no job. She has no family to help her and she's still can't use her hand. Her hairdressing days are over and she's not qualified to do any other kind of work."

  "So where do I come in? She's made it clear she doesn't want to be friendly. I've seen her go out of her way to ignore me when we are passing. It's not my imagination, either."

  "I understand. She's not the friendliest person in town, but, if I got her to agree, would you make the effort and help her with the computer and show her how to apply for some jobs online?"

  "Tell you what, if you can get her over here about this same
time either today or tomorrow I will give up some of my valuable time to work with her. You know I’m a sucker for lost causes."

  Almost simultaneously, Ernie's pager went off and my cell phone rang. Ernie excused himself. They needed him across the compound. My daughter Sybil is doing her daily check in from D.C.

  "Hang on a moment, sweetie." I took the phone from my ear and turned to Ernie, "Today is fine if you can arrange it. Might as well get it over with, if she's as bad as you say." Ernie shot me the two thumbs up signal and left.

  I turned my attentions to my daughter. Sybil is the best thing that came out of my marriage to Doug. From the day she came into this world, Doug did everything in his power to make our lives miserable. Not usually a violent man, the day he struck me and took a belt to our three year old for wetting her panties, I had enough. Sybil and I had tough times, but I didn't look back. He tried many times over the years to win us back, but my theory was, if you do it once, you'll do it again, and I wasn't going to stick around to find out.

  Sybil applied for and accepted a spot at the FBI after college. As scared as I am for her, I am immensely proud. Like me, she is a survivor. If I don't talk to her every day, she sends me a text message letting me know she's okay. This is her choice, not mine.

  "Hi precious,