James gripped the steering wheel as a familiar heat rose up his body, up his neck until it reached its destination. As far back as he could remember, stress caused his ears to turn burn hot and flame red. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of his S-10 pickup. Road rage. He didn’t have road rage; he didn’t have any kind of rage. Until now.


His horn blared and he slammed the ball of his hand against the top of the wheel. James couldn’t see why traffic had stopped and he didn’t care. He just wanted to get moving. As he crept along he saw the problem. He shook his head, all of these problems and near wrecks on the west bound side of the highway just because there was a wreck on the eastbound side. He hoped the farther he got from the city the better the traffic conditions would become.


He edged onto interstate sixty-six. He swerved to miss a stalled car in the travel lane. A woman stood in front of the car peering at the motor. James threw his hands in the air and screamed, "Get off the road. You want to get killed?"


He glanced into his rearview mirror and saw a young boy playing in the grass too close to the road. He swiveled his head backwards and thought, that kid’s going to get killed. He slowed his pick-up and as soon as possible he made a U-turn.


He eased up behind the car, and walked around to the passenger side. He stuck his head under the raised hood, scaring years from the life of the young woman, peering at her engine. James didn’t care that she’d hit her head on the hood.

"Your son's going to get run over!" His loud, hard voice boomed over the passing traffic. His ears looked like beacons, his brows knitted together and his lips puckered as he jerked his arm towards the boy.

She ran to her son, picked him up, said something James couldn't hear and put the boy in the car. After safely tucking her son away she joined James in front of the car.

"It just stopped. When I raised the hood steam poured out."

"I'm not a mechanic. I can push you off the road."


Anger over her irresponsibility set hard on James’s stomach, but he couldn't abandon her along the busy highway.

"Oh, thank you so much. What should I do?" She brushed her dark hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand. James looked down at her, her heart-shaped face reminded him of the actress, Valarie Bertinelli. As a child, James didn't appreciate her beauty, but he never missed the re-runs when he reached his teenage years.

"Get in and put the gearshift in neutral. I think I can shove the car enough to get it off the road, and then I'll look at it. Maybe it's something minor." He slammed the hood shut.

After pushing her off the road, he looked under the hood. A blown radiator hose. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the pocketknife his dad gave him. Even at age, fifteen he knew the value of a good pocketknife. It turned out to be the last thing his dad gave him before he died of a heart attack.

The lady stood close to James and asked, "Do you think you can fix it?"

"If I cut off this part of the hose, I can slip it back on." James showed her the hose he'd removed. "You'll need to stop and get it fixed properly as soon as you get a chance.

"You're an angel."

"I don't usually stop for stranded motorist. I travel the beltway and breakdowns are common. Service vans are dispatched around Washington D.C. to help people who are grounded.” James swished his hands together. “There seems to be plenty of water left in the radiator. Try starting it up."

The car sputtered a couple of times and then came to life. James slammed the hood.

"There's a service station a couple of exits up the highway. I'll follow you to make sure you get there."

"How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. Do you need money to get new hoses put on?

"No, thank you, I have my credit card. I wish you'd take something for your trouble."

James brushed her off, got in his pick-up and followed her to the service station. He rolled down his window, stuck his arm out and waved as he headed back for the highway.

He whistled as he drove along--the first time he'd whistled for a long time. James's thoughts turned to finding a place to stay. He would arrive at Hooper's Creek in six hours.

He shook his head back and forth like a hand sweeping away spider webs. No worries. Relax. He sang, “gonna have a good time.”

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