It’s been three years since my divorce from Kevin. After twenty-one years of marriage, he said he wanted a divorce. We were sitting on the couch together watching “Law & Order.” I was playing a game on my iPad and listening in when he said it during a commercial for a damn pillow.

Kevin: “Amanda, I think…I want…a divorce.”

He was still looking at the television when he said it, then turned to me to see my reaction.

‘Ya think?,’ I thought. Just like that. It came completely out of left field. I had no idea he was unhappy. He said he wasn’t seeing anybody else, either. He just wanted his freedom. I tried to talk him out of it but found myself divorced three months later.

At the time of our divorce, Kevin was a vice president at a large accounting firm in downtown Dallas. I was bubbly blonde saleswoman for an oil company, selling oil and related products to trucking companies around Dallas.  Yeah, I knew I was a bubbly, but I thought Kevin loved that about me. Guess I was wrong.

We were not wealthy but were comfortably upper middle-class. We had one son, Johnny, who we called JR. He had been a good student and great baseball player in high school. We also have a daughter, Martha, that had been a rebel all her life. Johnny is now in law school studying to be a lawyer. Martha is following a rock band all over the country. She sends us postcards.

After the kids graduated high school, our lives were rather quiet.  Kevin worked sixty hours a week and golfed on Saturday with the same group of guys. Saturday night was date night and Sunday morning was church. I guess as I look back on it, what I thought was a model life had become boring for Kevin.

The divorce was amicable as we split everything between us. I got the house and Kevin bought a condo in downtown Dallas to be nearer work. To my knowledge, Kevin still isn’t seeing anyone with any regularity.

Nor am I.

My name is Amanda Richards. Believe it or not, I’m a truck driver.

After the divorce, the house in Garland became a prison to me. I sold oil during the day and went home to a big house that I was the only one living in it.

I sold the house, bought a condo, then enrolled in a truck driver school in Garland. I had been around trucking companies so much that truck driving looked to be a great vocation. My ex and Johnny both thought I was nuts but wished me well. Martha never expressed an opinion.

Six weeks later a recruiting manager for a Dallas-based carrier came to speak about driving jobs with my graduating class. He convinced me to come drive with them. They were one of my oil customers, so I knew something about the company.

So, there you have it, another divorcee driving a big rig. You wouldn’t believe the divorce rate of this group of people. I probably don’t look like your average trucker at about 5’5” and since the divorce I have put on a little weight.

I was relieved to learn this company didn’t just throw you in a truck and point the direction you were to go. I heard some companies do. It took six weeks to get through the driving class and then my employer put me on as a trainee for another six weeks. I learned more with my co-driver than in class. And the ironic point about that is I paid the school $2,300 for their instruction while my employer paid me to be a trainee.

The following week, I was dispatched to El Paso Texas, with my trainer, Todd Decker. This was Todd’s normal run, Dallas to El Paso and back, when not training. That is not a run I’d ever want – Interstate 20 and Interstate 10 to El Paso has to be some of the most boring landscape on earth.

It was on the way back from El Paso that I encountered my first issue with trucking when we stopped for fuel. I was driving and Todd was in the bunk resting. I exited the interstate and was gliding up the ramp towards the truckstop when a pickup truck appeared behind me flashing his lights and swerving all over. It was apparent he wanted me to stop.

At the stop sign I pulled over. As soon as the truck stopped the pickup stopped too and there was a man running up to talk to me. As soon as I got the window down the man jumped up on the step of the truck and began yelling that I hit him, which I was sure I hadn’t. He kept yelling, shouting that he was hurt and that his pickup would need repairs. He demanded my name and the phone number for the office.

No matter what I said, the jerk just kept yelling and threatening to sue us. All of a sudden, numb-nuts shut up. At first, I wasn’t sure why. Then I sensed Todd behind me. Sure enough, Todd had stuck his head out of the bunk, and was now taking a bead on numb-nuts

Todd is a mountain of a man. If you didn’t know him, he looks bad ass. In addition to his sheer size, he has long hair, a beard, and a raspy voice. This is where it get comical.

Todd, barking: “Where’d we hit ya!”

Numb-nuts, weakly: “Side of my truck.”

Todd: “Not that, Bullwinkle, where’d we come in contact with ya, Where at?”

Numb-nuts: “Bout three miles ago. She changed lanes and hit me.”

Todd: “OK,” that would be three to four minutes ago, you agree?”

Numb-nuts: “Um, yeah, I s’pose.”

Todd: “I tell ya what I’m gonna do, Bullwinkle. Ya see that camera up there on the dash?”

Todd pointed a meaty finger to the small camera unit all company trucks had. They record events in front of and around the truck.

Numb-nuts: “Um, yeah.” 

Todd: “I’m gonna check that son-of-a-bitch. It records everything that goes on with this rig. If we hit ya like ya say, then I’ll give ya any information ya need to file a claim. I can even pay ya right here if the damage ain’t too bad.”

The man looked at Todd, blinking and waiting for Todd to finish.

Todd, a little louder: “But, if it proves we didn’t hit ya Bullwinkle, one of us, or possibly both, is gonna beat your ass all the way back to your truck. Ya hear me?”

Numb-nuts: “Jeez, mister, it’s not bad enough to warrant all this. I’ll just be on my way.”

He jumped off my step and ran back to his pickup truck. He waited for us to turn left to cross over the Interstate and go to the truckstop. He turned right and sped away.

Todd climbed out of the bunk and was now in the passenger seat, one leg propped up on the dash.

Todd: “I hate those kinds of people,”

I didn’t say anything so he must have figured he needed to explain more.

Todd: “They’re parasites on our industry. Constantly making these false claims to shake down truckers. I learned to just start calling their bluff.”

Me: “How’d you know he was bluffing?”

Todd: “Cause had you slid into him we’d have felt it. Which I didn’t. And…he said he was hurt but had no problem climbing up the step of the truck. He was trying to scam ya, hoping you would pay him to make it go away.”

That was a great lesson learned I hoped to never witness again.

The following week was mountain training. I was dispatched across the Rockies to Seattle, as co-driver, with Mark Menser. While Mark was a good driver and instructor he was very introverted. There was very little personal talk, all business. I would learn later he was not usually a trainer and only did it as a favor to the safety department.

We drove to Denton Texas to pick up our load. Mark then drove all the way to Denver where we stopped for fuel and dinner. Other than asking me a few details about my trucking experience, Mark didn’t say much. He offered nothing of his personal life.

In Denver Mark turned the driving over to me, my first time in the mountains. I was apprehensive, the encroaching darkness not making anything easier on me.

We drove north up to Cheyenne Wyoming and then turned west to head over to Salt Lake City Utah. We soon passed over the Continental Divide, both times, while continuing west. At this point Mark had been napping on and off, which made me feel good that he was confident enough to sleep behind my driving.

My first real mountain driving test came at Parley’s Summit on the Wasatch Mountains outside Salt Lake City Utah.. The Summit is the highest point along Interstate 80 with a six percent grade all the way down. The trick is to hang in there, trust the automatic transmission of the truck, and use the brakes sparingly so as not to heat them up. When we got to the bottom, Mark said I had handled it like a pro.  I didn’t even know he was awake.  

At Logan Utah we stopped to switch seats. I had just logged over five-hundred-miles of mountain terrain and done well.  I sat in the passenger seat and took out a satchel I had packed food in. Afterwards, I crawled into the bunk and fell asleep. When I woke up six hours later, we were outside of Kennewick Washington. I had slept through all of Idaho and Oregon.

We delivered to a warehouse, left our trailer there before picking up another trailer loaded back to Texas. On the way back I drove to Logan Utah while Mark sat in the passenger seat pointing out distinctive sites along the way. When we got back to Logan, he told me I could either go to a hotel or to a truckstop, but he needed to lay down and stretch his back for a while. I opted for a truckstop and he climbed up into his bunk. I sat in the driver seat reading from my iPad.

After a couple of hours reading. I wandered into the truckstop. bought a book, a diet drink, and chips before heading outside. Finding an outdoor table to sit at, read and enjoy the nice day.

About an hour later Mark found me. We got back in the truck, he in the driver seat. He drove straight through to Cheyenne Wyoming before I made him stop. My kidneys were floating. I think he would have driven straight back to Denton if I hadn’t stopped him.

When arriving in Denton I thanked him for the lesson and headed home. Collapsing in my own bed. I slept for ten hours, got up to have a bite to eat and went back to bed for another three hours. I didn’t have to be back to the terminal until Monday morning, giving me a glorious four days off.

Three weeks later, they assigned me to my own truck. I bought a dog to ride with me. He would be good companionship and some protection I hoped. His name is Sam and he’s a great companion.

My first load alone was not perfect. It was a load of televisions that delivered in Atlanta Georgia. I got there early, backed into the dock on the first attempt, proud of myself for being early and ready to unload.

I walked back to the receiving dock and flagged down one of the guys on a forklift. He stopped, took the ear buds out of his ear, and looked at me.

Forklift driver: “Can I help you?”

Me: “I’m here to unload these televisions.”  

Driver: “That’s nice, lady. But could ya’ll do me a favor?”

Me: “What’s that?” 

Driver: “Suppose you can open the doors of the trailer before backing in?”

I looked back over my shoulder to where the trailer was nestled up to the dock.. In my zeal to get here and get in the dock timely, I had forgotten to open the trailer doors before backing in. A classic rookie mistake.

That was three years ago and I like to think I’ve become an old pro at this trucking thing. I’m starting a new steady run between Dallas and Nashville Tennessee.

This Nashville round trip was every drivers dream.. Hauling food to Devine Foods in Hendersonville Tennessee, unload, and head over to a water heater company in Ashland City Tennessee with loads back to Texas daily

If there were no delays, a driver could make three round trips in a week, gathering four-thousand-miles and a nice paycheck. It hadn’t happened yet, but there was potential.

Any delays, such as traffic jams, could slow a driver down and cost her a chance to get right back. The customer, Devine Foods, closes the warehouse at 5:00 PM. If you’re not there before 5:00 you sit until the next day.

It became apparent I wasn’t going to make it due to traffic and would be laying overnight, instead of beating feet back to Dallas for another load. This also means another driver will get my load back to Nashville. Just one of the characteristics of the driving profession.

At five o’clock I was still sitting in traffic so I decided to go straight to the truckstop rather wasting time going to a warehouse that is closed. There’s a truckstop on the north side of town where we get fuel so I headed over.

The area around the truckstop is not the greatest so by getting there early I can get a somewhat safe spot to park for the night. I parked under a streetlamp in the front row of the parking lot. Couldn’t be much safer than that, I said to Sam. He looked at me as if I expected an answer.

We walked around the parking lot so Sam could do his business. I managed to get a solicitation from a trucker who evidently thought I was a lot lizard. I gave him the finger. Another hazard of the trade.

I hated eating at a this truckstop because it usually meant fast food. As I mentioned before, I gained a few pounds after the divorce, pounds I’m still carrying around with me due to sitting in a truck for hours. I went on a diet. This means tonight I eat a salad from Subway. Sam eats better than I do now.

The place was busy. I was looking for an empty table when I heard someone talking to me.

Driver: “Care to join me?”

I looked him over to make sure he wasn’t a serial killer or would steal my kidney’s. He looked like your average truck driver eating a Subway sandwich, so I accepted his offer. I sat down across from him with Sam nestled at my feet.

He introduced himself as Danny Coleman.

Me: “Hi Danny. I’m Amanda Richards. Pleased to meet ya. And the mutts name is Sam. He’s probably pleased to meet ya too, but I don’t like to put words in his mouth.”

Danny, taking a bite of his sandwich, a mouth half full of salami and lettuce. “Nice to mee ya, Amanda.  

Mustard dripped off the sandwich and onto the table. He gave me a sheepish look. I was squeezing dressing on my salad. His sandwich looked a lot better than my salad.

Danny: “I’m a trucker. I tried to get over to Devine Foods before closing and didn’t make it. Drove all day, and now look where I’m at.”

I admitted that I too missed the deadline at Devine’s. We looked at each other and laughed.

Me: “Where’d your load come from?” 

Danny: “Milwaukee. Yours?”

Me, while taking a bite of salad: “Dallas.”

Naturally some of the lettuce didn’t quite make it all the way in my mouth, which was embarrassing. I had to push the rest of it in with my other hand.

We sat and talked over two hours. Heck, neither of us had anything better to do than wait for Devine’s to open up in the morning. Danny got up twice in that time to get us both more soda.

We talked about trucks before getting around to exe’s and kids. Danny had been married but his wife ran off with a guy that was fixing her computer about ten years ago and he had never remarried. He was fifty-two-years-old and had two adult children. He was kind of a handsome guy, with salt and pepper hair and a short-cropped beard. He dressed like a trucker in blue jeans and a checkered flannel shirt.

Peeking out one sleeve of his shirt sleeve was what looked to be a fairly new tattoo of the Grateful Dead skull logo. In the space at the top of the skull was a colorful “G.” About the tenth time it snuck out from under that sleeve I had to ask him about it.

Danny: “Oh that. I lost a bet with my son on a Packer game and the loser had to get this tattoo. “We’re both big Packer fans but I didn’t think they could beat the Cowboys last season. The boy wasn’t right.”

We talked a few more minutes before we agreed to call it a night. We had to be up early to get over to Devine’s and get unloaded.

The next morning, I was sitting at the Devine guard house right at 7:00 AM to get a dock assignment. The guard directed me to gate six.

I found dock six about halfway down the building. I backed into the dock and set the parking brakes. Looking to my left was Danny in a bright red Kenworth next to me in dock five. I got out of the truck to head into the receiving door to check in. Danny climbed down from his truck to catch up to me.

We walked to the receiving area. We presented our paperwork to the clerk behind the counter, who directed us to the driver waiting area. She said they would announce through a speaker in the driver waiting area when a trailer was empty.

I watched Danny as he listened to the gal behind the counter. Now, I’m just as straight as the next gal, meaning I like men, and I’m certainly not homely with my long red hair, but that gal behind the counter was ‘hot.’ She had long blonde hair, blue eyes, and big boobs, sort of a Barbara Eden type looking girl.

If Danny noticed, he didn’t let on. He smiled in more of a business-type manner and thanked her before turning back around to accompany me into the drivers waiting area.

Me: “You blind?”

He looked at me and grinned. After we had taken a few step he finally replied.

Danny: “She was quite attractive, wasn’t she?”

That passed my test – Danny liked girls.

We sat around talking while waiting to be unloaded, mostly complaining about trucking as that’s what us truckers do. We were getting a little fidgety to get on the road. Danny had to pick up a load of empty kegs to take back to Milwaukee. I had to get over to pick up my load of water heaters.

Danny got unloaded first and left. It took another hour to get my load off the trailer. I thanked everyone and got back in my truck, headed to Ashland City. Dispatch had sent all the information to me over satellite so I knew what trailer to hook to. While hooking up to the trailer, Sam ran around inspecting everything, marking his territory.

The load was going to El Paso Texas but I would only be taking it to the Dallas yard. Somebody else, perhaps Todd would take it over to El Paso. I’d go home for my ten-hour break and get ready for the next load going to Devine’s. And that’s how my round trip freight worked.

I checked in at the office. Just before noon we were on our way to Dallas. We’d get there about midnight. Such is the exciting life of an over-the-road trucker.

#

Danny left his load of empty kegs at the brewery in Milwaukee that night, then headed for the house. He was tired from having driven all day.

He owned his truck and two trailers. As an owner-operator he could pretty much set his own agenda and not be bound by many of the strict policies of other companies. He leased his truck to a company named Blackstone that employed nearly all owner-operators. Blackstone was the largest carrier for the brewery and delivered beer all over the Midwest. Devine’s in Nashville was the furthest they shipped their beer.

He got this route because the traffic Manager at Printer’s Brewery, Johnny Johnston, went to high school with Danny. They were best friends, playing on the same football and baseball teams. Johnny allowed Danny to run when he wanted and at his own schedule. He’d been making this round for nearly seven years.  

Danny had been alternating thinking about Amanda and buying a new truck on the way back home. Driving the flat Illinois countryside was boring so it game him time to think. He was hesitant to buy a new truck because of the cost, but he had a lot of miles on this one. It was starting to need a lot of repairs.

Amanda on the other hand was nearly his age and preserved much better than him. He really liked her long red hair and those faint freckles. One didn’t find a fellow trucker often that looked like her.

His trip back had been delayed by an incident at a truckstop south of Chicago. After fueling, he had pulled around the back of the building to make a few calls and unwind.

As he was sitting there he heard a couple next to him arguing. There was a baby in a car seat in the back.  Danny could see their arms waving at each other intensely. All of a sudden the guy slapped the woman.

Danny jumped out of his truck in a flash. As he advanced on the car, he called 911. If he was going to be drug into this situation he wanted the law involved.

By the time he arrived at the car, the guy was pulling on the woman to make her get out the passenger side She was having none of it by holding on tightly to the steering wheel.

Danny ran right up to the guy, still pulling on the woman. Asking if there was an issue he could help with, the guy ignored him until Danny tapped on his shoulder. This got his attention as he partially let go of the woman to confront Danny.

Guy, screaming: “What da fuck you ‘all want.”

Danny “Uh, I don’t think you should be slapping that woman, dude. And there’s a baby watching all this…”

Guy: “Dis none of yo fuckin’ concern, motherfucker. Get da fuck ‘way from me fer I smack you too.”

He turned back around to berate the woman. “Beetch, I tol’ ya get yo ass out of my car.”

As expected, she screamed invective’s at him again and the baby followed with wailing. She was adamant she was not leaving the car or the baby, or both.

Danny. “Dude. Let go of her. I’m not going to let you beat on her. The police are on their way and they can settle this matter.”

Upon hearing the word police, the guy turned around again, venom in his eyes and face.

Dude: “Who called da po-lice? You did?”  

Danny: “Yes I did. I’m not going to let you beat on that woman. I already told you that. So, why…”

Dude: “Ya sumbitch, who tol ya to call da pol-lice. Who tol you?”

Guy turning back to the woman: “ya hear dat, Yolanda, now da po-lice are comin’.”

She stuck her head out the window to yell that was good. When she did, he slapped her again. Danny tackled him against the car. He was not trying to fight the man; he was just trying to subdue him until the police arrived.

His timing was good. No sooner had they begun to tussle when the police arrived, lights flashing, closely followed by a plain-clothes vehicle.  Both law enforcement officials jumped from their vehicles and grabbed the two men.

Seeing her attacker subdued by the police gave the woman more courage. She exploded from the car in a fit, screaming at her attacker with more acrimony than before. Danny could not believe such a small, young woman could possibly talk like that. She’d make a drill sergeant blush.

Shortly, patrolman Frank Rich and Chief of Detectives Dan DePaolo had the situation under control. The attacker, who went by the name of Juice, was in handcuffs in the back of the officers car, still screaming obscenities at the woman through the top of the window which had been cracked a little for air. Officer Rich was trying to get some coherent information from the woman to be able to put some semblance of reason on the situation. The problem was she would give the patrolman a little information and then take time to yell back at the dude sitting in the back seat.

Danny told the policemen what he saw. They exchanged information and Danny was cleared to leave. He headed into the truckstop for water. On the way he passed a transvestite soliciting his wares. Danny blew him off with a wave of his hand.  

Coming back out to his truck, he noticed the cops and the combatants were gone. He climbed into the cab of the truck and started it up. He drove in the right lane on the way home. He felt drained by what he had just witnessed. How could anyone beat on a woman, he wondered. Especially in front of her baby. What the hell is the matter with people today.

Traffic was light through Chicago and he flew on through the city. On the way home after leaving the brewery his thoughts turned to Amanda. Yes, he hoped he ran into her again.  

He was still thinking of her as he entered the dark house. Munchkin, his dog met him at the door, grateful to see her master. Getting down on his haunches he scratched the old girl under her chin. He was saddened she didn’t have much life in her. She was nearly blind, had cancer, and walked with a limp. He was going to have to put her down soon, but he just couldn’t pull the trigger.

He got up and grabbed milk out of the refrigerator. Pouring a glass, he looked around the kitchen for a cookie or a donut. Not finding any he wandered off to the bedroom. He got undressed, then threw his clothes over the back of a nearby chair.

As he got into bed the figure on the other side turned over. “Everything alright, hon,” Danny’s wife said.

“Just fine, Jenny,” he replied. He kissed her on the top of the forehead. They both rolled over to the sides of their bed and went to sleep.

#

Because I was held up overnight in Nashville, the company sent my next load on with another driver. That meant I had a rare day off before going back out in the morning.

I decided to go to a salon to get touched up. Well, actually, the works is more like it. I hadn’t been to a salon since I began driving and it was good to go back. Got a haircut, just a little, and the gray removed, got the nails done, all ten of them and even a facial.

I spent the rest of the day puttering around the house, getting chores done, doing laundry, paid a few bills and charged up both my phone and iPad. Even gave Sam a bath, much to his chagrin.

The office called later to let me know my load was ready, I could leave any time I wanted. That meant they’d like to see me on the road soon. They were a little emphatic that this load needed to be there before 5:00 PM.

I ate an early dinner, then headed over to the terminal. Within the hour, me and Sam were headed east. I drove to a truckstop in West Memphis Arkansas, arriving about 2 in the morning. I was tired and figured I’d better lay down for a bit. In the morning I would fuel up and drive the last four hours up to Devine’s.

A couple hours later I awoke with a start, almost falling out of the bunk. Sam went nuts with the barker. I was relatively sure the trailer had been bumped. I brushed the hair back off my face, put on my sandals, and headed out to see what had happened, Sam in tow.

Another carrier had backed into my trailer. I knew that because the tractor-trailer unit was still sitting there. A kid by the name of Jerry was nervously standing around waiting for me to get back there. Jerry drove for one of those big box carriers that went through drivers like a meat grinder. I would find out later Jerry had been out of driving school only four weeks and was already driving by himself.

When Jerry saw me he rushed forward. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry.”

I thought he was going to cry. He looked to be about twenty-one-years-old. I looked at the trailer to assess the damage and took a picture with my cell phone. The corner of Jerry’s trailer had hit the door handle shaft, a long bar that runs the entire length of the trailer door. It shoved in enough to bend it, which meant the trailer door probably wouldn’t open. This was going to require me to go to a repair shop for fixing. Dammit, more delay.  

Jerry handed me a safety card for his company that I could call to turn in a claim. He had already written down his name and cell phone number. While the kid’s driving abilities were certainly not top shelf, his manners and sense of responsibility were and I told him so. I was not going to be able to go back to sleep now so I invited him in for a cup of coffee. He declined saying he was already running late for his delivery and was afraid he’d get fired. Poor kid. I wished him luck and he was on his way.

I called our shop to report the incident and ask for instructions to get the trailer repaired. Fortunately, there were a couple nearby and I was sitting there when they opened up that morning. Maybe my day wouldn’t be so bad after all.

It took the repair shop five hours to get my trailer door repaired.  Now I would be running it close to be at Devine’s before they closed the gate again.

This is the part about trucking I hate – delays. I busted my tail to get there on my last run and didn’t make it, which cost me a day, and now this. I would have had plenty of time to make my delivery if only Jerry had not backed into me. Instead of making good money running the road, once again I was sitting on the clock making near minimum wage while I waited for the trailer to get fixed.

My next delay was at the bridge over the Mississippi River, due to construction. That cost another half hour. I now had just three-and-a-half hours to drive through Memphis, Nashville and then to Devine’s. I was screwed. I called dispatch and went on the offensive, complaining about the delay it took to get the trailer repaired and the trailer situation at Devine’s.

Gary, the operations manager: “Amanda, what’s the problem?”

Me: “If you guys would get a trailer dropped up there we wouldn’t have these situations. Now, I’m gonna have to stay here all night again.”

I think Gary is sweet on me as he is always looking for a reason to talk to me when I call in, and he is usually more than accommodating to make things work out.

Me: “Ah, Gary. Some kid backed into my trailer last night at the truckstop and it took five hours to get it repaired. For the second time in a row, I’m not going to make delivery on time.”

Gary: “Don’t worry about it, hon.”

Yes, he called me hon.

Gary: “These things can’t always be helped. I’ll smooth out with Devine’s and put you down for two layover pays to make up the lost time.”

Me: “Thanks, Gary.”

That more than made up for my lost mileage and I won’t have to bust my butt again. Truth was, I really wasn’t as angry as I was letting on. I thought if I went on the offense, they wouldn’t be mad at me. Besides, maybe Danny will be around again.

Had I gone straight to Devine’s it would have been six at best for I got there, an hour late. Instead, I went back to the truckstop in Nashville where I had met Danny two nights before. I had been thinking of him a lot. I hadn’t thought of anybody like that since the divorce. 

I parked in the same spot as before. No sight of Danny’s red Kenworth lot. Sam and I got out of the truck to go for a walk. I didn’t get propositioned this time but I did feel the stares of a few old drivers who were probably bristling about a woman driver. No sooner than getting back to the truck a red Kenworth pulled into the spot next to me.

Danny, climbing up into the passenger side of my truck, grinning from ear to ear: “I was hoping I’d catch ya here.” 

Me: “You didn’t get unloaded either.”

Danny: “No, I did. Then went over and got my load. I’ll be back in Milwaukee sometime in the morning.”

Me: “Lucky you.” Then I related to him why I didn’t get unloaded.

Danny: “You like to dance.” Before I could answer he followed up with another question, “Ever been to any of the joints in downtown Nashville.”

I professed I did like to dance but hadn’t been downtown. I added I hadn’t been much of anywhere for entertainment outside of Texas.

Danny: “Well then,” it’s time we change that. Why don’t we hire an Uber and run down there for a while. They got some great bars down there with even better music.”

I thought about that for a minute. I was a little hesitant to leave the truck and wasn’t sure what my boss would say. It had been so long since I actually went somewhere to have fun.

Me: “Let’s do it!”

We went to Dierks Bentley’s bar, a real honky-tonk. There was a band that featured a woman with bright orange hair sporting some skin between her tattoo’s. The place was packed so we had nowhere to sit down. The band was so loud it was hard to talk. I wanted to see the rest of Broadway Street, having never been there before. The street was a beehive of activity.

We walked to Doc Holiday’s Saloon. The place looked like a dive from the outside and didn’t get much better on the inside. Dollar bills adorned the walls and ceilings from past revelers. They had live music but we could relax and listen to the young guitar picker. We got us a high-top table on the balcony and spent much of the rest of the evening there.

Arriving back at the truckstop, I climbed into Danny’s truck. Sam watched me from the passenger seat, barking at me the whole time. 

Maybe he had better sense than I did.

Early the next morning he had gotten up and was sitting in the driver’s seat to start the truck so as to build up air. He had been gentleman enough to volunteer to go get coffee for the both of us. I thought that to be the prudent thing for him to do since a) I wanted coffee and b) I was wearing only a T-shirt. 

While sitting there he lowered the visor. I happened to be watching from the bunk, a sleeping blanket pulled up under my nose. When the visor came down, pinned to the other side was a picture of Danny, a blonde woman of about the same age, and two teen-aged kids, a boy, a girl, and a dog. It was your typical family picture and did not look too dated.

I didn’t say anything, waiting until he had rounded the corner to the truckstop. I got up to take a closer look. She was a nice enough looking woman in her 40’s, neither heavy nor thin, but nice looking. She wore white jeans and a blue-denim top. Dan and the kids had on jeans. The dog wasn’t wearing clothes. I turned the picture over and there was a woman’s handwriting.

“Danny – we made a lovely family – Love, Jenny 2021.” There was a squiggly line under 2021. ‘Artistic too, huh,’ I wondered.

Well, that would indicate that Jenny had not run off ten years ago like he originally told me. The picture was only two years old. They looked like a family that was still together.

I put the picture back and crawled back into the warmth of the bunk. It was a comfortable bunk, much more so than mine. I’d have to say something to the shop manager about a more comfortable bunk. Then he might ask me how I knew that, so I decided I wouldn’t say anything.  

I didn’t know how I felt about this new development. After about fifteen minutes of sulking, I decided to put my big girl pants on, literally and figuratively, and get ready for the day. I slid my jeans on and was just tying my shoe in the passenger seat when Danny arrived with the coffee. The coffee smelled wonderful, and there was a bag that said it was from Sticky Buns. I love sticky buns. I can eat my weight in sticky buns. I want to be buried with sticky buns.

Me, shrieking: “I didn’t know they had sticky buns!”

Danny: “They don’t, but the diner across the street has them.”

Me: “You actually went across that busy highway just to get sticky buns?

I didn’t tell him I’ would have crawled across the highway on broken Lone Star beer bottles on all fours with a feather in my mouth if it involved just smelling sticky buns from the day before.

We sat in the truck enjoying coffee and ate two sticky buns apiece. After, I made my way to hit the shower, telling him I wanted to get over to Devine’s. Danny said he was going to hit the road going north. We said our awkward goodbye’s and were off for our day.

I let Sam out. He was mad at me for leaving him in the truck alone all night. I set food out for him on the floor of the passenger side and poured water out of the jug of sterile water I carried just for him. I didn’t want him to get sick on the road. Having said that, I’ve seen him drink from mud puddles in the past, so there was that.

I unloaded at Devine Foods in good time. From there over to Ashland City, hooked up, and ready to leave when my phone rang. I looked to see who was calling, as I really didn’t feel like talking to anybody – I just wanted to get on down the road. ‘Crap,’ I said to myself when I saw that it was the lovelorn ops manager, Gary, calling.

Me: “Yes, Gary.” 

Gary: “Hello Amanda.

I winced at the sound of his voice and didn’t say anymore, waiting for him to finish. It was an awkward pause as he must have thought I was going to sweet talk him back. After last night you’d have thought I was in a better mood. Gary must have figured out I was waiting for him to talk.

Finally, Gary: “Guess what I did for ya, darlin’.” 

I had no idea and told him so. I felt like hanging up.

Gary: “I talked Devine’s into letting us drop a trailer up there.”

He sounded like a little boy who just found a stash of Playboy magazines. I got a mental picture of him standing in a pile of magazines with his pants down around his ankles. I cursed myself for the thought, but was powerless to remove the thought out of my brain.

Me: “That’s great, Gary. Thank you. Thank you for working that out.”

Later I was cruising down the road with my thoughts. I was feeling unsure about this situation and I appreciated the time to think about it on my trip home.

By the time I got back to Dallas I had decided that Jenny was not my problem. I had also cooled to the idea of seeing Danny regularly as well. If we got together, that would not be a problem either. 

And Sam, he’d just have to get used to being in the truck by himself.