72 Hours

Please, please, please any advice or feedback on how to make this story better, more exciting? Also, title ideas??

This is a true story of the last 72 hours of my life....

The right hand blinker ticked back and forth while the dusty white Pontiac drifting to the right lane of C-470. I'd say it'd been a long week, which it had, but it'd not just the week's work that had me exhausted. Another worry rolled off my lips as I exhaled the smoke, when a bright light in my rearview mirror caught my attention; I squinted. 

"Damn motorcycles..." I mummbled. "Get off my a*s! It's a construction zone!" Aggrovated, I flipped the rearview mirror towards the sky, looked down to check my speed--60 mph, five over. "Jerk..." I shook my head.

Soon, the construction cones freed the left lane. I watched the biker drift as it opened. I flipped him off as he met me at my window. Gray helmet, dark tint covered the glass over his eyes. "I can't f*****g see with your bright-a*s headlight in my eyes!" He started fiddling with his helmet. I wondered, during the heat of my rage, if he could actually hear me. Could he understand me? He didn't care for what I had to say next, "You're gonna die on that thing!" He took off, "If you don't watch out!"

I exited on Broadway--hands shaking, legs shaking. I took a deep breath of my cigarette and rubbed my forehead as a tear fell from my eyes. 

The next day, I went about my normal routine and finally sighed in relief as I tossed myself onto my bed. The bright screen glowed on my face against the dark. My eyes drifted across the Newsfeed, full of rememberance posts. A brown haired boy, charming chocolate eyes, broad shoulders and a chest that perfectly grasped the cross necklace that laid by his heart. That's how I remember him, anyways. I didn't know him much but when you run around in a town of small crowds, it seems easy to assume you know somebody. John was his name. My heart broke when a post from a family member of his said, "a tragic motorcycle accident ..." my eyes skimmed to, "last night" and then "was always afraid of something like this...a pain that will never heal". I hardly slept. 

Today, I got off work early. I was singing in my car when I felt a vibe to check under my hood. I decided to trust my gut and I took the next exit off the highway. It seemed there was nowhere to pull over. Eventually, I ended up in an office building parking lot. I swung open the door of my Pontiac. The rubber of my square toe, fire pink boots slammed against the cement. I stepped out and let the door close behind me. The bolts popped and cracked like a spine. I walked to the hood and popped it. "Ah-ha! I'm low on antifreeze. Easy fix..." I dug around in my trunk for coolant. I read "just add water". Great... The parking lot was deserted...other than a family that seemed to be tourists? An older black man, khakis and a golf shirt with a sun-visor hat. An older woman, long skirt, freckles around the outside of her high cheek bones. And their son, maybe around 20. "Excuse me?" The family turned towards me as I approached. "Do any of y'all happen to have some water? I need to add antifreeze to my resiovour." 

The older woman responded after a long moment of silence, "No. I'd like some water myself". Then, the boy spoke up. "How much do you need?" 

"It's hard to say. Maybe one water bottle?" The boy turned around and I smiled when he brought me back some water. "Thank you so much!" As I was filling my resovoir,  I turned around and noticed the black man behind me. Alarmed, I jumped. 

"I'm sorry," he laughed it off. "Do you mind if I borrow your wrench?" 

"Sure. Good thing I cleaned out my trunk yesterday. It's barried way under everything." We walked over to my trunk. 

"Thank you, ma'am." He brought it back moments later. I shut my hood and as I walked back to my driver's side door, I noticed my door wide open. I began to panic, thinking maybe the man tried to distract me while the other stole my stuff. My heart dropped when I saw my laptop in the same position I left it. My purse, untouched. Money, present. I waved goodbye and turned my music back up as I drove away. 

I was running a little late for plans and this red light seemed to take forever. I noticed two guys in the car next to me, hollering at me and pointing at my hood, which was blown up like a ballon, full with white smoke. "F**k!" I shut my engine off and stepped out. Antifreeze laid, spewed on the street, like the guts of an exploded paintball. And there I was, in the middle of the road, in the middle of the city, broke down. I was a danzzle in distress and I hated it.

"Ma'am! Do you need help?" A blue eyed boy hopped off his motorcycle and ran my way. "If it still runs we can just move it off the road and take it from there?" I nodded. Tears flooded my face like the Mississippi River when I pulled the handle of a locked door. "Did you just lock the keys in there...." He looked at me and noticed the tears.

"What am I going to do? My car is still running. I have a quarter of a tank. My phone and money are locked inside." My tears distressed him; he wanted to bring me comfort but didn't quite know how. He reached out, "No. Don't cry. It's okay." I'll run to AutoZone and get a slim-jim, okay? I'm pretty fast on this bike. Sharp turns and weaves! I'll be right back!" I thought about John and tears flooded my face, again. That's when a lady with blue hair pulled up next to me. Gave me a tissue for my tears and a cigarette. I leaned against my spoiler, one boot on the bumper. "Everything happens for a reason..." I thought to myself as my eyes followed the tires of a sedan approaching. Two guys slowly drove up, both looking up at me. The passenger had blonde dreads, a full beard, and a piercing on the bridge of his nose. 

"You good?" The driver leaned over the passenger to see me. 

"Yeah. I think soo..." I told him the guy on the bike would be back. The Saturn pulled up behind my car and the driver stepped out. 

"My name's Spike. You mind if I bend your antenna?" I stepped back, allowing him to proceed. He unscrewed my antenna. Then, he walked back over to his car. The passenger approached me this time. 

"What's your name?" I uttered.

"Daniel, but my friend's call me Stray."

"Aww. Why?" Immediately, I realized I screwed up. He looked down at his feet and sighed. When Spike walked back over to my car, I was singing, "You got a friend in me! You got a friend in me!" 

Spike walked to my hood, pulled a fuse to kill the engine, walked over to Stray and I, stuck two screwdrivers in between my car door and my antenna inbetween. We all three surrounded the vehicle.

Some time passed before the blue eyed boy got back. "Hey..." I turned around and saw him. I could see the jealousy in his eyes when he looked at Spike and Stray. 

"Hey!"

"AutoZone didn't have anything."

"Yeah.. That's okay. I figured so. Thank you so much though. Truly."

"Sure... uhh.. well, I guess I'll take off now." 

"Okay." I smiled. Blue eyed boy started to walk away when I called out to him. "Hey!" He turned around, "Be careful on that bike, okay? A guy I knew from high school died in a motorcycle accident last night." 

"Last night!?" Tears got the best of me, once again. I turned around and walked back to my car and said, "I'm sorry. I'm not usually this stupid but--" Spike looked me dead in the eye.

"Don't do that. Don't talk to yourself that way. Things happen, okay? Don't be so hard on yourself." He smiled at me. I looked down and then back up at him. He fixed his concentration back to the vehicle and I realized, I'd never met anyone like Spike.

Reviews

[Ravenzy]

"Antifreeze laid, spewed on the street, like the guts of an exploded paintball."
I don't know if I make any sense, but I can see a great author living inside you, just from this line. Your writing here is strikingly alive.

[barleygirl]

Many people write to unload about all the junk that occurs in a bad day, but very few will take the extra time (as you've done here) to put it into "story" format, with good flow & dialogue & realistic scenes from the book of life. Great job! Nothing about your writing is ordinary, even tho the idea of having a bad day is ordinary. I like the shaky balance of how the narrator mostly trusts people, but then it occurs to her that maybe she shouldn't, but then she's proven to be right to trust (a good life lesson that you've shown instead of telling). The only thing I can think of that might improve your writing in the future is to remember to bring in all the senses -- makes for more vivid imagery -- show us how it looks, smells, tastes, feels, & sounds. Otherwise, I admire you for letting off steam so creatively! (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[Faith Knoll]

This feedback is such a blessing! Thank you!