Buddy

Short story of a person and their driving habits.

Call me crazy, but I’ve started to name it. I drive by it in the morning and the evening, and after the third morning or so, I started thinking about him as “Buddy”. “Oh look, Buddy, the main road is still closed.” “Hey, Buddy, whatcha been up to? You haven’t moved much today.” “Know the closest place to get gas, Buddy?” And, well, Buddy never responded to any of those questions, but I always imagined that he would. In the mornings, I would drive towards the town, and his beady eyes would be looking right at me. In the afternoons, I would drive away from the town and he would have his back turned towards me. I faked my displeasure with him. “Oh come one, Buddy, I’m not that bad. The main road stayed closed for weeks, and Buddy remained in his place. I can say that I was surprised that no one had the common courtesy to pick him up and take him off the road. But he was resting on the yellow line in the middle of the road, so I don’t think many people saw him, except for me.

            I knew exactly where he was too after the first week. Driving from my house, it would take me 14 minutes and 23 seconds to see him, if the traffic wasn’t bad. Driving from town, it took me exactly 5 minutes to see him. Besides him, the roads were just plain back roads. They were the roads that don’t have anything special going on for them. They were just there, you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. So in a way, I think Buddy helped me deal with the monotony of the drive back and forth. Nothing ever changed with the road. But I could count on seeing Buddy, lying there on the yellow line, looking at me in the mornings and turning his back on me in the afternoon. I think one of these days I’ll get a shovel and scrape the possum off the asphalt. Every possum deserves a proper burial.