Driving Out of Dumas
by Kaye George
I'd been thinking of breaking
up with Aldon, but I didn't know how to do it. Given his temper, I didn't think it would be easy.
That afternoon he picked me up
from my job at the convenience store.
"Go for a ride?"
"Sure," I said. "Sittin in the
car beats standin on my feet for eight hours." It wasn't too hot out yet, only getting up to the mid-80s during the day. Our
Texas panhandle gets a lot hotter.
Aldon shifted through the gears
on his ancient pickup, mashing in second like he always did, and we blew past the grain silos and hit the open road. The wind
from the open windows felt good, better than the AC in the store, which was always cranked down to a freeze-your-ass-off temperature.
I took off the sweater I always wore to work and threw it behind my seat. Then I reclined the seat and let the air flow over
me as I closed my eyes and relaxed.
After awhile I woke up. I watched
the cloud-dotted sky skim past the window, then glanced at Aldon. He looked sorta grim.
"What's the matter, Al?"
"Nothing's the matter," he snapped.
He was in a mood.
I sat my seat up. "Hey, where
are we?" We usually drove out through the fields, dotted with irrigation circles, to Dalhart at the farthest, then turned
around and headed back home to Dumas. I knew the local land pretty well, and this rough open rangeland wasn't it.
Aldon didn't answer.
"Where we goin?"
"I gotta do somethin. You sit
tight. Don't worry about it."
Well, that wasn't gonna happen.
I got a bad feeling that worsened with each mile. I snuck a peek at the gas gauge--we weren't due for a refill.
Then I spotted a gas station in
the distance. "I gotta pee," I said. "Real bad."
Aldon looked at me for the first
time since we'd started the drive. "Okay. I'll pull in. Make it quick."
I had second thoughts when I saw
how run-down the place was. The bathroom wasn't likely to be too clean. But I needed to break up what was happening, somehow.
Even if I didn't know what it was. I spent as long as I could inside. When I got back Aldon was scowling.
He took off before I got my door
"Hey, you tryin to kill me?"
He didn't answer.
We eventually crossed the border
into New Mexico. I wondered if Aldon was ever planning on returning home. Were we running away? From what? He was never an
easy person to talk to. Today I was afraid of him. That grim look, this stupid car trip--I thought maybe I'd get out and stay
out the next time we pulled over.
We slowed down, finally, for a
little town a few miles across the border. I'd been dozing and missed the name of it. The sun was setting in front of us,
shooting a blinding glare through the windshield off the blacktop.
"Can we get something to eat?"
"Later," he said. "I want you
to do somethin for me. Just take a few minutes."
He headed down a curbless side
street, turned around and pulled over. He left the engine on and climbed out.
"You get in the driver's seat,"
he said. "I want you to keep the truck runnin. When I get back, take off. Don't say anything, just take off, back the way
we came from."
There was a convenience store
around the block from where we were parked. Was Aldon going to rob it? Geez, I lived in fear of that every time I pulled night
shift. I didn't want to help him rob a store, but what could I do?
I sat and fretted, trying to figure
out how I could get out of this awful mess, but I was still there when Aldon came running back. He jumped in, threw a sack
behind the seat and yelled, "Go!"
All I could do was react. I floored
it and took off.
"What the hell did you just do?"
I yelled while I ground through second gear. I got it to third and fishtailed a little. The truck didn't handle too well for
me at high speeds.
Aldon had a big grin on his face.
"I just raised us a little capital." He spit out the window. "Slow down to the speed limit. No one knows what vehicle to look
for. If we don't get pulled over, we won't get caught."
"You mean you won't get
caught. I didn't rob nobody."
"Sure you did. You're aiding and
abetting, don't think you're not."
Damn, he was right. I was driving
the getaway vehicle. "I think we better switch places pretty soon. I don't drive your truck all that good."
"You're doin fine. I need a nap."
He put the seat back down, folded his arms on his chest, and was snoring inside of three minutes.
I kept driving--he'd wake up if
I stopped--but I reached back to pull that sack into my lap. The sun had just set and dusk was falling, bringing a moist smell
with it. It was a beautiful night.
My fingers fumbled inside the
sack. I felt bills, but at the very bottom I struck something hard. And warm. A gun. That he'd fired. Shit.
Maybe he'd sleep till we got back
to Dalhart, and I could pull into the police station. I didn't know where the damn station was, though.
We were twenty miles out when
"You never got me anything to
eat," I said, wracking my brain for a solution.
"You can have steak when we get
"OK, but I gotta pee again."
"Hey, me too. Stop here. It's
dark out. The truck can shield us."
Breaking up turned out to be that
easy. He got out. I drove off.
Kaye George, an Agatha nominated short story writer, is the author
of CHOKE: An Imogene Duckworthy Mystery (Mainly Murder Press), as well as A PATCHWORK OF STORIES, a collection
of previously published works, and THE BAVARIAN KRISP CAPER, available at Untreed Reads. FISH TALES: The Guppy Anthology
contains her story, "The Truck Contest". She reviews for Suspense Magazine, and writes for several newsletters and
blogs. She, her husband, and a cat named Agamemnon live together in Texas, near Austin.
Blogs: http://travelswithkaye.blogspot.com/, her solo blog, and