I leaned forward, neck stretched, fists gripping the steering wheel, willing the car to limp down I-65 while cringing with each pothole and its associated cacophony of a possum stuck in rear wheel well wielding a pneumatic drill. The rest area was a welcome sight, but the cracks in the die cast piece high above the driver side tire did not look planned, according to my non-metallurgical eye.
We were just south of the line that introduces a slow, lilty drawl to native tongues, and a change to being addressed as "Hon". Mike, or "Homie" as he introduced himself, was from North Carolina and loved his dogs and his wife. I chimed in intermittently during our 40 minute tow truck ride, holding my breath just a little knowing the tab climbed higher and higher with the ticks of the odometer. Thorntown shrunk into the distance as we neared Lafayette and the repair shop that promised to open the following morning. Mike kept one hand on the steering wheel as he rifled through pictures on his phone, bragging about his malamute-wolf mix and mini greyhound to his captive audience. Johanna wisely sat in the shadows of the backseat, fading out of the one-sided conversation.
With the help of leopard print and Ariel blankets, we passed the 6 hours until opening.
The man at Arby's was pretty insistent that I needed something to eat, not just a restroom. So I became the sneakiest Arby's customer central Indiana has ever seen. I may or may not have ducked behind a booth upon my exit through the swinging door to the parking lot.
Eli had a scraggly, wiry red beard, and a temperament to match. Per our conversation at 8:03 am over the Pep Boys counter, he had no one to help my injured car limp forward. He turned back to his computer screen, wiry beard twitching with a scowl.
Chuck, however, trusted my diagnosis of the car's ills. My post-Arby's-run viewing of his silver haired "Who needs lines?" parking job prior to starting his workday was stashed behind my giggle when he asked the year and make of my car three times. The giggle turned into a blank stare when he rattled off his "only known fact about Tennessee":
"Did you know that Texas would not exist without Tennessee?"
No. No, I did not know that. I'm not sure I know that for certain now, either.
As I pondered his quasi-factoid, Larry spoke with Chuck about the part and gave me a timeline for repair.
Redbeard Eli was more amicable now, willing to share about his black and gray jacket that he may have to take off because it's really a lot warmer that it looks and he's surprised because it's the first time he's worn it since his grandparents bought it for him for his 9/11 birthday and they left the tag on it and it actually cost $80 which is surprising and more than he'd pay but still worth it because it really is a lot warmer than it looks. He may have to take it off.
By 10:30, we were on the road, leaving Lafayette in the rearview mirror...and the annals of legends.
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