We’re Never Going to Make It Out of Here Alive…

Sunday, I’m driving with my dad. It’s the first time in awhile I’m behind the wheel of a car and a major step in my recovery.

Without the usual amount of driving, I haven’t filled up in over three weeks. Though the gas tank still has over a quarter of a tank, I pull into the Shell. Better safe than sorry, I guess.

I have an oddity. (At least my friends think it is odd.) I pay with cash instead of credit card at gas stations. I always forget the charges for gas or food and then when the bill comes I freak out. I pay in green and forget about it.

The line was long to the cashier. She was quick, but had more customers than she could reasonable handle. Turning around, I nodded to the fifty-ish woman standing behind me.

“We’re never going to make it out of here alive.” Her voice is dead with no emotion, no hint of joke or even dry humor. Just a cold hard fact, we will die here.

I mouth, “what.” The last thing I need is some crazy holding up the place, and surgery does put death on one’s mind.

“My sister says that all the time. She is very dramatic.” She smiles. I turn around.
Pay and leave. Drive off Fast. What type of crazy was that?