Between Then & Now || Currently Editing for Wattys 2022

16.

When I pull into the next gas station somewhere in the middle of Tennessee, there is no sparkly aura. It reeks of cigarettes and diesel. In the back where the semi-trucks park, there's a trucker hopping out of his cabin. With an inhale and a snort, he spits onto the ground, a gray gravel.

I wrinkle my nose. God's country. Classy.

The pump is dirty, and I can barely read the screen to watch as my tank fills up. On the other side, a truck pulls in and a man gets out, a ripped, makeshift muscle tank draped across his body. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, noticing his dirty Dale Earnhardt hat and the paint splashes on the white tee. His blue truck has mud splashed up the sides next to his wheels, and the wheel wells are rusting a bit.

"Papa, can I have a candy bar?" Suddenly, I notice the kid on the inside, leaning forward a bit between the driver and passenger seat to yell out the driver's side window. Next to the pump, the man, still not noticing me, lights a cigarette, pulling out the pump, and doesn't even look over his shoulder. He opens his gas cap and sticks the pump in, pulling his cigarette out to exhale some smoke. Subtly, he pulls out his wallet, glancing up at the gas meter for a second, and ruffles through, probably looking for some cash.

My own pump clicks, indicating a full tank. I squeeze the handle a few more times, trying to top off the tank. On the other side of the pump, the man looks up at his own pump, stuffing his wallet into his back pocket. His voice doesn't indicate it, but, when I glance over at his unshaven, weather-beaten face, his eyes are downturned. "No, buddy. Not today, I'm sorry."

More smoke fills the air as he exhales with his cigarette still in his mouth, and I finish paying with my card. The gas cap turns and turns as I screw it on, debating if I should say something, and when I turn around, the kid sits back in his seat in the truck, his back hunched, clearly a little let down. The man digs around in the bed of his truck, lifting up old shingles, nails clattering onto the metal as they fall. Finally, I clear my throat. He doesn't turn around. More nails clatter around in the back of the truck.

"Um, sir," I start after a moment, trying to get his attention. It takes a second but, finally, he realizes I'm speaking to him and turns around. His eyes are a watery, light blue with wrinkles in the corners. They aren't like my mom's, filled with light or free spirit, but more mark the history of a man who found happiness in times when maybe it felt impossible.

He doesn't smile at me, though, as he glances at his own pump then back down at me. "Yessum?"

He pulls out his cigarette, flicking the ash off the end, and exhales more smoke.

"I know it's none of my business, sir, but I was wondering if maybe I could buy a candy bar for your kiddo." In the cab of the truck, the kid's head turns up slightly, enough to indicate that he's listening even though he's clearly trying to hide it. I look back at the man, his head turning up slightly. He crosses his arms defensively across his chest, and I lower my voice. "My mom always used to tell me the same thing. I never understood why until I got older." His eyes soften a bit, and a slight smile forms across his lips as he unfolds his arms, putting his hands in his pockets. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes take shape, and I smile back at him.

"That's very sweet of ya, ma'am." He glances over his shoulder at his son in the truck, ears still perked up. He lowers his voice to match mine and leans in a bit, maybe feeling a little embarrassed. "You really don't hafta." His southern accent is strong as he continues. "It's just been a little rough. There's been a drought around heyeh lately, and we lost halfa our crops this year. I been tryin' to make ends meet but," he looks up at the pump, "with the war and the gas prices goin' up and..." His eyes turn sad and he blinks, looking down for a moment. "And with his Ma passin' away earlier this year, it's been hard."

I smile at him, noticing the boy's head ducking a little bit in the cab. "I'm sorry for your loss," I whisper. His smile is subtle, and he nods his head.

"Ya just try to give 'em everything ya can."

I nod and pull out my wallet again, taking out a fifty dollar bill. When I glance back at the boy, I see him looking at me, and he quickly looks away, fiddling with something in his hands. "Here." I hand the man the money, leaning over beside the pump. For a moment, he just looks down at it and looks back up at me. "I know it's not much-"

"Miss," he interrupts me. "That's too much."

"No." I shake my head, extending my arm a little more and shaking the bill a bit for him to take it. "It's not." He still refuses to take it, and I give him a stern look. "Somebody did it for my Ma once. When I was about his age." I nod up at the cabin. "It paid for our groceries for an entire week after my father left us." His eyes soften, and he glances back down at the dollar bill, finally taking it. "Trust me, it would do more good with you." I lean back, standing up again.

He nods, neatly folding the dollar bill in his hand. His cigarette lays forgotten the edge of his truck bed, no longer lit. "Thank you, miss." With a glance over his shoulder at his son in the cabin, he turns back to look at me, the contained smile on his face sculpting the wrinkles next to his eyes. For an instant, he just looks at me, at a loss for words. His mouth opens but nothing comes out, and I just smile, waving my hands in the air for him to get going.

"Don't thank me." My eyes catch the boy looking out the window at me again, and I nod over at him as he looks away again, embarrassed. "Just make sure he gets his candy bar. Trust me–he won't forget it when he's older."

The older man nods, a hand reaching up to adjust his hat as he starts back up to the driver's side door of his truck. Before he gets all the way to the window, he looks back at me and nods his head in thanks. "God bless you, Miss."

I nod, walking around to my own driver's side door as I subtly listen to him and his son.

"Come on, buddy."

My door clicks open, and Thelma stands up, looking at me, then turning around to stand against her door, looking out the window.

Immediately, I can hear the boy sitting up, crawling over the center console in the two-door truck to the driver's seat. "Really?"

"Yeah, bud," As I turn my keys in the ignition and look back over at the truck, the man glances back over at me. "I think Mama sent some angels our way today." He nods again and turns back to his car, opening up the driver's door for his son to hop out. I watch as the two walk up to the front door of the gas station. The man gives his son a little joking push, and the son pushes back, his dad pretending to stumble a bit. When he opens the door for the boy to enter the store, he turns back around one more time, smiling again, and gives me a wave. I wave back, and then put my car into drive. As I leave, the gas station appears a little bit brighter. And, this time, I don't wrinkle my nose as I pull out, watching the truck driver spit on the ground again through the dust coming from my tires behind the van.