Disaster - A Short Story

Disaster

Driving from Amarillo to Albany, New York, is quite the drag. The four day non-stop trip that begins in the sunny, dry state of Texas and ends in the populated, bustling city known as "The Big Apple" is far more than one can bargain for. I should know. I experienced it.

I began the anxious venture near 8:30 in the morning, shortly after hurriedly throwing items from my dresser into a small black briefcase, and chugging multiple shots of watered down, grinded coffee beans. I had a much-needed and most-appreciated sleep the night before, and a little travel-sized container of mint-waxed floss. You never really know when you might need it, or when it can come in handy.

I grabbed my old, worn-out sneakers tops that had countless dirt stains and tears in it's fabric. They didn't fit too comfortably, by they'd make do.

I selected two ripe bananas from my fruit basket, a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, and two large water bottles to keep my body fueled and hydrated.

And that was it.

In less than two minutes, I was in my car, shutting the door, and twisting the key in the ignition. It roared, as if somebody woke it up just a bit too early. The seats vibrated, and the heat rushed in through the vents. For a state that was known to be hot and barren, this time of the year was especially cold. Not rain or snow cold, just temperature cold.

I pulled my car out of the driveway and reached into the glove compartment. I carefully tugged out and unfolded a map that I had specially marked for the trip. There was a bold blue line that dragged from the current city I was in, all the way to the state of New York, the final destination. I even went out of my way to sight-see a little. All of the famous landmarks were on the way, like the Old State House in Arkansas, and the renowned Hersheypark in Pennsylvania. The thoughts overwhelmed me. I took a deep breath. I was already worrisome about the hardest part of the expedition—the driving. Stretches of open road—and nothing but it—not a car to be seen. I grinned to myself.

I need coffee. I thought, yawning.

"One cup'a cappahchinah for, ah—" the lady at the coffee shop down the street bellowed to all of the thirty customers. "Buddha?"

I made my way to the front of the line, pushing past others who came to get their dose of energy for the day. "It's Buddy." I corrected, swiping the mug from her. She lifted her eyebrow and scoffed.

I brought the cup to my car, which was parked out front. I lifted the handle and jumped in, not wasting any more vital minutes. The car lit up, the dashboard glowed, LEDs flashed. I squinted at the map one more time for fun. The vehicle's gas light glimmer. I sighed. What a great way to start the course—empty tank.

Conveniently, there were two gas stations, just across the street from the coffee shop. Inconveniently, I had forgotten to fill up the gas tank the night before.

I'm not a cheap person, by any means. I enjoy getting the best bananas at the grocery store, the most expensive bags of coffee beans I can find, and the large water bottles that are three dollars, sometimes more. But I was on a strict budget for this car trip. I chose the least costly station available.

Now I had the sufficient items necessary: a cup of cappuccino coffee, two water bottles, two bananas, and a full tank of gas. Now all I needed to do was complete the journey.

It was almost 6:00 in the night. The sun had fundamentally died, passing the far horizon. The curve of the moon swung around the opposite side he was driving, replacing the blazing star. Stars twinkled around it, and the only other lights were the cars, passing the long desolate highway.