Lost and Found by Dawn Aubrey

Lost and Found by Dawn Aubrey

A fucked-up childhood is a gift that lasts a lifetime. My parents and their pals taught me the importance of hiding during adult fun time—drunken brawls and groping hands. They also tried to teach me to hate anyone different. To them, different meant anyone who wasn’t white: Asian, Native American, Black, Latino. As I grew up and went out into the world, I learned their garbage was dead wrong. But the stain from the abuse and hate never completely rubbed out: my fragile, sardonic heart unable to let go.

So, I was afraid as I watched the big black man advance along the lonely back road while I rushed to wrestle the bald spare from my trunk—eager to have the tire on and be gone. Gone. It was late August in Redding California, and heatwaves slow danced with the stranger as he continued along the asphalt, headed my way. Pretending not to, I watched his advance as I hurried.

My 1966 Oldsmobile Vista Cruiser was a wreck I bought a year previous for a hundred bucks and a bag of shitty weed. Though an old tank, it still had giddy-up. It even had its original jack—a black metal contraption that pieced together and sat atop a long, slender pole. I threw the jack together and started pumping up the car before realizing I hadn’t loosened the nuts. Cussing expansively, I lowered the car and shimmied off the handle. I rammed it over the first nut and bore down. It didn’t budge. I put my weight behind it and tried again. Nothing.

“Damn.” Sweat trickled down my face and my hands trembled as I tried another nut. It gave. The next one was loose and twirled off easily, where it fumbled through my fingers and bounced off the pavement, rolling away. I dropped to my knees, pressed my face and bare legs to the hot pavement, and scanning spied it where it had rolled under the car. Out of reach.

I hurried around the car, snatched it up, and shot a side glance at the man as I rose. He was covering ground fast. Odd. I hadn’t passed him—impossible to miss on this empty road. Maybe I just hadn’t noticed him. I grimaced at my own lie and swiped sweat from my eyes.

My heart quickened—no chance to get the spare on and my butt down the road before he reached me. None.

I swore profusely as I swung my car door open. Heat from the cab washed over me with the stench of mushrooms, mold and hot Naugahyde making me feel faint as I rifled through my purse for my cell. No bars, no reception. I hit the phone icon, anyway, hoping for a miracle. Nothing. What the hell? Reception should be good here. For the first time, I wondered precisely where here was. I’d left the bustling business district of Redding when I turned onto this road, looking for a short-cut home. Tossing my phone back in my purse, my mouth as dry as the dirt along the roadside, I stood and faced him. Chest out, shoulders back, jaw tilted up.

I could see him clearly now. He wore mirrored sunglasses, and his face was like a weather-worn stone, smooth and hard. Maybe he’ll just keep going, I hoped, the fear nagging at me.

Why the hell couldn’t I have pants and running shoes on? The day’s heat beat against me mocking the thought as I stood there 5’10”, 140 pounds wearing a summer dress and sandals.

A sheen of sweat beaded across his brow. His stride was wide and casual, arms swinging freely at his sides, pace steady. I willed him to pass by and waited and watched. Once he was gone, and my fear with him, I’d be able to think, get the spare on, get home – late, but alive.

Now almost to me, his pace remained steady, and my shoulders relaxed. That’s it. Just keep going.

Then he slowed and stopped and crossed the road.

My heart raced harder as I moved out into the lane, ready to fight, or run.

“Looks like you’ve got a problem,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, as he turned toward my car and the flat, bent and lifted the crowbar from the ground.

Fuck! Now he has a weapon.

“Ah, I can do that,” I said, struggling to keep my voice calm and steely. “I was just taking a break. No need to hold you up.”

He moved to the flat and squatted down. “Don’t want to mess up that pretty dress. I’m happy to help.”

Experience told me help usually came with expectations. “That’s kind of you, but, like I said, I can do it myself.” I stepped forward to show I meant business. “Seriously, I’ll take it from here.”

He rose abruptly and moved toward me. I gasped and stumbled back, almost tripping over my own feet. Heat washed over my face, and I started to tremble again.

He strolled past me, grabbed the spare and returned to the car, squatted, pulled the flat free, slid it to the side, and replaced it with the spare in one fluid motion.

“No problem. I’m almost done.”

From where I stood, I could see his profile and the slight smile that turned his mouth up, showing a flash of teeth, white and, white and – what?

My fear welled up, and I clenched my hands into fists and forced my breath to slow. Great, now you’re fucking seeing things. Get a grip.

Then it hit me, and the brain tickle that started when I turned onto this road extended its claws. It was too quiet – too empty. There was nothing but the long road – no houses, crops, shops, no dogs barking, birds flying. Nothing. It was always busy in this part of town at this time of day, and I’d never seen undeveloped land here before. For that matter, I’d never noticed this road before today. Despite the heat, gooseflesh prickled down my arms and the back of my neck, the taste of copper sharp in my dry mouth. I’d turned onto the road several miles back, enough miles to wonder if I should turn around. Come to think of it, I had seen no roads leading off this one either – dirt, graveled, or paved.

I wanted to run, but there was no place to go. No one to help.

“That does it,” he said, standing and brushing dirt from his pants. “You should get new tires. These are bald, spare included.”

Yep, I thought, takes money.

He tossed the flat and jack in the trunk and closed it. He stood, head down, eyes closed with his hands together in front of him, as if in prayer or meditation.

And my fear started to ebb, like a dream, like a thirst quenched – fading.

“Tha-thanks.” I tried to say more, offer a ride, money, my eternal gratitude (thank you for helping me, thank you for not hurting me, thank you), but no words came out. Let him go, still not safe I thought as fear and shame from the stubborn stain of a crippled childhood welled up in me again.

The sun shone on his face as he lifted his head and removed his sunglasses. I looked into his golden, marbled eyes, eyes that burned with an inner fire, an all-consuming fire that tugged at me, drawing me in, pulling me down, wrapping me in warmth, ease.

“I heard your cry for help and came. Decided to change your tire while I was here.”

“My cry for help?”

The sun glinted off his teeth as a curl of a smile crossed his lips. I hadn’t imagined it; his teeth were pearlized. The sun shone brightly on his gentle face. His skin was dark, not black, blue, the deepest blue I’d ever seen. It had a subtle iridescent sheen in the late afternoon sun. He was so beautiful and so alien, and I felt his goodness flow over me. Joy welled up in my chest as a tear trickled down my cheek.

“Yes. It was as loud as your need was great. It’s fixed now too.”

He turned away and started down the road again, away from my Vista Cruiser and me.

I stood there, stunned but free of the fear that had been my lifetime companion, as he moved without a hitch or hiccup, doing a slow dance with the heatwaves as before. He grew distant, and I watched, unable to pull my eyes from the stranger who had turned out to be stranger than usual. He faded to a silver shimmer and vanished. I stood on my tiptoes, straining to see better. There was nothing, no one there. Must be a dip in the road, I reasoned, a trick of distance and heat: a mirage.

I jumped in my car and pulled from the curb, glad to be moving again, glad to feel the breeze blowing my hair back, cooling the sweat from my face. I was sure I’d see him soon—but as I drove, I found no dip, no stranger. He’s just moving fast, that’s all. He’ll appear any second. But he didn’t, not there or further on.

Then I noticed something else strange. All around me the drab landscape was fading, like paint too long in the sun. As color slowly drained from the world, it shimmered and grew transparent.

I stepped on the gas. My Cruiser roared down the road, the needle crawling toward 90, bare tires holding. “Get me outta here, old girl,” I said, gripping the wheel harder. As the world around me disappeared, I saw a street ahead, and cars. Cars! The road grew closer while all around me the world shifted from washed-out, thin nothingness to the faintest image of things unknown. The ghost of towers and crystal spires reached into a purple sky, and a many-winged creature glided overhead, casting a glittering mist of buttercup yellow in its wake.

Startled, I swerved off the road, then back on. I milked the brakes and took the turn, my poor bald tires squealing. They kept purchase on the hot pavement, and I promised myself I’d save for new ones if I lived. Then, as my car fishtailed onto the street, the world snapped back into place. A car swerved around me, close, horn blaring, and a forearm extended a middle finger out the open window. I grinned, kissed the steering wheel, and blew another at the angry driver ahead of me—back in the world, my world!

As I drove home, I felt beat, but no longer broken; the world seemed new. The warm wind blew through my open windows, carrying with it the sweet scent of summer flowers. Trees stood in crisp relief against the deep blue sky, their leaves engaged in a million little dances with the breeze. The friendly faces of people walking along the sidewalks greeted me, seeming to say, hello, how are you? We’re just fine. A piece of litter scuttled along the street, frolicking in a game of catch-me-if-you-can as it skipped and fluttered wildly in front of my car. The cloud of darkness was gone, and I was no longer afraid, ashamed, alone.

As I drove along the lane that swelled with life and wonder, I stuck my head out the window and let loose with a jubilant yowl, “Woo-who, yippee-doodle,” unable to contain the joy that flooded my heart.

* * * THE END * * * *
Copyright Dawn Aubrey 2024