by Ann B. Ross
I’d never seen anything like it, and it got worse, for in a mile or so, the four westbound lanes tapered down to two, and it was like watching a herd of cows trying to push through a narrow gate. A few drivers just gave up and pulled to the side of the road. Others gave and received a few dents, but, given the heat of the day and the anxiety engendered by Marty, most drivers were being patient and considerate.
And what’s more, everybody and his brother must’ve been trying to use their cell phones. The lines or the satellites or whatever cell phones run on were completely jammed. We couldn’t check on Binkie and Coleman, much less reach Hazel Marie and Mr. Pickens.
Lloyd said, “The road will clear out in a few minutes, won’t it, Mr. Sam? I mean, some will turn off onto I-95, won’t they?”
“I expect so—those heading north, anyway. I doubt many will be going south. They’d likely run right into the storm if it hits between Charleston and Savannah.”
We finally passed under I-95, the main north-south artery, and from what we could see, it was as packed full as the one we were on. And still, we crept along a few feet at a time, then stopping for no discernible reason to wait various lengths of time before creeping along another few feet.
And to make it worse, there sat the two eastbound lanes—right across the median from us—as empty as a swath of prairie. Even worse than that, our tortuous progress was made more acute by the occasional highway patrol car streaking past on it, lights and sirens going full blast.
“Why in the world,” Sam asked, “don’t they open those two lanes for westbound traffic? Nobody will be driving toward Charleston today.”
“I was just wondering the same thing,” I said. “It would certainly relieve the congestion.”
“Well,” Sam sighed, braking to a stop, “speaking of congestion. Looks like we’ll be sitting for awhile.” He waved to the driver of the car next to us, then leaned forward to stare ahead. “Looks like a bunch of patrol cars pulled to the side up yonder. May’ve been an accident.”
I leaned up to try to see. “In our lane, you think?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’ll be on this side of the highway, that’s for sure. Look, an ambulance just pulled in.”
“Oh, me, that’s not good news,” I said.
“Yeah,” Lloyd said, “because now we’ll probably have to wait for a wrecker to clear the highway.”
“Right, so we’re stuck for awhile. Tell you what,” Sam said, turning off the ignition, “let’s save a little gas. Everybody roll down the windows.”
Well, they Lord, the heat rolled into the car like a living thing, heavy, sultry, and suffocating. But we weren’t the only ones suffering heat exhaustion—all the drivers were turning off their motors as we sat waiting in the middle of a low-country interstate, the heat waves visibly rising from concrete and hot hoods. The most pressing concern now seemed to be the possibility of running out of gas. No one wanted to have to pull out of line, and even if they did, there were no gas stations in sight. Hardly any signs of life anywhere, if you want to know the truth—just pine trees, barbed-wire fences, and black-water marshes on both sides.
Two young men walked from their cars to the grassy verge and began throwing a baseball back and forth. Mothers were out, walking children, hoping, I assumed, to tire them out enough to make a nap possible. And young people were zipping back and forth around and between cars on skateboards, making Lloyd bemoan the fact that he’d not brought his.
“That’s all right, Lloyd,” Latisha said. “I couldn’t keep up with you if you’d brought it.”
Lloyd opened his door. “I think I’ll run back a little ways and see if Coleman’s close to us.”
“I’ll go with you,” Latisha said, tumbling out beside him.
“Don’t go far,” I said, unsure if wandering off along the side of the road was a good idea. “They may clear the road and we’ll have to move.” Then, softly to Sam, “Will they be all right?”
He nodded. “We aren’t going anywhere anytime soon.” And to Lloyd, he said, “Ten minutes, no longer.”
That was a long ten minutes, and I fidgeted the whole length of it, not liking at all the thought of two children running along a major highway in hopes of seeing a familiar face.
“Sam,” I said, fanning my face with a catalogue, “I hate to even bring this up, but I may soon have to use the bathroom.”
Sam grinned. “Honey, you have two choices—keep waiting or walk out to the bushes. I’ll go with you.”
I looked at the row upon row of pine trees, separated from my open door by a grassy ditch, and took note that whoever had planted them had kept the undergrowth under control. Bushes were few and far between, and none large enough to shield a squat.
By then, many more drivers and passengers were wandering up and down the highway, pausing to chat awhile with each other, and seeming to take the stopover well in stride. Making the best of it, which was commendable in this situation, even if it was the only thing they could do.
I, on the other hand, had had enough of it. “Why don’t the cars in the other lane cut across the median and drive west on the east lane? If that car next to us would do that, you could follow right along behind him.”
“Honey, there’re half a dozen highway patrol cars up ahead blocking the east lane. We wouldn’t get far and we’d lose our place here.”
“So I guess we’re just going to sit here forever,” I said, then half smiled for sounding so much like Latisha.
Before he could answer, Lloyd and Latisha, panting and sweating, tumbled into the backseat.
“We found ’em,” Lloyd said, wiping his face with his shirttail.
“Yeah,” Latisha said, “an’ I went to the bathroom in the woods. Binkie went with me to watch for snakes.”
“Snakes?” I said.
“An’ ants. Binkie said to watch out for anthills. You don’t want them things to get on you.”
Oh, my, something else to worry about, because fairly soon I was going to have to do something about my increasing discomfort.
Lloyd swung his feet out of the car. “I’m going to run up ahead and see if I can find out what’s holding us up.”
“Me, too,” Latisha said, following him.
“Don’t go far,” I said, but they paid me little mind. Everybody else was out of their cars, milling around, trying to pass the time and get their minds off the heat.
“Sam,” I said, “I can’t wait any longer. But, I declare, I can’t just go right out in full public view.”
“Hold on. I’ve got an idea.” He got out of the car, went to the trunk, and came to my side of the car. Then he shook out a blanket and held it up. “Slide right down beside the car. Between the blanket and the door, you’ll have all the privacy you need.”
Bless his heart, it was a perfect solution until right in the middle of relieving myself, a khaki-colored bus filled with criminals from Charleston jails rolled past on the clear opposite lane, yells and whistles and catcalls filling the air because I may have been covered on all sides, but not from the top.
Mortified, I crawled back into the car and scrooched down out of sight. But others were in the same painful situation, because two men walked over to Sam and asked to use his blanket for their suffering wives.
One of them said, “We’ll watch for any passing buses. But it’s a dang shame they get them prisoners out while we’re stuck out here stifling to death.”
I was thinking the very same thing.
Chapter 25
“I wish they’d come on back,” I said, briefly reveling in my private relief even though I’d had to give a public performance to get it. “They don’t need to be running up and down the highway.”
“Better than sweltering in here,” Sam said, wiping sweat from his face. “When they get back, I’ll turn the motor on for a few minutes and let the car cool off.” He grinn
ed. “Maybe they’ll take a nap.”
I leaned forward and finally spied Lloyd and Latisha on their way back to the car. They were walking—well, more like dragging—along the verge toward us. Completely sapped, I thought, and about time.
“Here they come,” I said. “Go ahead and turn on the air-conditioning, Sam. They’re worn out.”
When the engine started, so did the radio, and Sam and I listened as a worried announcer told us that Marty had gained in strength after leaving heavy rains and mudslides in Puerto Rico. While tracking past the coast of Florida, the hurricane had left havoc in its wake, and was headed now for Georgia and South Carolina. The governors of both had declared states of emergency.
Still, we sweltered under lowering clouds without a drop of rain or a gust of wind. Who would’ve thought that such a raging storm was headed our way while we could do nothing but wait?
“Turn it off, please, Sam,” I said. “No need for the children to hear that, especially since we’re pretty much sitting ducks.”
As the two children climbed into the car, we closed the doors and rolled up the windows. I’d never been so grateful for the cool air rushing from the vents and commenced fanning my tunic top to make the most of it.
“Man!” Lloyd said. “I’ve never been so hot in my life. You ought to see what’s ahead, Mr. Sam. A huge wreck—about four or five cars. Somebody said that one of them was trying to pass and the others wouldn’t let him. Anyway, it’s gonna be awhile before they clear it out.”
“Tell about the fight,” Latisha urged.
I turned to look at them. “What fight?”
“Oh,” Lloyd said, “it wasn’t much—two men flailing at each other. The cops broke it up, but tempers were really flaring. Miss Julia, you should’ve seen this—on our way back, somebody cracked an egg on the hood of his Lexus. And it cooked! He had a mess on his car, though, because it stuck when he tried to flip it.”
“I wouldn’t eat that thing on a bet,” Latisha said, shuddering. “He shoulda used some grease.”
As I murmured, “My goodness,” Latisha went on. “I sure am gettin’ hungry though.”
“Me, too,” Lloyd said, as he began rummaging through the bags in the footwell. “We brought some snacks, didn’t we?”
Well, yes, we did, thanks to Binkie, so Lloyd pulled out a jar of Jiffy peanut butter, a bag of Doritos, and two slightly overripe bananas.
“I suggest,” Sam said, “that you eat the bananas and leave the rest.”
“We’ll share ’em,” Lloyd said, and, carefully halving the bananas, passed our shares up to us. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was, but it was closing in on two o’clock in the afternoon and it had been a long time since our skimpy breakfast.
“I’m still starvin’,” Latisha said after consuming her banana half. “Open up that peanut butter, Lloyd, and pass them Doritos.”
They began dipping and crunching, and after a few minutes Sam and I joined them, although we both knew it wasn’t a good idea.
After Latisha and Lloyd cleaned the peanut butter jar with their fingers, Latisha swallowed hard a couple of times and said, “I think my tongue’s stuck. I sure could use something to drink.”
So could we all. Why hadn’t I thought to bring bottles of water or cans of soda or anything wet? It would’ve been hot by this time but still drinkable, and, I declare, my throat was so coated with peanut butter, I could barely swallow.
“Hey, look!” Lloyd yelled as he opened his door and hopped out. “Come on, Mr. Sam!”
Sam was right behind him. They took off dodging between parked cars and careening across the median, joining a swarm of others who were leaping from cars and converging on a rusty pickup coming west on the clear eastbound lane.
“What is it?” I asked, craning my neck to see what the attraction was.
“Water!” Latisha yelled. She was looking out the side window at the scramble of thirsty people headed for the pickup. “I mean I think it is. Look, Miss Lady, they got that truck bed loaded down with crates full of bottles. And they just handin’ ’em out. First come, first served.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said. “Good Samaritans to the rescue. How thoughtful. I hope they don’t run out before Sam gets some.”
“Me, too,” Latisha said. “My mouth is all cloggled up with that peanut butter.”
Mine was “cloggled up,” as well, and I would’ve given a pretty penny for a long, cold drink of water.
“Here they come,” Latisha said, “an’, hot dog, they got some.”
She opened the door for Lloyd, who tumbled in, his arms full of bottles. Sam, laden with more bottles, got into the front seat and handed me a sweaty one.
I quickly uncapped it and took a long drink. It wasn’t very cold, but it was wet, and I’m not sure I’d ever had anything for which I was more thankful.
For a few minutes, nothing was heard in the car but gurgles and sighs as the four of us assuaged our thirst.
Finally coming up for air, I asked, “Who were those kind, thoughtful people who knew how thirsty we were?”
Sam laughed. “I don’t know. They probably live around here somewhere and realized an opportunity to make some money.”
“You mean they were selling it?”
“Yep,” Sam said, “but you have to give them credit—they saw a need and met it. It’s called entrepreneurship, and, I’ll tell you this, this water is worth every penny I paid for it.”
Lloyd said, “They made out like bandits—ten dollars a bottle.”
“Well,” I said, going over numbers in my head, “that’s probably not too bad. They had to buy it themselves, load up the crates, and use their truck to drive here. That’s called overhead,” I said, giving Sam a nudge with my elbow. “And,” I went on firmly, “I was so thirsty, I would’ve paid twice that for one long drink.”
“Yes’m, me, too,” Lloyd said, “and it sure beats lemonade stands for making a little money. Wish I’d thought of it before we left the beach.”
“Oh, look,” Latisha said, pointing out the front window. “Here come the fuzz.”
And, sure enough, a gray South Carolina State Patrol car with its distinctive blue stripe came speeding down the clear lane, lights flashing and siren wailing. It pulled up sideways in front of the pickup. The patrolman got out, looked up at the men handing out bottles of water from the truck bed, and, with hands on his hips, began talking with some authority. From his gestures, we could see that he was telling them to turn around and get off the highway. But the officer hadn’t counted on the dozens of irate people crowding around, waiting to get their hands on something wet.
In light of the dire circumstances of long-stalled drivers, the trooper gave up. Clamping his broad-brimmed hat on his head, he climbed up onto the truck bed, and began handing down bottles to the scrambling crowd of outstretched arms. The quicker he could empty the truck, the quicker he could get it off the highway. Smart.
“Hope you’ve all cooled down,” Sam said, switching off the ignition. “Better save gas.”
But as soon as he did, the line of cars in front of us started easing forward and he turned it back on. “We’re moving, folks. Let’s see how far we get this time.”
All along the two rows of cars in the westbound lanes, engines cranked, brake lights flashed, and slowly we began to creep along. We were moving at last.
“I hope Coleman got some water,” I said. “Little Gracie surely needs it. Sam, did you see him at the truck?”
“No, I didn’t. Try the cell phone again.”
I did, but still no luck with that.
Then Lloyd said, “We’re not going very fast. Why don’t I jump out and take some bottles to them? We’ve still got a few extras.”
But Sam vetoed that. “Since we’re moving now, we might lose you, Lloyd. If we have to stop again, you can try it. But for now, we’re go
ing all of twenty in a seventy-mile-an-hour zone.”
“We’re just a-zoomin’ along,” Latisha said.
“It feels like it, doesn’t it?” I said, as we all laughed. And after being stuck in ninety-five-degree heat on a concrete highway for hours, it did feel as if we were zooming right along.
—
After hours of stop-and-go travel, we neared Columbia, having bypassed a few small towns, and Sam said, “I’m going to have to take a chance and come off. We’ve got less than half a tank of gas, so if we get stuck again we could be in trouble.”
“I hate to get out of line, Sam,” I said, worriedly. “We might never get back in.”
“I know, but surely a lot of people will be pulling off. We’re far enough from the coast that the hurricane won’t be a problem. Besides, if we can’t get back in line, we’ll just find a hotel and spend the night.”
Easier said than done, as had been several other things during that interminable day. We ended up waiting in line at a gas station, because others had had the same idea as Sam, but we were lucky. Sam’s big car required high-test gas, and that pump was the only one left with gas in it.
While Sam filled the tank, Latisha, Lloyd, and I roamed the aisles of the service station, stocking up on edibles and drinkables. We piled up plastic-wrapped sandwiches, apples, a few candy bars, and bottled water on the counter, determined not to ever go hungry or thirsty again.
When Sam got back in the car—after all of us had waited in line for the bathrooms—he said, “Well, we’ll have to try our luck with the traffic. They told me inside that there’re no hotel rooms available anywhere in the city. Charleston has moved to Columbia.”
“Wait, wait,” Latisha said. “I need me some chewing gum. Can I run back in and get some?”
Sam opened his door. “Come on, Latisha. I’ll go with you.”
As Lloyd and I watched them hurry back into the service station, I said, “Bless her little heart. She’s been a good traveler, hasn’t she? No complaints and no whining when we’ve all had plenty to complain and whine about. I hope Lillian’s not worried about her, but with cell phones out of commission, I can’t let her know anything.”
