by William Bebb
*****
The convenience store’s parking lot was deserted except for an old green station wagon that was parked by a rusty trash dumpster. A sign on the store's roof had three foot tall red letters that spelled out COLD DRINKS. There was a large, slightly dented, rusty, ice machine out front with its door hanging open. Taped just above it was a handwritten sign that had the words OUT of order on it. The road north was deserted as far as the eye could see.
An almost foot long Whiptail lizard was lazily sunning itself on the pavement, which was partially covered in dust and sand. It had been resting in the center of the road for over an hour and was undisturbed by any traffic in all that time. It felt a slight vibration and lazily looked down the road.
From the south two dots gradually grew in size, as the mid-afternoon sun grilled the surrounding sandy landscape.
The lizard scampered into a ditch that ran along the road after watching the dots slowly grow larger.
Two sweaty young men pedaled their ten speed bicycles into the parking lot and leaned them next to a bench that was in front of the store's big glass window. On the back on the bench there was a faded painted advertisement for an attorney in Albuquerque named Saul but the last name was impossible to read.
It was the only open store the two men had seen since they left Albuquerque and that was twenty five miles back. They walked stiffly to the front door, passing by an overflowing trashcan that was being orbited by a small swarm of yellow jackets, wasps, and other insects.
A big thermometer shaped like a Saguaro Cactus was mounted next to the door. It indicated the temperature was 104 degrees.
The bell rang over the door and the clerk watched the two young men dressed in nearly identical white long sleeve shirts, thin black ties, black slacks, and wearing backpacks walk in. The store was lit mostly from sunlight that poured through the large glass windows. There were a few missing floor tiles and a light layer of dust and sand made the floor a bit slippery.
They both noticed the signs in English and Spanish threatening prosecution for shoplifting, taped to both the door and under the counter. The building smelled almost as old as it looked, yet they were happy just to be inside away from the broiling heat.
The clerk wore an old faded name tag that suggested her name was Daphne. She turned down the small portable TV set on a shelf and looked up at them as they walked over to the counter.
“Bathroom is behind the cooler, over yonder. Try not to pee on the floor. I hate cleaning up back there,” the lady behind the counter said, while handing over a key that was attached by a metal chain to a rusty hubcap to the older looking man. She thought he looked about twenty five years old.
He took the key and handed it to the younger man who appeared to be barely out of his teens. The younger one looked grateful before quickly walking past the cooler while the older man smiled at her.
“Well, may the Good Lord bless you, young lady. You are truly a caring person and I thank you with all sincerity. My name is Issac Collins and my young friend is Jeremiah Whitfield. We're traveling across the country spreading the Good News of Jesus to any one with the good sense to listen.” He pulled a glossy pamphlet out of his backpack and handed it to her.
She held it with her fingertips suspiciously and set it on the counter before looking back at the man. Daphne resisted saying exactly what she thought about two young fools who would voluntarily ride around the desert on bicycles. Customers had been scarce for quite awhile and she smiled weakly at the sweaty man. “Is there anything I can help you boys with?” She asked, continuing to put on her most convincing fake smile.
“When my friend, Jeremiah, gets back we might do a little shopping. Tell me-,” he squinted at her dirty name tag, “Daphne, do you have a personal relationship with the Lord, young lady?”
She rolled her eyes and exercised all her will power not to spit in the pompous Holy Roller’s smiling face. Young lady he says- she just shook her head thinking, either he needs his eyes checked or he's shoveling it mighty hard for the Lord. She knew all too well that she was forty nine years old and weighed in at probably double the weight of the two Bible thumping creeps put together. Swallowing the spit she'd worked up during his annoying question, with more than a little regret that she didn't baptize him with it, she started to speak. “Listen, whatever your name is, I-,” she began, when he interrupted.
“Issac Collins, ma'am,” he said, with a slight bow.
She waved her hand dismissively and said, “Whatever. You don't have any business in my relationship with the Lord. Whether my relationship is personal, public, professional, or even sexual, ain't none of your damn business.” She saw his face turn bright crimson and smiled before continuing. “If you and your friend want to purchase some crap that's fine, otherwise go hop on those bicycles I saw you two riding a minute ago and peddle your business somewhere else.” She got a strange look on her face for a few seconds, before breaking out laughing as she realized what she'd said.
Issac feared some sort of demonic possession was at work in her, and asked, “Are you alright, ma'am?”
“I said get on your bikes and peddle your business somewhere else. Don't you get it, boy? You guys pedal your bikes, and I didn't even think about that until I said peddle.” She burst out laughing again and beat the dirty counter top next to the cash register with her meaty fist.
The empty take a penny leave a penny cup clattered to the floor and rolled under the beef jerky display as Issac nervously backed up a couple of steps. He looked genuinely bewildered and glanced back to see if Jeremiah was done with the restroom yet. He wasn't sure what was wrong with the lady behind the counter and walked back a couple more paces as she laughed even harder.
She coughed and had trouble catching her breath while laughing uncontrollably.
Her laugh reminded him of the way sea lions barked and he was ashamed to admit that, in the back of his mind, he felt tempted to find a fish to toss at her.
At first Daphne had been laughing at her inadvertent turn of phrase, but as the Bible thumper backed away she found herself laughing at his reaction more than anything else. She started seeing spots and had to turn away from his hilarious looking befuddled face out of fear that she might pass out. She looked at the dead roaches on the floor behind the counter and felt the laughter slowly fade away.
“What's so funny? Jeremiah asked and placed the key on the counter as Daphne slowly stopped laughing.
She looked at the wet, slick backed, short, dark, hair on the teenager and was painfully reminded of all those evangelists who always begged for money on TV. Her mother died only two years earlier and all she left were piles of debt; That, and stacks of thank you letters from a wide variety of churches she'd been supporting without regard to her daughter or herself. She stopped laughing and looked at the newcomer shaking her head. “Absolutely nothing, nothing's funny. Is there anything else I can help you kids with?”
Jeremiah smiled sweetly at her, and asked, “Pardon me, ma'am, but do you have a personal relationship with the Lord?” as Issac tried to shut him up.
The last remnants of her smile were gone by the time he finished the question.
“Come along, Jeremiah, I think we should-,” Issac began but Daphne jumped in and finished the sentence if not precisely how he’d intended.
“Get the fuck out of here!” She yelled while reaching under the counter for something as Issac quickly pulled his confused friend through the exit.
They jumped on their bicycles and began pedaling as Daphne came lumbering through the door, swinging an old somewhat dented aluminum baseball bat. “Ride on, holy rollers! Get your fuck stick asses out of here! And don't come back!” She bellowed as they quickly pedaled side by side down the almost deserted road.
A fast moving, old, long, tan colored, dust covered, Winnebago motor home was taking up both lanes of the road ahead and its engine roared as it came closer. It was driven by a middle-aged man with a goatee that was wearing a black hat. The dri
ver sounded the motor home's horn and Issac and Jeremiah swerved out of the way as a young man in the passenger seat yelled out of his window, “Yo, bitches! Out the way!” The motor home then continued speeding down the remote two lane highway toward the interstate that led to Albuquerque.
The air around the two lane road was filled with dust and exhaust fumes, and both young men turned onto a narrower road and continued quickly riding away from the convenience store.
“What did you say to get her so upset while I was in the bathroom?” Jeremiah asked, a few minutes later, while glancing over his shoulder at the speck of a store in the distance. He also saw a cloud of dust over the road that the motor home was driven down. “Did you call her fat or something?”
“I most certainly did not. Some people are just hard to talk to,” Issac said, slapping dust off his shirt and trying to sound wise to his young friend. “I suspect she had a lot of personal issues with God and when we find some shade I plan on doing some serious praying for her soul and whoever those people were in that motor home that almost ran us over.”
Jeremiah looked around and said, “Hold up. Stop a minute.” He pulled his compass from his shirt pocket and said, “This thing says we're heading west and we're supposed to be going north. I think we made a wrong turn back at that store. Maybe we should go back and try again.”
Both young men looked at the distant store and after a few seconds Issac said, “I think we'll be alright if we keep going this way. Plus, I believe the road is actually going downhill this way so we won't have to pedal quite so hard.”
“Okay by me, but just keep in mind what Brother Derek always says about taking the easy path.”
Issac laughed before quoting his old teacher, “The road to Hell is always downhill.”
Jeremiah called back, “So, that lady back at the gas station swinging the baseball bat, was she the gatekeeper, Charon? And if so, do you think this road were on is called Styx?”
“I think you’re mixing religion with Greek mythology. Styx was the mythological river that Charon the ferry man crossed to escort sinners to Hades. And no, I doubt she was the gatekeeper of Hell,” Issac said, grinning as he actually sort of thought she could do the job.
A minute later, they rode to the edge of a small canyon and looked down the descending two mile long switch backing dirt road. The valley looked isolated and peaceful in a world where everyone was rushing about committing sins and never even pausing to consider God's plan for their lives.
Jeremiah got off his bike, set the kickstand, and walked over to the edge of the road. Looking down at an old small wooden sign that had fallen over years earlier he kicked at the sand and rocks that covered it and was barely able to make out the words Albuquerque Springs Trailer Park, 2 miles. As he looked back into the valley Jeremiah was overcome with an unaccountably queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
There were small patches of trees and plants to the left and right sides of the trailer park. A big house on the far side of the valley and a couple dozen trailers were visible, here and there, yet most of it appeared empty. “Looks like a ghost town. Might not even be anyone down there, you know. And if there's no one there we'll have to push our bikes back up when we leave,” Jeremiah said, kicking a stone and looking hopefully at Issac. “Maybe we should skip it- just pass it by- and go find somewhere more inviting.”
“What the heck are you talking about? I think I can see a couple of people walking around down there,” Issac said, pointing at the distant figures wandering toward some of the trailers. “They're just people and it’s a good bet we could be of spiritual help to some of them. That is our mission, by the way, in case you forgot.”
Jeremiah cleared his throat and looked back the way they'd come. “I can't put it into words. I just have a bad feeling about this place. I know it’s just my imagination, but I really think we should just pass it by.” He walked over and climbed on his bike and looked expectantly at Issac to see what he would say.
Issac also felt something in the pit of his stomach as he looked into the valley but didn't want to admit it. Instead, he turned to Jeremiah and said, “You say we should pass on by and not visit the people down there. Do I need to remind you of the story of Luke Chapter Ten about the Good Samaritan?” He saw Jeremiah sigh and look up at the sky before continuing. “Okay, just let me summarize it for you. There was a man who was hurt and needed help yet a priest who saw him did not take the time to render aid- he passed on by. Also a Levite who worked in the temple saw him in need and passed on by. The hurt man would surely have died had the Samaritan also passed on by but he didn't. He took the man and helped him. You do realize who the Lord was telling people to be like, right?”
Jeremiah looked at his friend and nodded saying, “So, we're a couple of bike riding Samaritans- wandering the highways looking to right wrongs and serve justice? Sort of like a two man A-Team that shares the good news of God?”
Issac smiled and said, “You got that right. And if we're the A-Team I get to be Hannibal you can be-”
“I call Face Man, on account of my incredible good looks,” Jeremiah interrupted and struck a heroic pose.
“Hey, Face Man, let's rest under the shade of that tree and have some lunch. Then we’ll go down and visit with the good people of Albuquerque Springs Trailer Park.”
Jeremiah nodded and tried to assign his nervous feeling regarding the valley to the unpleasantness at the store and the motor home that nearly ran them over. They walked the bikes over to the only nearby tree outside the valley and enjoyed a lunch of ham sandwiches, warm bottled water, and stale potato chips while sitting in the shade.
