Peach Of The Beach : Peach Of The Beach (six) by rhonnie69 |
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Mom began murmuring.
That turned my attention to her. She was looking up again. This time she had raised her head, as high as her neck allow. I vividly heard her whisper... "Thank You, Jesus. Thank You, Jesus." That made me look up too. My whisper echoed her whisper. "Thank You, Jesus. Thank You, Jesus." I guess we could rightly say that... Jesus appeared to us as a hawk we saw in the sky. With it's wings spread wide... it floated on a liberty glide. I believe that I heard it squeak, a high pitched shriek. That clearly sounded like... "You're Welcome." Polly plopped her chubby bottom on the seat of our car and turned the key. When the car wouldn't start she went up front and poked her hand down in the engine for a moment not two. When she turned the key next time the car started. "Seems like she's buzzin' like a hummin' bird now," she said looking up at us with a delicate smuggy-faced smile. "I'm glad. Thank you...tons" I returned. "It just quit on us," Mom added, "steam started coming out of the engine...and then it over heated. Then it just conked out." Polly hopped out and with Doggy Bag tagging at her side she waddled to the front of our car. She was giggling and saying all sorts of hoochie coochie coo coo's to him. I sure was hoping that Doggy Bag understood what she was saying. Mom and I hadn't a clue. Polly looked down at the engine as if she was examining it. Then she reached her hand in. "Started steamin', huh?" she asked. I nodded for yes...said, "uh huh"...and cringed. I would never put my hand down in an engine that was running. Polly didn't seem to sense any danger at all. "Hmmmm," she hummed, "when is the last time you checked your thermostat?" Mom looked at me and I looked at her with a befuddled looking shrug of my shoulders. "Our, WHAT, ostat?" Mom asked. Polly looked at us and chuckled. "You folks be city gals, ain't you"? "We're from San Francisco," Mom replied. "Well my oh my...California gals, huh? Polly here be from Alabama...Bermin hi am." I said, "You mean Birmingham." She said, "That's what I said...Bermin hi am. Ain't never been to San Francisco." "Some day soon we'll invite you to come and visit us there. We'll make sure you enjoy yourself," Mom promised. "Would please Polly a bushel n a peck n a hug 'round the neck. Spend some time funnin' with you folks would be just dandy. Polly done took a likin' to you fine gals. Your puffy red dawg too." "We like you too, Polly," Mom chimed, "You are a very kind and courteous young lady." "We sure do," I agreed, "and you sure are." "Ooooo kee hee hee...Polly much obliged. Thank you kindly." Polly closed the hood's lid and hopped in her truck. "You folks follow me to our garage. Your car will make it that far. Then I guess I'll have to fix it." "You fix cars?" Mom asked. "Heck of a lot better than, Jake," she said, "he ain't ownin' up to it though. He calls me, Tom Boy, 'cause I can do everything better than him. Plus...every time we wrestle I always win." "Jake?" I asked. "My big brother." she returned. "I be callin' him, Teddy...short for teddy bear. He don' t like when I call him that, gits mad at me. That tickles me." We followed Polly down the road. She drove a bit faster than Mom wanted to... but we somehow managed to keep up. If only we had known. About two miles down the road, there was an automobile repair shop. It was a rather small cabin-like garage. We could tell that it was aged because the boards that it was built with were old and dried out. It was a rough looking shanty that was old but had been well kept. The front wall had been recently painted with bright red high-gloss paint. The windows were clean and trimmed in white. Sky-blue curtains in the front windows made it look like a cozy little tuck away. Not to say that anywhere out of the sun would have been cozy right about then. Something frosty to drink would've come right exact. A vast field of scattered trees, bushes, and other shrubbery spread out behind the garage. It was cluttered with disabled cars. Most of them were old and rusty. A few were newer models that looked like they had been totaled in accidents. A white wooden sign hung over the front door of the workshop. It read... JAKE'S AUTO RECYCLES. CA$H FOR YOUR CRASH. Polly's truck kicked up a sizeable cloud of dust as it bounced off the asphalt road and onto the loose dirt of the workshop yard. Mom followed her in, but gingerly. We decided to stay in the car for a minute or so, to let the dust settle a bit. Polly popped out of her truck and walked right through the dust to where we were stopped. "Come come, city pretty, what are ya waitin' for... the sun to finish bakin' your buns? Howz 'bout somethin' cold to drink?" "Thank you, Polly." Mom said. That's an offer we certainly won't turn down," I said.
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