Abigail’s breathe hung in the air as she made her way to parking lot C. She let out an audible sigh when she saw her 1945 Chevy pickup, she whispered, “I missed you old friend, I’ve been gone too long”. She tossed her well worn suitcase into the bed of the pickup and climbed inside.
“I know it’s cold”, she said, while patting the dashboard softly with her left hand. But it’s time to go home”. She turned the key with her right hand as she continued to pat the dashboard like a sweet new puppy. The cold engine sputtered and stopped. “Come on, you can do it”, Abigail said. Another turn of the key and the engine sputtered and then roared, awake like a bear after hibernation, the engine roared as it began to idle. The radio played a familiar tune as she waited for the heat to fill the cab.
As she backed out of parking lot C she noticed it had begun to snow. She adjusted her windshield wipers and began her journey home. A crescent moon added sparkle to the snow as it fell. Soon it began to gather on her windshield, and her windshield wipers were struggling to provide a clear view.
She took the next exit and drove the tree-lined road just past mile marker 61. “Just a little while longer and you’ll be tucked comfortably in your garage at home”, Abigail whispered. The snow was coming down thicker and faster now and the headlights bounced light off the snow providing no true visual of the road ahead.
The nearby lake was causing a heavy fog and the snow was freezing quickly on the road. The truck tires slipped over and over until she began to spin. “Please get me home safely”, she said out loud. Unable to gain traction on the icy road the pickup started to spin out of control, wham, the truck came to a quick stop and Abigail bumped her head on the wood steering wheel. As she slumped down in her seat, her eyes closed.
The roar of a passing snowplow woke Abigail from her unconscious sleep. She sat up straight adjusting her seatbelt and looking at the goose egg on her forehead in the rearview mirror. Then she realized the truck was idling in her driveway. Abigail sat there confused and grateful to be home
Her driveway had been cleared. No doubt by her friend and neighbor John Thomas, affectionately nicknamed JT. The local handyman and hardware store owner. He had been known to clear her driveway on many occasions. But he was nowhere to be seen.
As she exited the truck she was trying to make sense of it all. “How could I be home?”, she muttered to herself. She looked at the front of the truck and saw a small dent and a broken headlight, proof she had hit something. She continued her walk up the long driveway still in a stupor.
As she put her key into the lock and smiled at the carved wood sign on the door that reads “Home Sweet Home” she was happy to be home. She opened the door to find the fireplace aglow, and the smell of homemade soup welcoming her home. A voice from the kitchen shouted, “hi Abs, welcome home, how was your drive?”
Abigail replied softly, “ummm okay”. Still feeling very confused she removed her coat and hung it on the coat rack. A glimpse of white caught her eye, she turned and watched as a white feather slowly floated to the hardwood floor.
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