Gene
Gene helps stranded motorists.
My name is Suella Elliott. I’m a diagnosed insomniac and my doctor has given me a prescription to help me sleep. To further assist in my goal of falling asleep, I sometimes listen to internet podcasts about things that are strange, unusual, or even supernatural. The narrators of many such stories insist that they are true. I never had an opinion as to whether they were true or not: To me they were just an interesting tool that I was using to help me enter into the realm of Morpheus, so to speak.
For the first time in my not quite 30 years, I have had my own “run in” with the supernatural. Nowadays I’m willing to consider the possibility that some of those far-fetched internet tales may be true. I’ll never know for sure, of course, but I now know for a fact that you can encounter the “supernatural” without even trying. Here then, is my tale. Please excuse its brevity, as I am not much of a storyteller.
I work for a non-profit in Mournstead, the Rhone County seat. I was born in Mournstead, and I’ve never left the area except for a few years when I went to college in Mackenson County. I live in the town of Mournstead and I work, officially, for the Rhone County Sheriff’s Office. I’ve worked directly for the sheriff for two years, though I’m not a law enforcement officer.
I work for an organization called the Rhone County Sheriff’s Ranch. Officially, my title is Travel Coordinator. The title makes the job sound more important than it is. My job description would be, roughly, “children’s chauffeur and delivery person.” I take minor children to and from their appointments with various doctors, and I deliver their medicine to them. I also deliver whatever else that I’m directed to deliver. I might be delivering textbooks, school supplies, clothing, or even groceries. Sometimes I am required to meet with the students’ families for various kinds of consultations. It’s basically a “Point A” to “Point B” operation with a touch of PTA thrown in for good measure.
The Sheriff’s Ranch consists of a group home for troubled and abandoned youth, and then some individual families that take care of kids in something like a “foster home” program. I work with both branches, but mainly with the group home. You can probably guess that the work is not all that challenging. Still, I enjoy it because it involves a bit of traveling. Occasionally I also get to travel out of the county and work with other Ranches.
In November of 2010 the Ranch in Lannus County was short-staffed. They were looking to hire some more people, and the one Travel Coordinator that was there had taken some time off for the Thanksgiving holidays. Our sheriff called me directly one day to ask if I would mind taking over the Lannus County position for four weeks. I didn’t have a problem with it and volunteered immediately. I enjoyed working at other places when the opportunity arose.
I reported to the Lannus County Sheriff’s Department a couple of days later. The Ranch Coordinator explained my duties, which were exactly the same as what I was accustomed to in Rhone County, and I went to work. My time at the Lannus County Sheriff’s Ranch was uneventful, and the four weeks went by quickly.
A few days before I was scheduled to return to Mournstead, the ranch and sheriff’s office held their yearly Thanksgiving party. I had known about the event in advance, so I brought my favorite long, royal blue dress. It had a short V-neck and was ideal to wear with a simple necklace of pearls. I also had a pair of royal blue ankle strap heels that I had received the previous Christmas. Since it was cold outside I wore a fur coat which was a little longer than waist length and very fake, but it was also royal blue in color. I liked the attire, as it matched very well.
After too much turkey, ham, dressing, and strawberry cake, I returned to my quarters. My duties were officially over, but I wasn’t due to return home for another week. I decided to hang around for a few days, so that’s what I did.
I stayed in Goldleaf (Lannus County seat) until Sunday, and went to a service at the local Baptist church that same night. After the service I went to a local drive through and ordered a cheeseburger and fries. I then drove to the ranch, where I was billeted, went my room, and packed. I didn’t have anything to do the next day, so I laid down and took a long nap.
I woke up several hours later, and then got up and put on my “uniform” of black nursing scrubs (I’m an LVN; all nurses wear scrubs, by order of the sheriff) and super comfortable slip on shoes. The shoes were a pleasure to wear, whether you were walking the halls of a nursing home or driving a car. That being said, I usually kicked them off my feet when I was driving.
I put my bag in the trunk and got into the car. I cranked it up and sat there for a little while waiting for the heater and defroster to get warm. My car actually has a feature that lets me start the engine (and therefore the heater/defroster) from inside a building, but I usually forget to use it. When the heat was suitable, I backed out of the parking spot and made my way toward Highway 73 North.
Honestly, I don’t remember exactly what time it was when I left Goldleaf. I don’t remember much about driving through Lannus County. I don’t even remember when I got up from my nap that night (or early morning). What I do remember is that it was dark and it was very, very, foggy. It was so foggy that it was making a mist. I frequently had to use the wipers to clean the windshield. If the mist wasn’t caused by the fog (which I do think it was), it was definitely misting rain. Either way, I was running my wipers on account of a mist and poor visibility.
I made it to Highway 73 and traveled, slowly, north. I then stopped at a local gas station, got some coffee, and filled my tank. I hooked my phone up to the car’s USB charging port and headed out again. There was minimal traffic. As I continued driving there was no traffic at all.
I had planned my route so that I could avoid high traffic areas, especially around Clarkston. The speed limit was 75 miles per hour, but the poor visibility meant that I would have to go much slower. I set my cruise control to 55, plugged an MP3 player into my car’s sound system, and settled in for the ride.
The dreary weather and limited visibility was such that I was required to pay very close attention to the highway. Because I was watching the road and not paying attention to my GPS, I suddenly realized I was lost. Moreover, I couldn’t get any service on my phone, and the map application had lost its connection.
Sighing, I began to watch for road signs. I had intended to take the left at the small town of Oakwish, and then get onto Farming Way Road 7. From there I planned on going all the way west to CR 69, and then going north to Highway 80. Once on Highway 80, I was practically home. In short, if I had stayed on my route, I would have avoided all of the Clarkston traffic and I would have made it home faster. I guess I was fortunate in that I was probably still going to avoid Clarkston, but that didn’t change the fact that I was lost.
At this point, two things happened to me. First, thankfully, my headlights illuminated a road sign. It told me that the community of April Fields was five miles ahead. That was okay and doable; I had seen it on the map, earlier in the evening. At this point, I was pretty sure that I was heading toward CR 69.
Second, not so thankfully because misfortune seems to surround me everywhere I go, I heard a “whoosh.” The right front tire on my car began to frantically flap around, as it lost its air pressure and tried to tear itself away from the rim. Just what I needed: A blowout. With no phone. I didn’t even know if I had a spare tire, for that matter.
I pulled the car to the side of the road and put it in PARK. I turned my hazard lights on as I realized that I was probably going to be there for a long time. Hopefully my flashing lights would be visible enough to passersby: I did not want to cause an accident.
Groaning instead of sighing, I felt around between my feet and found my shoes, which I slipped into. I popped open the trunk, opened the door, and got out. I didn’t have a flashlight, so I figured I’d use the light on my phone. I took a look at the tire first. It was definitely destroyed, but the wheel itself looked okay to me. I then went back to my trunk and looked inside.
I moved my travel bag from the trunk to my backseat, and then I started the process of removing the spare and the jack. Then I heard motor noise, fairly loud, off in the distance. In a few minutes the noise was accompanied by dim light. It glistened, barely, as it cut its way through the fog. In a few more minutes the noise revealed itself to be an old Ford pickup. The driver cut the engine off, got out, and closed the door behind him.
“Hello?” The man’s voice was low, pleasant.
“Hello,” I said, cautiously.
“I see you’ve got the jack out already. Bad time of the morning to have a flat, isn’t it?” The man spoke. “Let’s have a look. Oh yeah, it’s shredded, isn’t it? Completely blown out. We’ll get this changed and have you on your way.”
“Thank you! By the way, I’m Suella.”
“Suella? I’m Gene. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Gene.”
I attempted to help him remove the spare from my car, but he more or less did everything himself. He changed the tire expertly, as though he had done it all of his life. I did the best I could do by shining my flashlight so that he could see better. It was then that I noticed he was wearing a mechanic’s uniform and a green softball cap. He had dark brown pants on and a tan button up shirt. It had a name tag that read: GENE.
In a few minutes, Gene had changed my tire and put the old one in my trunk. He pointed west, saying, “April Fields is right down the road. They have a service station where you can get fairly cheap tires. Don’t forget to ask them to look at your spare tire. It will need replacing.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “How much do I owe you?”
“You don’t owe me a thing. You’d better head out. The road isn’t safe. I’ll be right behind you.”
“Thanks again!” I got back into my car and turned the heater up. It was getting cold.
I got to April Fields not long after my meeting with Gene, and it wasn’t long before they opened up the shop. I spoke with a man named Wesley, and asked him about a set of tires. I told him about my misfortune and how I had been stranded on the road. I had been lucky, because Gene happened along and rescued me.
Wesley had an odd look on his face, but he nodded, evidently listening closely to what I was saying. “Gene recommended this place more or less by name,” I said. “Does he work here? Or nearby?”
Wesley smiled. “No ma’am,” he said. “Every once in a while, I’ll have someone stop in to tell me that Gene helped them on the side of the road. He’s always wearing his cap and his brown uniform with the name tag. He’s still driving that ‘69 Ford pickup.”
“That’s him.”
“The problem with that,” said Wesley, “is that Gene died in an accident seven years ago when he was trying to change someone’s tire on the side of the road. He’s buried right here in town. He’s gone, but I guess he doesn’t know it, because he still tries to help people when he can.”
The End.
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