Friday, July 18, 2014

Like Melted Ice In My Veins

It takes quite a bit to spook Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. She does, after all, live with Farmer H.

This morning I had a bit of a fright. A bit of a fright that I have not had since many a year ago, NINE years, in fact, when I was surprised by a garage invader. But this time was in broad daylight, and I kind of brought it upon myself.

I was rushing down the gravel road in T-Hoe, on the way to Save A Lot and my mom's house to tend to her recent facial stitches. Never mind that I took her bandaid off yesterday and coated her with triple antibiotic ointment because she was afraid to touch it, only to have her call an hour later and ask if I thought it would be okay if she scrubbed it with soapy washcloth to see if there was any dried blood that could be removed.

Uh huh. Those octogenarians and their fastidious ways! Let the record show that Mom was a bit embarrassed on the day of her face-slicing, because as she stood at the window awaiting her next appointment, Doctor walked by in the hall behind her with another patient, and said, "Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's Mom, you can shower tomorrow." Which made her feel like people would think she was all dirty, and only takes a bath when the doctor tells her to. Or that she was stinky, and he was chastising her so she would cleanse her Pig-Pen-like self to be presentable to society.

Anyhoo, there I was, jouncing creekside along the gravel, almost to the end of the trail by the mailboxes, when I saw an oncoming vehicle. It should have been no big deal, because the road there is plenty wide for two to pass. I was on my side, and he on his. It was a dark green or blue pickup truck, not new, not old. There is a truck kind of like it that lives up past our Mansion, but I was not sure of the color, and I don't know the guy who drives the local pickup.

That truck stopped. Sat there on its own side of the road, running, brake lights lit up, with the window down. Sometimes, people in these parts do that if they want to talk. To ask a question. So I slowed down my careening to be neighborly, just in case he wanted to warn me about a blockage in the road where I was going, or to ask directions if he was not who I thought he was. I could see a little dog with its front feet on the window ledge.

So...I slowed. Put down my tinted window, ready to make small talk...and that guy just sat there and glared at me. My blood ran cold. He looked like he wanted to slice off my head and shove me down a cistern. Creepiest encounter EVER! I did not stop. Just sped up and went on past. I made sure Creeper saw me looking at him in my side mirror. The one that works. The one that actually contains a mirror. If I had thought more about it, I would have held my phone out the window like I was getting a picture of his license plate. Hindsight is 20/20. Or in Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's case, 20/40.

I still had chills by the time I left the blacktop county road and hit the lettered state highway. I was angry today, my friends. Like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli. My adrenaline was coursing through my thinned blood, making me a bit shaky. Fight or flight, and I flew like a canary.

Part of my uneasiness was because I had left The Pony home to fend for himself. With doors unlocked. I'm going to have to ask Farmer H if he knows if this guy and little doggie live here.

That truck came to a stop right under the sign that says "Private. This road is watched. Trespassers will be prosecuted." Yeah. I didn't make the sign. That one is an update of an older one. Maybe that guy was up to no good, and stopped short before trespassing. He sat there until I turned off the gravel and onto the blacktop. Then I saw his brake lights go off.

Very creepy. He had dead eyes.


Sioux said...

Good grief. You have opened up a whole new can of worms. I am going to be tossing and turning, unable to sleep tonight, tortured by what you shared.

You were blogging back in 2006? That means I am going to have to go back years and years, so as not to miss any of your stimulating posts. I will have to take a month's leave in August so I can catch up...

And your creepy creeper? Yeah, he's a bit disturbing as well.

Hillbilly Mom said...

I hate to burst your bubble, but yes, I am old enough to have been blogging back in 2006. ;)

Farmer H says he has no idea who that creeper was. The guy with the truck up in here is BALD, and Farmer H has never seen a little dog with him. The one who gave me the death stare had medium brown hair, medium length, with a medium-size mustache, and was neither young nor old. I'd like to see an artist's rendering of him.