Paint It Black

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The car was just sitting there, its hazard lights blinking like beacons in the darkness. In a flash of lightning, he could see someone walking around the car, in and out of the shadows.

Stop here? No, no, not right. Rain. Too. . too. . It wasn’t supposed to happen here. Stop. Stop!

He slowed the truck, pulling onto the shoulder about thirty feet behind the stalled car. A man came around the car and looked back at him, shielding his eyes in the glare of the truck’s headlights.

The wipers beat with the thick pounding of his heart. He could see the man’s face. And his eyes, hopeful, as they squinted back at his rescuer.

Yes. . oh, yes.

He eased the truck forward, closing in on the car. He left the truck idling and got out. The man seemed to relax slightly as he walked toward him. That was funny. He had to struggle to keep from laughing.

“Hey, man, thanks for stopping,” the man said. “Shit, ain’t nobody gonna stop to help on a night like this.”

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