Tim's Story (Part One)

“Tonight’s forecast calls for two to three feet of snow. There’s a state of emergency throughout the tri-county area and it is recommended that you stay off the roads unless absolutely necessary. These blizzard-like conditions are expected to continue throughout the night, and--.”

“Fuck you,” Tim muttered to himself, changing the radio station, trying to pay attention to the road ahead. He was in no mood to listen to the deejay’s announcement of impending snowstorm doom to those in the surrounding area. Snow continued to fall like so many sparkling diamonds, blanketing the road as Tim drove. The windshield wipers waved back and forth in a hypnotic drone, the dull whine of the wiper motors all but sedating him. He forced back the rest of his third cup of coffee that hour, wincing afterward as he tossed the empty cup into a bag on the floor of his Blazer.

At this point the coffee just wasn’t cutting it, yet Tim was smarter than to mix in bourbon, like he would while back at work. Drinking and working was okay, but drinking and driving was strictly off limits, as far as Tim was concerned. It was that strange balance of hypocrisy that led Tim not to think about his own drinking problem. Of course, regardless of whether or not he thought about his problem, it was still there. With the frustration of life’s difficult situations came the ‘ole friend desire. Like a nagging presence in the back of his mind, the urge to feed those demons inside of Tim woke with a vengeance, and he suddenly wished he were bellied up at a bar....or back home sipping on cocktails. Just thinking of the soft clink of the ice cubes against the frosted glass of goodness was enough to make Tim smile. And forget about the snow, if only for a second.

Tim stopped scanning the radio stations long enough to catch another deejay announcing that it ‘Looks like it’s gonna be messy out there this weekend.’ He cursed his luck, biting down on his lip to keep from shouting at the radio. If you asked Tim, the deejay sounded overly enthusiastic regarding both the snow, and his desire to ‘get back to the music with everyone’s favorite boys from Liverpool.’

As if things weren’t bad enough, Tim wasn’t really sure how close the nearest hotel was. Unfamiliar with the area, he tried to recall the last highway sign he was able to read. The frustration of the drive was getting to Tim. He didn’t care what town he was driving through; he knew that it was after 2am and that if he didn’t find a hotel room soon...he and the ‘ole Blazer would end up as part of a snowdrift on the side of the road come sunrise. Tim figured he was somewhere in Catskill territory, and didn’t want to play chicken with Mother Nature. One thing was sure--he wasn’t gonna make it to Canada tonight. Driving conditions had worsened considerably since sundown. At this point, Tim could no longer see beyond the piercing beam of his headlights, and he wondered aloud when the last time a snowplow graced this stretch of highway.

Creeping ahead, Tim could make out a soft light cutting through the snow that whipped through the wind in front of him. As he drew near, he realized they were headlights of another vehicle on the road opposite him. At this point, Tim would have preferred to keep driving, but he realized the car was parked on the side of the road, and could make out the hazard lights flashing in a faint glow through the few inches of snow that blanketed the car. The driver’s side window had been brushed clean, and, beside the car smoldered the remnant of a road flare, still spewing acrid yellow smoke that reeked of sulfur. The car didn’t appear to have been in an accident--it was simply pulled off to the side of the road. Thinking this absurd, Tim slowed down and pulled over to the side of the road. As he parked, he noticed he was damn near out of gas.

“Shit,” he said, cursing himself for not stopping earlier when he noticed he was at a quarter-tank. Maybe it was curiosity, or an inherent inner sense of obligation, but Tim felt the need to stop to assess the current situation. Before he could put the Blazer in park, Tim realized someone was in the other car.

Tim stepped out into the blustery cold and walked across the street. As the window in the other vehicle rolled down, he could make out the face of a young woman calmly smoking a cigarette. She was attractive, with blonde hair that cropped out from underneath a wool hat. Tim couldn’t help but to notice her smile. It was more of a smirk, frankly, which caught Tim as being somewhat strange. It was as if she enjoyed being stuck there. Helpless, just waiting for someone to come to her rescue. Tim wondered to himself if she was stuck at all. Who sits in their car on the side of the road during a ‘Nor’easter? As he looked at the woman, Tim surmised that she was on her way home from being out. She smelled of rose oil and looked to be well dressed, from what Tim could see. He wondered how she would look at the end of the night without the layers of expensive clothing. ‘Sweet Jesus,’ Tim thought, ashamed at himself for immediately wondering if she was legal....and available. There was something about being newly single again that made Tim revert to what he called ‘being blinded by cock-thought.’

“Are you okay, Miss?” asked Tim, trying to keep eye contact, but to no avail. He quickly found his eyes darting around the vehicle, trying to discern the situation along with the size of the young woman’s breasts. She didn’t seem to be hurt, nor were there any obvious sign of trouble that Tim could make out. The woman continued to sit in the driver’s seat, her smirk making Tim uneasy as he tried to help.

“Oh, I’m okay,” she said, looking into Tim’s eyes. “I seem to have run out of gas.” Tim wondered if he saw her bat her eyelashes at him. He laughed to himself, thinking how easy it’d be to pick up a chick like this after a few Jack and waters at the local hole in the wall. Easier so, if she was the one drinking. Of course, Tim didn’t really know how easy it’d be. He had more of an idea in his head that led him to believe he could pick up such a woman once armed with the liquid courage he was so accustomed to.