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| Blogs > stardust81937 > TALES OF ZIPPERLESS FUCKS |
A new watering hole
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A new watering hole A new watering hole... "You still know how to drive this old stickshift." "The clutch feels a little mushy!" "I couldn't get a new part for the hydraulic clutch" I said, "I made the rubber gaskets from an inner tube." "The gearbox shifts without grinding gears. I guess the clutch pedal just feels a little different." Marisol said. "Since we only have to go down this trail about two miles, to Craig's cabin," I told Marisol, "The truck should hold up. I wasn't going to get the registration and insurance for it this year, but then decided to. If we needed to, I think we could go on the highway without any problem, but I'd rather not." Marisol sat bolt upright in the new seat I'd made for the 1966 International. Her olive black eyes were shining and she was all business driving the old truck down a new bumpy sand trail where she'd only been once before. Both of us were sweating in the cab. It was 104 in the shade in the morning heat. I'd telephoned Craig to ask if it was alright if we came over to buy 550 gallons of water from him. "Sure, that's Ok, I'm here." Craig had said. I told him we'd be there in about an hour. Marisol looked at me and there were some tiny beads of persperation shining on her upper lip. "God," she said, "I love doing this. It takes me back to when I was a little girl. Driving this big old truck gets me hot, and I don't even know why-- beside the fact it IS hot!" and she giggled in the way that got ME hot. "It makes me feel happy being back with you, David. I'm glad you kept this old truck, if you'd junked it, it would've been like cutting part of you off, and throwing it away." I felt a little embarrassed, "There's a sharp turn to your right at the bottom of this hill," I said. Buying water from Craig wasn't an ideal situation, but it beat driving a round trip of 30 miles on pavement, in traffic. Craig was only about 60, but he was on some sort of disability. He was grossly overweight, and instead of speaking in a normal voice, shouted like the person he was addressing was a long distance from him... Filling the truck and trailer up with water from a garden hose took an hour, and Craig talked incessantly to Marisol. As I went about the business of directing the water flow, I marveled at Marisol's patience... She looked very pretty. She was dressed in an old pair of<b> denim </font></b>shorts and one of my old, short-sleeved white shirts. Her black hair was cut very short, the way we both kept our hair out here on the desert in summer, and she was wearing one of my old baseball caps, a solid dark green one, perched on her head with the bill of the cap turned at a jaunty angle. On the way back home, even with a load of over 4000 pounds of water, the big 8 cylinder, 304 cubic inch engine and five speed gear box, pulled uphill through the sand easily without working very hard. "That poor Craig," Marisol said,"he's in terrible shape. His thyroid is dead and he has to take thyroxin, he takes blood pressure medication, and his cholesterol is off the chart. He's been trying to give up smoking, but can't seen to quit. It makes me feel sad." Marisol double-clutched and downshifted easily as we came to the sharp turn in the trail, and an uphill climb. "Yeah, I know," I said. "He probably hasn't been with a woman since the days he was in the Marines." "He may have never been with one, " Marisol sighed. "Did you know he'd been in the Artillery section? That's why he talks so loud. His hearing is shot. He told me when he was in the Marines, he was afraid to ask his sargeant for earplugs, and his hearing was damaged from the explosions." As the old truck rumbled to a halt in front of our locked gate, Marisol added, "Craig doesn't even own that cabin he's living in, it's owned by his half-sister. She's an attorney in L.A. and looks after Craig when he needs something out here." I climbed out of the cab to open our gate while thinking: that's my Marisol. She can get more information from a total stranger in one hours conversation, than I can get from them in years of being their neighbor. by davidstardust, June 22--Friday afternoon--2012...   |
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I bet you are sweet D. Every rose has at least one thorn. Here, on our rose, its scarcity of water.. xxxxdavid
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