The things we do for love |
Somewhere between here and Nashville, Tenn., where my daughters Adelaide and Stella and I went to see Smashing Pumpkins last week, my car started telling me to "change engine oil soon." So, after dropping Stella off at school, I head to Airport Road Express Lube, across from Eddy Ecodrum and Walmart in Ozark.
I circle around to the back and wait for an attendant like the sign says. In just a few seconds, a tattooed attendant I don't know appears and waves me forward. It always makes me nervous pulling into the bay. There's a big hole in the floor. I guess it's a space where they can stand to reach up and work on the underbelly of a car.
I have an irrational fear of falling into it, or driving my car into it. The attendant seems to have no such fear as he coaxes me onward, straight, maybe an inch to the right or left, then stop right there. That's good. He smiles.
Johnny Pruitt ambles out and waves at me. He asks if I have any raccoons on my place other than on the bluff. I say I haven't seen any lately. He hints he'd like to hunt them if I do, and I don't say this, but I wouldn't let him because I like raccoons. The only time I don't is when they eat up my dad's corn crop in the garden. But we won't have any more of those now.
And truth be told, my dad didn't have corn several years before he died, because after he worked so hard to raise it,........