a little story for halloween. ;)

Big Joe

It was a dark and stormy night. The wind howled like a love-sick dog,
as the rain beat a nervous staccato on the windshield. The tires on the
road made an angry hissing sound, trying to keep my little bus securely
on the asphalt. The wipers strained and moaned against the flood,
pushing one way and then another. The road could barely be seen in the
dim glow of my headlights.  I hadn't see it this bad in many years.

As i rounded a curve, my headlights reflected off the back of an
18-wheeler driving slowly ahead of me.  I slowed down and kept back
from his trailer, wishing to avoid the spray from his wheels. I could
see the lights clearly and the large letters on one rear door, spelling
"Big Joe" with a cartoon character underneath.  The sight of this made
me laught and cheered me considerably.

Driving behind the truck was much easier, as his big tires moved most
of the water out of the way.  And I soon learned to trust his instincts
as he braked for curves or swung wide for large puddles or fallen rocks.
We drove on for what seemed like several hours, until the rain began to
slacken and the wind died to just a steady breeze.  The truck began to pick
up a little speed, so I tagged right along behind.

We hadn't seen any other traffic in either direction since I met up with the
truck, and pretty soon, I could see the lights of a truck stop
ahead.  I decided a cup of coffee would be just about perfect right now, so
I pulled into the parking lot. "Big Joe" hit a couple of blasts on his air
horns and kept rolling down the road.  I guess he had known I was back
there, after all.

It was still drizzling as I made my way into the coffee shop, so I got a
little wet.  The smell of the food brightened my spirits. The folks sitting
around inside looked at me a bit more than curiously, however, and I asked
the waitress about it when she came over.

"Oh," she said, as she poured my cup of coffee, "They're just surprised that
you made it through in this weather. Highway 41 has been closed now since
three o'clock."

"Well," I replied, "I'd have never made it if it hadn't been for that
trucker, Big Joe."

And with that, she dropped the coffee pot, smashing the glass on the floor
and spraying hot coffee all over her legs and my feet. Her face was the
color of the napkins, and her eyes were the size of half-dollars.

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to wipe as much of the coffee off my shoes as I
could. I looked around at the other folks in the coffee shop and they looked
pretty much the same as she did.

"I'm sorry," I repeated, "Did I say something wrong?"

By this time, another waitress had recovered and brought a broom and a mop
to clean up the mess. "No," she said, "It's just that we haven't heard
anything about Big Joe in a long time. He's dead, you see. Years ago, he was
leading some cars down the road, in a storm just about like the one tonight,
when a rock slide carried him and his truck over the edge and down to the
river at the bottom."

This time, I was the one who dropped the coffee.