I forgot to mention this in the previous posts, but we had a baby pug named Delilah embarking on our trip with us. She was our homeless mascot. And in this moment, she was fast asleep.
My mother told us to wait in the van while she asked the mechanic about getting a new tire. The mechanic was just as greasy as the handkerchief that hung out of his back pocket. He eyed my mother, chuckling to himself, "You got no man to help ya?" Texas wasn't, and still isn't, exactly known for its acceptance of female independence. I'm sure the deer horn tree was the symbol of misogyny. My mother bit her tongue and bargained with the mechanic for a new tire. He wanted $75, we only had $40 to spare. "Guess you're outta luck then, missy."My mother raised an eyebrow; missy?
Meanwhile, Delilah woke up and decided - being a pup - to bark obnoxiously at the rottweilers who were frothing at the mouth. Behemoths they were, eyes glued to their new prey. They dragged the tree stump behind them as they encroached on our van. It wasn't until they were inches from the windows, their swampy breath creating condensation on the glass, that Sabrina and I clambered with Delilah on top of the Mrs. Car.
My mother and the mechanic noticed the scene, our shrieks weren't muffled, and rushed over to pry the beasts from our van. Claw marks dug into the side doors. Slobber covered every surface. My mother shoved her face in front of the mechanics, "Give me that tire." Now she growled at him, showing the damage on Mrs. Car, how frightened my sister and I were, her best snarl. To keep peace, the mechanic gave in, and changed the tire without a sneer or snicker.
We agitated the dust as we tore out of the gravel and onto the paved road. Junction was our version of Hades, and much like the myths tell, never, never, look back.
- The Diligent Gypsy
My mother and the mechanic noticed the scene, our shrieks weren't muffled, and rushed over to pry the beasts from our van. Claw marks dug into the side doors. Slobber covered every surface. My mother shoved her face in front of the mechanics, "Give me that tire." Now she growled at him, showing the damage on Mrs. Car, how frightened my sister and I were, her best snarl. To keep peace, the mechanic gave in, and changed the tire without a sneer or snicker.
We agitated the dust as we tore out of the gravel and onto the paved road. Junction was our version of Hades, and much like the myths tell, never, never, look back.
- The Diligent Gypsy
(Postcard of Junction, Texas)
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