Part 1 is here...

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Part 2 

“Baby, slow down.” I told the Oldest, shortly after we got on the road.

“Oh Aunt Fab, I’m just keeping up with the traffic,” She quipped back.

Bet a cop never heard that one?

“Slow down, Sugar,” I repeated.

“It’s a comfortable speed.”  She added.

Comfortable? COMFORTABLE? For who?

These were just meno-maniacal thoughts. Deep breathing ensued.

Ok, I’m gonna suck it up, sit back here, and read my book. Yep! I whispered to BF, “I’m just gonna shut the fuck up.” She agreed…. without a bit of hesitation.

She and I both knew it was not an easy thing for me to do…. ever.

We were almost to Texas and blap, blap, blap, blap. BF, with a bit of a raised voice (only because her motherly instinct had kicked in and she knew her oldest wasn’t quite “gettin’ it”) said, ”Pullover …. NOW!!!!  We have a flat.”

My heart immediately started to pound. I hate car trouble. When I was single, it was the one thing that ALWAYS made me cry. When I’m married, it’s “his” problem. Anyway, I just hate car trouble.

We were on I 10 just about to cross the Texas line. We were also in the center, fast lane, just past the crest of an overpass. Folks would crest the hill and there we were. A big ole’ Buick with a flat and 4 stressed out women. In the inside lane of a 6 lane freeway. Damn near the top of an overpass. Quite an unpleasant place to be. We got out of the car and the wind snapped at us, with each passing vehicle.

Whoosh!

Black clouds were building in the distant skies. I’m Southern. I hate black clouds.

I also hate 18-wheelers.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

When you are no longer a young chicken, keeping one’s balance in the midsts of whooshes, is not a task to be taken lightly.

Good lord. Whoosh!

Oldest jumped out of the car and with hands on her hips, in the glorious superman stance, she says, “I can change a tire. I did it…….once.”

Well, ok then….you go, girl.

BF and I would watch.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

Now imagine, four women with a week’s worth of luggage in the trunk. Stuffed to the absolute brim. One of those packing jobs where we almost had to sit on it, to shut it. You know , just like an overstuffed piece of luggage, only it was the truck. I was terribly leery to even open it. I had visions of everything getting blown over 6 lanes of fast moving traffic.

Whoosh!

So we opened the truck…. with great trepidation. We grabbed everything to stuff it in the backseat, trying very hard not to put miscellaneous bags and suitcases, on top of mom.

After we reached the little piss-ass donut of a tire, under the cloth lining of the trunk floor, Oldest started the process. The jack was under the car…kinda. She tried desperately to pump it up.

Whoosh!

Then, out of nowhere, a roadside assistance guy pulled up behind us. And he had warning cones. Big ole’ orange warning cones, that when placed could be seen, before the cars crested the overpass. A wonderful warning that we were ahead. Thank ya, lord.

Whoosh! Whoosh!

And he changed our flat. He though I (the one with tears in her eyes ‘cause she hates, absolutely hates car trouble) was crazy when I asked if I could give him a hug. There are heroes in this world and he was ours, that day. Bless his heart. Bless the state of Louisiana, for having roadside assistance.

So we were off, again….on a donut tire. In the slow lane, this time. The backseat was now filled with luggage and the girls, because we had to put the tire in the trunk. It did not fit where the donut tire had been. Carefully we proceed down the road. The first place we went had a huge sign….. “Tires and Tire Repair.”

We thought we were safe. Thank god!

A big ole burly guy, in greasy overalls and missing a few teeth, said for us to wait. We explained mom was in the back seat, we had to get to Houston, and we really appreciated him helping us. He reminded me of one of the Deliverance dudes. Oh god! Tears start welling up in my eyes.

I hate car trouble.

After fixing a tire on an 18-wheeler, he checked mine. He blew it up and found the hole. Seems it needed a plug. But we’d have to go on down the road. Seems Deliverance dude only had plugs for 18-wheelers. Couldn’t he have told us that before we waited a half hour? Before we gave him our rendition about mom being in the backseat and we needed to get her to Houston for her funeral?

“Suck it up” we all told ourselves and hit the road, ever so carefully.

He told us of a place a couple of exits down… and here, my friends, is where I will name names. Modica Brothers Tires in Orange Texas. ASSHOLES.

We got there 10 minutes after they had closed. I saw 7 employees strolling around.

We, once again, explained, momma was in the box in the back seat and we needed to get her to Houston for her funeral. Not a sympathetic one in the bunch.

“It just needs a plug,” I pleaded. 

“Sorry lady, we closed 10 minutes ago. You’ll need to go to Wal-Mart.”

Did I tell you the Modica Brothers Tire Place in Orange Texas suck big ones? ASSHOLES!

Oh god, I hate car trouble.

We got to Wal-Mart and a supervisor was yelling across the bay, “Where’s John? He’s not come in yet. That’s it. We don’t have enough folks for this shift. No more tickets tonight.”

What? We grabbed a little girl working in the department and immediately told her our tale of woe. We were then made the last ticket of the night. Thank ya, lord, another hero.

Then we were told they didn’t fix flats. We could buy a new tire. “Fine!” For goodness sakes, we really need to get to Houston.

So we sat in the Wal-Mart McDonalds in Orange Texas, cussing the Modica Brothers.

An hour later, we were back on the road. Not being big fans of Mickey-D, the girls had had a bite to eat, but BF and I said we could wait.

We repacked the overstuffed trunk. Mom was back where she would be most comfortable. Houston was only a few hours away.

BF got behind the wheel, ‘cause she was raised in Houston. She knew the roads.

The black clouds started circling. Not a good sign. The wind picked up. Oh lord. The bottom fell out and we almost had to pull over. We were traveling at a top speed of 35 to 40 miles an hour. I’m talking hard Texas rain, where you can’t see the taillights of a vehicle right in front of you kinda rain. Sideways rain. Totally blind behind-an-18-wheeler-rain.

We searched the radio for weather information, us bein’ Southern and all. We’ve seen a tornado or two, in our day.

We felt lucky that it only lasted 20 miles or so.  

Within an hour, the traffic came to a dead stop. It took us 1 hour to go one mile.

(We never saw what had happened ahead. I swore I saw blue lights but who the hell cared, at this point, in our tale. We cussed Houston traffic and thanked the good lord for Little Rock, Arkansas.)

During this duration, with no exit in site, Oldest announces that she needed to pee.

Meno-maniacal thoughts shot through my mind….”Not good timing my dear. Where do you think we can pull over, dear? Do you see a port-a-can around here? Jump out and squat, damnit…. Hell, I have to pee, too.”

No words were spoken.

BF was getting close to blowing a gasket with the storm, the traffic, and perhaps, even the request from the back seat. I could see it in her face.

Silence.

A few more minutes past and I turned around and told Oldest “I have a poise pad in my bag. Pee in that.”

BF and I heard the whispers….

Oldest to youngest…“What’s that?”

Youngest back at her…”It’s an ole lady diaper, you know Aunt Fab’s giant super duper thingie. Wanna pee in it?”

For the first time, BF had a shit-eatin’ grin.

We said nothing.

They giggled.

We got off at the first exit. First stop…a not-so-good-bathroom. Suck it up. There is no choice here….except, of course the poise pad. We took back roads, went 30 miles out of the way, and arrived at our hotel. BF’s brother had made the reservations. We were to stay there for the next 4 days.

It was one of the worse hotels we have ever had the displeasure to stay in. We walked into the lobby, 12 hours after we had left Houma. …. Hungry, pissy, and terribly tired. 

The walls were cinder block and there was not one picture on them. No shampoo, no alarm clock. No hairdryer. No amenities, what so ever. And the place smelled really bad. Really, really bad. The girls went to their room and BF and I went to ours.

BF just wanted to lie down. Was she hungry? Nope. I sure didn’t blame her. There was little conversation. But with best friends, you know when to talk and when not to …

She just wanted to lie down.

I strolled down to the girls’ room.

“Aunt Fab…Mom is not going to MAKE us stay here, tonight, is she?

My reply was simple…. “We shall address this tomorrow.”

“But Aunt Fab, it stinks in here!”

I tossed them the keys to the car, “Jack in the Box is across the street. Y’all go on now and get yourselves something to eat.”

“But Auuuuunnnnt Faaaaabbbbb…..”

In my oh-so-wise-sweet-southern voice,

Using terms they could understand….

“Tonight, girls, you just need to suck it up.”

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