“Damn! He saw me!”
I caught a glimpse of the Oklahoma State Trooper turning off the highway median, in our direction.
“Damn!” David repeated, slapping the steering wheel and eyeing the rearview mirror.
A flash of lights.
“Uh-ohhh.” That would be me.
We pulled over.
“Well, at least we don’t have any drugs in the car.” I said brightly.
When David glared at me I nearly shat my pants.
“What do you mean?!” I yelped through jaw lock.
He jerked his head toward the back of our pickup just as a man in khaki F-Troop wear approached the driver’s side window.
I crossed my legs.
***
“What’s the matter, Son? Road getting’ away from ya?”
F-Troop asked. A challenge, not a question.
My bowels were pond scum. I smiled weakly.
“Licenseandregistration,” he barked.
David shrugged and, hanging his head, handed him his license and said, “Well, Officer, there never really is an excuse to speed, is there?”
“I’ll need your registration, too,” F-Troop said, eyeing him curiously.
With poorly disguised, shaky hands, I turned the knob to the glove box and immediately shoved both hands in. Dear God I promise to do volunteer work every weekend for the rest of my life and do pro bono work for MADD and Partnership for a Drug-Free America if only You please-oh-please don’t let there be weed in this glove box, I prayed.
My prayers were answered.
I found the registration and threw it at David as I slammed the glove box shut.
F-Troop went back to his vee-hickle and, as if he had X-ray hearing, I savagely whispered, “How fast were you going?”
“Eighty five,” said David with a shrug.
“In a what, a sixty five?”
“Yep.”
“Oooo. We’re going’ DOWNTOWN,” I said.
“Maybe,” he said, and shrugged again.
****
When he returned, F-Troop looked David in the eye, gave him a quick nod, and handed him his “documents.”
And let us go.
“Slow it down, Son. And drive careful, now.”
David checked his rearview mirror, waved to F-Troop who, I kid you not, saluted him back.
“You lucky shit,” I sneered, waving and smiling stupidly. David let him pass us and then pulled our vee-hickle out, trailer in tow. He grinned at me and said, “I know.”
I smacked him on the arm, which made him grin even wider. So I smacked him again. He started to chuckle. I ignored him and so he said, “You know what’s really great, though?”
“What?”
“That the Trooper dude didn’t ask to see your license.”
I have a clean record, so I asked, “Why is that?”
“Because it’s in your purse and -”
Just then Woody began to scratch on it. The dawn.
“ –I put that bag of weed that Woody found in there.”
“What if he looked in there?!”
“He didn’t, though. So what are you worried about?”
I caught a glimpse of the Oklahoma State Trooper turning off the highway median, in our direction.
“Damn!” David repeated, slapping the steering wheel and eyeing the rearview mirror.
A flash of lights.
“Uh-ohhh.” That would be me.
We pulled over.
“Well, at least we don’t have any drugs in the car.” I said brightly.
When David glared at me I nearly shat my pants.
“What do you mean?!” I yelped through jaw lock.
He jerked his head toward the back of our pickup just as a man in khaki F-Troop wear approached the driver’s side window.
I crossed my legs.
***
“What’s the matter, Son? Road getting’ away from ya?”
F-Troop asked. A challenge, not a question.
My bowels were pond scum. I smiled weakly.
“Licenseandregistration,” he barked.
David shrugged and, hanging his head, handed him his license and said, “Well, Officer, there never really is an excuse to speed, is there?”
“I’ll need your registration, too,” F-Troop said, eyeing him curiously.
With poorly disguised, shaky hands, I turned the knob to the glove box and immediately shoved both hands in. Dear God I promise to do volunteer work every weekend for the rest of my life and do pro bono work for MADD and Partnership for a Drug-Free America if only You please-oh-please don’t let there be weed in this glove box, I prayed.
My prayers were answered.
I found the registration and threw it at David as I slammed the glove box shut.
F-Troop went back to his vee-hickle and, as if he had X-ray hearing, I savagely whispered, “How fast were you going?”
“Eighty five,” said David with a shrug.
“In a what, a sixty five?”
“Yep.”
“Oooo. We’re going’ DOWNTOWN,” I said.
“Maybe,” he said, and shrugged again.
****
When he returned, F-Troop looked David in the eye, gave him a quick nod, and handed him his “documents.”
And let us go.
“Slow it down, Son. And drive careful, now.”
David checked his rearview mirror, waved to F-Troop who, I kid you not, saluted him back.
“You lucky shit,” I sneered, waving and smiling stupidly. David let him pass us and then pulled our vee-hickle out, trailer in tow. He grinned at me and said, “I know.”
I smacked him on the arm, which made him grin even wider. So I smacked him again. He started to chuckle. I ignored him and so he said, “You know what’s really great, though?”
“What?”
“That the Trooper dude didn’t ask to see your license.”
I have a clean record, so I asked, “Why is that?”
“Because it’s in your purse and -”
Just then Woody began to scratch on it. The dawn.
“ –I put that bag of weed that Woody found in there.”
“What if he looked in there?!”
“He didn’t, though. So what are you worried about?”
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