Darla and Fitz: Part Three

“Yeah, I see that. Look in the mirror. I’m right behind you.”

Darla pushed open the RV door and jumped out. 

“What the goddamn hell are you doing here?” Darla yelled as she stomped over to Fitz’s car window.

He drove a metallic blue Ford Mustang and right now she wanted to run a thick scratch across the hood with her RV keys. 

“I had the day off so I decided to follow you, you know, in case you had a problem. And you did. Pretty weird, huh?”

Fitz unfastened his seat belt and opened the door. A semi-truck roared by within a few feet of where they were standing. Both headed for the far side of the shoulder.

Darla started in again. “Do you have a clue how creepy that is? How totally creepy? You followed me? Who does that?”

“Well, I apparently do. Look, you’re my best friend. I love you. You’re setting off across country by yourself. Why’s it so horrible that I followed you just to make sure you got launched okay?

“Okay. Yeah. You’re a great friend. Still creepy.”

Darla walked back to the RV to look at the flat tire. She knew that she’d have to call the special RV road service people. Nobody can change an RV tire on their own. Fitz followed, making a big show of getting down on his hands and knees to examine the tire close up. 

“You picked up a nail or something.”

“Yeah, no kidding, genius. Thanks for the diagnostics.”

It bothered her that it was starting to get dark. She could be stuck for hours waiting for road service but at least she’d have company. She went to pat Fitz on the arm when she saw the lights flashing behind them.

“We’ve got a visitor.”

Fitz stood up and brushed the sand and gravel off his hands. It was the highway patrol. Blue sedan, gold lettering, red light twirling bright enough to alert the whole U.P. The officer got out, slammed the car door shut, and put his hand on his revolver.

“What’s going on here?” 

“I’ve got a flat tire.”  “You’ve got a flat tire. Okay. So who’s this guy? What are you doing here, if I might ask. You with her?”

“He was following me. But it’s okay. We’re friends.”

Darla could feel Fitz’s skin crawling. They’d had enough encounters with irate white patients worried about having a Black EMT help them. Their sighs of relief when they hit the ER where all the doctors and nurses were white were audible and echoing. Everyone heard them.

“Well, that’s pretty strange, especially up here. We don’t see a lot of, you know, people of color.”

The officer wandered off to do his own examination of the flat tire. Fitz shrugged and shook his head, whatever scenario he’d created in his head fell in a puddle around his sneakers.

“Looks like you’re gonna have a wait for road service. I’d wait with you but I can’t, you know. Speeders and all.”

With that, the officer got back into his squad and fastened his seat belt.

“You two stay away from the road. Wait over on that hill. People drive crazy on this stretch.”

Darla and Fitz crossed the ditch, which was wet and thick with cattails, and climbed up the embankment on the other side. From there, they could see far in both directions and would be sure to spot the road service truck with its blue light twirling in the night. 

“It was creepy that you followed me but I love that you did it.” Darla zipped her hoodie up to her neck and flipped the hood up.

“You probably ought to head back to Benton Harbor. Work tomorrow, right?” Darla knew schedules were tight.

“I already called in. Told Archie my grandma was dying in Kentucky. Had to go. He’s cool with it.”

“I guess I’m the grandma.” Darla tied the string tied under her chin. The wind was picking up.

“Yeah. But you’re not dying. You’re just coming alive. That’s how I see it, anyway. Coming alive.”

“Oh Lord, Fitz. I couldn’t even get this part right. The triumphant, independent woman driving off in a big RV. Here I am overlooking a ditch on U.S. 2 in the damn dark.”

“But you’re with me.”

“I am. I’m with you. I’m not sure why I’m with you but I’m with you.”

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Photo by Evgeni Tcherkasski on Unsplash