Thursday, November 6, 2014

Fuel for life

"That's it, we're out."

The bad news came from Travis, the driver of the vehicle, and he delivered the news to his wife with a slightly disappointed voice, although he tried to maintain a carefree demeanor.

"We're not out," she replied. "There's always more in these old trucks, the gauge never tells you the truth. Try it again."

Travis tried it again. The engine coughed, sputtered, tried to come to life, but then didn't, and as it ground to a halt it ground the hopes of ever making it out of The Pit.

Funnily enough, Travis had created The Pit, back when he had too much time on his hands. He'd borrowed a backhoe from a friend, took it slow and steady at first, and then when that hadn't produced the results he'd wanted, he'd bought some dynamite and blasted a hole deeper than he'd intended, but it was a hole nonetheless, something he could be proud of. It all seemed like a great idea at the time.

Now that pit was a trap.

It wasn't just Travis and his wife in the truck, their three kids were with them. They'd stocked enough water and snacks, as well as more diapers than you can imagine, for the trip, but not enough to account for extra time.

Help wasn't on the way. Travis had spent many hours alienating friends while digging the hole, so no one would be coming around to check on them. Not hearing from Travis was more common than hearing from him.

Travis looked at his wife.

"I think that's it. It's just not going any further. I don't know what to do. I know we're close to being out, but it's still too steep for us to climb."

Then he finally admitted, "Also, I don't have any clue what to do when we get out."

His wife was slow to reply, but when she did it was with a smile.

"Hang on, let me check something," she said.

She hopped out of the truck—the truck he'd driven so recklessly—and went to the back, rummaged in the bed for a few moments, removed something, and then walked back to the cab.

Smiling that same, calm smile, she motioned to the item she'd pulled out of the bed of the truck.

It was a gas can.

"Where did you get that?" Travis asked.

"I don't know," she answered. "I just thought you might need it. You think it'll be enough to get us out of here?"

"We don't need much," he said. "So I bet it will. At any rate, it'll get us closer than we are now."

As Travis refueled the truck from the can, he thought about all the times he'd wondered whether God actually heard his cries, his pleas, his fervent whisperings in the night for a woman he could spend his life with, a woman who'd share his fears, his happiness, his life.

Looking up, he caught his wife's eyes in the rearview mirror. She winked.

He closed the gas cap, slapped the side of the old truck—the truck he knew he'd miss—and hopped in the driver's seat.

"Alright," he said, glancing at his wife. "Let's try to get out of this pit."