ONE CUP (Part 4)

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17

Ray Garrett

I dreamed I was driving with a beautiful woman. I knew her, but yet I didn’t know who she was. She was laughing, saying something I at once both understood perfectly yet could not interpret. It was disturbing, and at the same time comforting. Somehow, watching the wind blowing through her hair, it all made sense.

Something—probably a car door slamming somewhere in the parking lot—woke me with a start. My eyes opened and, seeing the tree directly in front of me, I instinctively slammed on the brake pedal, screamed, and reached out with my right arm to shield my companion.

And nothing happened.

My heart beating like a jackhammer, I took in a deep breath and looked around the parking area to see if anyone heard my scream. If they had, they were ignoring me. I looked at the empty seat next to me, and wondered where the girl—I didn’t know her name— might be at that very moment. It didn’t occur to me she was merely a figment of my imagination, someone who did not exist in reality. You might judge me crazy, but even as I cleared my head of the grogginess of my deep slumber, I knew somehow, I had to find her.

It took me a few minutes to get over the scare. I almost pooped my pants and had a heart attack all at once, and although that sort of thing doesn’t happen often with me, it does require some recovery time. While my heart rate was returning to normal, I went to the restroom. As I came back out to the car, I could make out the first orange and crimson streaks of what promised to be a beautiful sunrise.

I merged back onto I-10, still feeling sorry for myself because I never got the opportunity to play in the majors and frustrated for not having a good plan to fall back on. I was passed by a refrigerated delivery truck. The ad on the side said,

AL’S MEAT

Nobody beats Al’s meat!

I realized no matter how bad my plight was, it could be worse. I could be Al.

18

Ray Garrett

In time I came upon the sign for the I-75 exit, and I pulled over on the shoulder, contemplating whether to take I-75, which would take me as planned through Atlanta, or to stay on I-10 and take a chance on finding her, the girl in my dream, in Tallahassee. Why I thought she might be there, I have no clue. It just seemed at the time to be a possibility I should not overlook. Plus, Tallahassee might be a nice diversion, a place to go while delaying the inevitable return home with my tail tucked between my legs. After two or three minutes of indecision, I flipped a coin. Heads, I would take I-10. Tails, I-75. It came up tails. I decided to make it two out of three, then three out of five. The outcome was still the same. Tallahassee would have to wait.

19

Whitney

The day I met Jackie in the parking lot of my apartment complex, she walked me to my apartment, and stayed a few minutes just to make sure I was going to be alright. Without drawing my attention, she left on my countertop a hundred-dollar bill and a business card. On the back, she had written, Use this as you see fit.

I used the money to buy groceries, but not until the following day. That night, I ordered pizza to be delivered to my door. After my experience with Larry Brownteeth earlier in the day, I didn’t feel like going out again.

I called the next day to thank her. We agreed to meet at Starbucks the following afternoon. Within a year, I was wearing expensive clothes and driving a nice car, too.

20

Ray Garrett

The Buick’s radio worked, but not much else. The wipers functioned most of the time, like when the windshield was dry and I wanted to wash a bug, they would work, but I’d usually only get enough fluid onto windshield to smear the bug. Other times, like when it was raining, I would rig up a small cord and run it from the wiper arms through partially-open windows and pull the cord back and forth with my hands to work the wipers as I steered the car with my knees. Sounds dangerous, but it actually works like a charm, if you don’t mind a little rain coming in on you. The power outlet/cigarette lighter didn’t work either. Since I didn’t smoke it was not an issue for me, although I would have liked to have used it to charge my cell phone. Not that it mattered. I’d already decided I wasn’t calling Mom, and I was currently unattached, so there was no girlfriend to talk with. Nicole—the name I’d given the girl in my dream—if she even existed, didn’t have my number. Friends? Well, they were mostly scattered throughout the country, with a few playing ball in Japan. Some of the players I knew were in the big leagues, but most of them wouldn’t take my calls now anyway, I figured. Maybe they would . . . I don’t know. Bottom line was I wasn’t calling anyone and didn’t expect anyone to be calling me, so the cell phone wasn’t an issue weighing heavily on my mind at the moment.

The only thing really concerning me was cash. Did I have enough cash to get back to Illinois? I took out my wallet and counted as I drove. Just a little over a hundred dollars, plus whatever loose change was in the console. I mentally calculated the distance and divided it by sixteen miles per gallon, then did a wild-ass guesstimate as to the cost of fuel along the Interstates. It was going to be close. If I didn’t eat, I could probably make it to Evansville, Indiana. Further still, if I had the mental discipline to cruise at fifty miles an hour and watch everyone else zip past me like I was sitting still. I decided to do that.

I lasted maybe five minutes. The kicker was when an old lady who looked a lot like my Grandma Garrett sped by in a green and gold Ram truck doing about ninety, laying on the horn and giving me the finger. I upped my speed to eighty. And there in the mirror was a cop, materializing from out of nowhere, his roof-mounted light bar illuminated with flashing blue lights.

I handed him my license, registration, and proof of insurance. “Where y’all headin’ in such a hurry?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Illinois.”

He looked at my license. “Ray Garrett. From Sumter, Illinoise”—he either didn’t know or didn’t care the ‘s’ in Illinois was supposed to be silent. He sniffed and shook his head, “I ain’t never heard o’ no Sumter, Illinoise. That anywhere near Chicargo?” He didn’t wait for a response, just leaned in, taking a look inside the LeSabre. He sniffed again and said, “Y’all ain’t had nuthin’ to drink, have ya, Mister Garrett?”

I shook my head. “No, sir.”

He nodded, stepped back and said, “Y’all wait right here,” then took my license and registration back to his cruiser.

After what seemed a lot longer than should be necessary for a routine check for any wants or warrants, the officer returned. He returned my license and registration to me. “Mister Garrett, Y’all are wanted in Atlanta. Why don’t you step outside your vehicle for me?”

Wanted? Me? What was this all about? My instinct told me to protest, say he had no probable cause to harass or detain me. Just write the damned ticket, and let me go. But then, I thought better of it. No sense making matters worse by arguing with a cop. Even when you’re right, you’re wrong.

He said, “Y’all want to come on back ‘n’ take a seat in my cruiser while we get this all sorted out?” And then he did something I could not believe. He turned his back to me, and started walking away from my car. Was I under arrest, or not? He’d said I was wanted, yet he hadn’t cuffed me or read me my rights. And now he was turning his back on me. Was he inviting me to attack him or to try to escape? Was this some sort of a setup? I’m a ballplayer, true, but I am not one-dimensional. I do watch the news. I’ve seen all the reports about rogue cops, although I’ve never had a bad experience with police. Was he baiting me, hoping I would give him an excuse to “make his day”? I reluctantly followed.