How Far From Here to There

"How far from here to there?" I asked, pointing at the map
Spread across the steering wheel and covering my lap.
"Really kinda hard to say," the grizzled fellow said,
Tugging at the John Deere hat jammed tightly on his head.

He pulled a red bandana from his tattered Dickies shirt,
And wiped his weathered face so hard, I knew it had to hurt.
A sigh from deep within, then a spat of brick red chew.
He gazed off in the distance, then rubbed the huge tattoo.

I somehow felt uneasy, Deliverance on my mind.
When I'd left the interstate, I'd wondered what I'd find.
He slowly bent to face me, his dank breath in my face.
He smiled and nodded to his left, "This here, it's my place."

Two jalopies up on blocks, a rusted Pepsi sign,
A rack of well-used tires, held together with some twine.
A battered pop machine, empty bottles in a case,
An ancient oil display with its rotted wooden brace.

Disuse showing everywhere, what's this station for?
Broken windows, nothing works, e'en a missing door.
Shabbily dressed owner with a gun tucked in his belt,
Eerie feelings swamp my mind, like none I've ever felt.

"So," the old man says at last, "you're headin' over there."
But as he points he fixes me with baleful, blood-shot stare.
"You see," he says with knowing nod, "it's really hard to find,
But I'll climb in and take you there, if you're so inclined."

My blood runs cold through pounding heart, I dare not even blink.
The reek of sweat assaults my mind, I need some time to think,
And so my body shifts a bit, the map falls to the floor.
My mind a blank, my options gone, I motion toward the door.

With halting step he rounds the front, then stops and frowns my way.
But as I study steely eyes, his mind seems far away.
A twisted smile, a tiny shrug, he quickly settles in,
The engine starts, kicks into gear, the tires begin to spin.

A lifted eyebrow aimed my way, "You're' kinda anxious, boy."
He pulled the gun from out his belt and spun it like a toy.
"I'll leave the place wide open cause no damage can be done."
A leering wink he sent my way, then kissed the shiny gun.

"Pull out on the highway there and head off to the west."
He leaned his seat way back and laid the gun upon his chest'
"Wake me just before you get to Fletcher's Corners Road.
You'll know it cause the Fletcher house is kinda overgrowed."

I turned to ask a question, but he'd dropped right off to sleep.
Besides the road was curvy and the hill a little steep.
How far to Fletcher's Corners Road and how was I to know?
The radio would be my friend, I'd keep the volume low.

He seemed to twitch a tiny bit when Patty Loveless sang,
But didn't move a muscle when my tiny cell phone rang.
When I tried to answer there was no one on the line,
But that's about the time I saw the Fletcher's Corners sign.

"Hey," I said with cautious voice, "I think we're finally here,"
And pulled so gently off the road and slipped it out of gear.
"How come ya stopped?" he grunted, but didn't move a bit.
"I saw the sign said Fletcher's Road, I figured this was it.

"Good thinkin', son," he countered as he groaned and sat up straight.
'The place where I had stopped was overgrown and desolate.
"That's the Fletcher house," he said, "old Fletcher's dead and gone.
All those weeds and overgrowth were once old Fletcher's lawn.

"I'm sure the house could tell some tales, if only I could stay,
But that old sun is sinkin' down, we best be on our way."
A crooked smile slipped 'cross his face and then he kicked the map.
He turned with one raised eyebrow and then gave his thigh a slap.

"Boy, you're lost. You're here with me, you don't know where you are.
You asked me for directions, then you let me in your car.
I'll show you things along the way if you'll just shut your mouth.
But since you're in a hurry, hang a left and head off south.

I pulled back on the highway then turned left on Fletcher's Road.
Ruts and rocks and overgrowth, 'longside an old railroad.
The rails were ancient, not much used, orange with scaly rust,
And as we bumped and clattered on, my mouth filled up with dust.

"Are you sure that this is it? You better check again."
"Don't ask so many questions, boy, my patience's wearin' thin."
With that he took the gun and he aimed it at a tree,
It popped and jerked and bark flew up - and then he smiled at me.

"You need to learn a lesson, boy, you need to learn it bad,
'cause if you don't your life will be so miserable and sad,
You'll wonder what the purpose is, you'll wonder why you're here,
And that's why you were sent to me so I could . . . interfere.

I'm just a filthy, ragged guy, someone you don't trust.
Oh yeah, you let me in your car, but only 'cause you must
To find the place the map don't show, directions not too clear,
'cause I'm a native to this place, I grew up 'round here.

But you're from far away and so your car's all new and clean.
Mine, you saw, were up on blocks - you know what I mean?
My gas pump's broke, the windows too, and someone stole my door,
The stupid road's deserted now, and no one stops no more."

He paused to take a breath right then, and that was fine with me.
My mind was full of pictures of that place with its debris.
Why would someone stay back there, why not get up and leave?
Was his mind demented now, and lost in make-believe?

He slowly bent and grabbed the map and studied it a while.
"You see here, lad, the place you want is 'bout another mile.
With special care he made each fold, then laid it in the seat.
I somehow sensed that very soon, my journey'd be complete.

We finally rounded one last curve and there it was in view,
My destination dead ahead, and then somehow I knew
Why things worked the way they did, and why I'd met this man,
And why he'd done the things he did, as though by some great plan.

For standing there by Fletcher's Road with deeply worried face,
Is my best friend who's standing by his newly purchased place.
"At last you're here, I've worried, friend, weren't my directions clear?"
"Clear enough for my new friend - it's him who got me here."

The awed old man was staring at the station, new and clean.
Computered pumps and "serve yourself", a giant Coke machine.
Stainless steel and vapor lights, convenience store inside.
Here on Fletcher's Corner's Road where old and new collide.

My friend walked up beside the man and looked him in the eye.
"I need someone to fix those cars, can you give it a try?"
"Worked on quite a few," he said, "and I was pretty good.
Engines and what makes them work are things I understood."

And so right there on Fletcher's Road, I thought of all he'd said.
Of how I'd wanted most to run, but asked him in instead.
The things he'd shown along the way, and what he'd left behind,
The things this freeway guy had missed, that he had helped me find.