8 Mile

It's not really even a muscle car. Ford decided to sell the Mustang worldwide. So they had to tweak the design to make the car more modern and more palatable to European buyers.

The car now has more technical bells and whistles than ever before. It has a slew of track apps like the accelerometer and line lock. It also finally has something we've been begging for. The Mustang finally has an independent rear suspension.

It has basically the same motor, but it has been tweaked to give it more power. Of course, it needs it. The car is longer, wider and heavier. So it needs the extra power to haul its fat ass around the track at the same speed.

I test drove several of them and just felt... Meh... about them. I couldn't work up enough enthusiasm for the car to buy one. So instead of spending roughly thirty five K plus on a 2016 GT, I scoured the Internet and found a 68 fastback for a little over twenty.

I figure to spend another fifteen grand on the engine and mods, but I'll have a one-of-a-kind car that looks like a classic but can hang with anything being produced now.

That being said, I have to take good care of my baby, because they just ain't making them like that anymore. And someday, she'll be a classic.

But I decided with the chance of rain or snow minimal; it would be a good day to let my baby cheer me up.

The drive to work was really fun. I love everything about my car. I love the way it drives, the way it sounds and even the way it carves through turns. Turning is effortless in the car. It's as if we're connected and all I have to do is think about it and the car does it.

I've even come to love the pony hop. The hop is the way the car's ass end bounces when you go over a bump. I have a couple of friends who are race car drivers who told me that they actually prefer the old suspension. They claim it's faster off the line.

Anyway, I got to work with a smile on my face and quickly lost it. To be honest it wasn't work... Or my coworkers that were responsible for my shitty mood. It was the calendar. I'd awakened that morning and realized that it was exactly two years three months and fourteen days since Sharon had disappeared.

That is significant because it meant that as of that day, I was a free man... Well almost. I had waited three months and fourteen days after Sharon left to file for divorce. I'd used abandonment as the grounds. My lawyer told me the papers couldn't be filed for two years. I paid him to go ahead and draw them up.

He'd called me two weeks before and told me that he'd be submitting them and in thirty days, or less I would legally be a free man, whether Sharon miraculously showed up after all of this time or not.

I hadn't done much over the past two years or so. I'd traded in my old Mustang and gotten the one I drive now. I'd bought the 68 and started working with a local restorer to make it what I wanted. But other than that I had wallowed in my misery, wondering what I had done wrong.

I also developed a healthy dislike and mistrust of most women. There were several women I knew who were sniffing around me like dogs in heat when I gave them the chance to get within spitting distance. But I tried to keep those times to a minimum.

I was professionally courteous to the women I worked with. But I gently rebuffed any attempts to socialize outside of work.

The weather report had just been the cap on an already shitty day. I had to get out of there and get my baby home before the flakes fell. I also needed to stop off and buy a few things to get me through a weekend where there was a chance of me being snowed in.

Truthfully that wasn't really a problem, I had just bought a new Ford Escape with four wheel drive to replace the Jeep I'd been driving for winters for the past eighteen years.

I'd looked into the new newer Jeeps and really didn't like them. Jeep was trying too hard to make them more sophisticated and by doing so had made them less bullet proof. There were more recalls on Jeeps made in the past five years than there had been on the previous twenty.

The new Jeeps also weren't as easy to work on. With the older Jeeps, you can fix almost anything on them in your garage or your driveway. I remember replacing an alternator, a water pump, the serpentine belt and doing a tune up on my 1999 Cherokee on a Saturday afternoon. I drove it to the woods the next day for my Sunday morning run.

The modern Jeeps spend more time in the repair shop than they do on the trails. So much for progress.

I left the office a bit earlier than normal. I could almost feel the snowflakes hitting my baby's paint. As I hit the freeway headed home, I decided that I was cutting it too close. I figured I would stop by home and switch cars before doing my shopping.

I had just gotten off of the freeway and turned onto John-R when I noticed a homeless guy that I'd seen in the neighborhood a few times stepping off of the curb right in front of me.

My huge Brembo brakes reined the pony in before we clipped him. I got out of the car to give the guy a piece of my mind and noticed that the guy was a woman. She was dirtier than a full bag of topsoil, and she smelled awful, but she was definitely a woman.

I ended up giving her a few bucks because I felt guilty for not recognizing that she was a woman before.

I made it home just as the snowflakes I'd imagined began to fall in earnest.

I put my Mustang in the garage and took the Escape. I drove to the Kroger store in my neighborhood. I fiddled with the Satellite radio in the Escape for a few moments and got out of the car. The snow was beginning to come down faster then.

I reached for a shopping cart near where I had parked and came face to face with the homeless gu... er woman from before. The woman was as hard to get rid of as a cockroach. Everywhere I turned, there she was.

We had a brief and unpleasant conversation, and I went into the store. I bought far more than I'd gone to the store looking for, but that always seems to be the case.

I drove home and despite the fact that I'd just gone grocery shopping, stopped for pizza. I slogged through the snow and put the food away. I checked on the Mustangs and made sure the garage was closed and locked up tight.

I checked my cable box and decided to watch that Batman vs. Superman movie that I'd missed in the theaters. It hadn't stayed there for very long and less than six months later, it was on TV. I was pretty sure that Affleck wasn't going to get an Oscar nod for this one, but I wanted to see it for myself.

That was the evening I'd planned. I was just about to start the movie when I heard something hit my front porch. A few seconds later, a bright light went across my drapes. I went to the door and opened it to see a police car down the block with its spotlight moving across the houses as if it was looking for something.

Huddled in the corner of my porch was... Oh shit! The homeless cockroach.

"Please," she begged. The anguish in her voice affected me. The police car had completed its sweep and was turning around to head back.

I opened the door, and she crawled in behind me. I continued to stare at the cop car. As it passed, the officers inside of it noticed me and stopped.

"What's going on officer?" I asked.

"There was a suspicious person walking around the neighborhood," he said.

"Does he have a weapon?" I asked. "Is he dangerous?" My questions were designed to give him the impression that I had no idea what was going on. By not knowing that the person he sought was a woman, it gave him the impression that I hadn't seen her and knew nothing.

"Don't worry sir," he said. "It's a woman and I think she's homeless."

"Oh... So you guys are gonna take her to a shelter?" I asked.

"There aren't any shelters in this city, sir," he said. "The mayor has a policy against the homeless in the city limits. If she cooperates, we'll dump her back in Detroit. They can deal with housing her. If she doesn't cooperate, we'll throw her ass in jail."

"So you're saying that it's illegal to be homeless in the suburbs?" I asked. "You're saying that if someone has a run of bad luck and loses their job and their home, they're a criminal?"

"Nope," he said snarkily. "I'm saying it sucks to be them. But if I don't take care of the problem, I'll lose MY job and become one of them. The mayor has a vision for this city, and he didn't picture it with a bunch of bums living in cardboard boxes on every corner and under the freeway overpasses. Good night sir!"

I stepped back inside of my house and watched them through the window. They drove slowly to the end of the block and sat there with their lights on.

I was sure they must've had Netflix and a dozen donuts in the car. They'd be there for a while.

"As soon as they pull off, I'll go," she said. "Thank you."

"Are you sure you don't just want to go with them?" I asked. "They're only going to drop you off in Detroit or at worst put you in jail, either way you'd be out of this storm."

"I was running away from two men in Detroit, when this started," she said. "They wanted to rape me or worse."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Because that's what they did to me the last time they saw me," she said. The fear in her voice was palpable. "And I haven't done anything wrong. Why should I be put in jail?"

"You don't know me lady," I said. "I could be an axe murderer. You might be better off in jail."

"You've given me money every time I've seen you," she said with a hint of a smile. "I can tell that you're angry. I think someone hurt you... badly, but you're a good person."

Maybe it was the whining tone in her voice. Maybe it was the desperation in her eyes.

"You can stay until the cops are gone," I said. "Then you get your ass out of here."

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"Look," I said. "I'm not trying to offend you, but you stink. There's a bathroom over there. Go in it and take a shower."

Without a word, she went into the bathroom. After a few moments, I heard the shower running, and I had a thought. It was partly necessity and partly me trying to be a good guy.

I realized that the odor had to be trapped in her clothes too. So taking a shower and then putting the same funky ass clothes back on would serve almost no purpose.

I went into my room and grabbed my spare robe. I wasn't much of a robe guy, but I had a couple of them. One I bought; the other fell into my suitcase accidentally on a business trip.

It was a really nice robe. That was the one I got out for the cockroach.

I opened the door, expecting for the shower curtain to be closed, and there she was...

She was standing in the extra deep tub with both shower heads on full blast, scrubbing furiously.

Her back was to me, and she was humming. I was amazed. It was like looking at a work of art. Looking at her, I was reminded of that painting of Venus rising from the sea.

Her skin was a pale, milky color when the dirt and grime was removed from it. And her hair must've been filthy because what I'd taken for a dull brown was a rich red color.

For a shorter woman, her legs seemed really long. Her hips were narrow, but her ass had a nice shape to it. I had the idea that if you got a few meals into her, that ass would be spectacular.

She turned, and I saw them then. They weren't very big. But they were mouth watering. As my gaze continued upwards I noticed her face, and it suddenly occurred to me that she was staring at me.

"It took you a long time to get to my face, didn't it?" she asked angrily.

"I uh ..." I babbled.

"Just when I'd told myself that there really were nice people left in the world, you pull this," she said. "I guess I know now why you wanted me to take a shower. What's wrong pervert? Didn't you have time to drill a peep hole in the wall?"

She stood there scolding me, but made absolutely no attempt to cover herself. I found myself getting angry.

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on," I spat. "Nobody told you to come here. I sure as hell didn't. If you want, you can just march your ass back out into the storm. Last time I checked the cops were still there. Enjoy prison."

"Wait," she said. She lowered her arms as if it was torturing her. "You can look."

"Arrrrrrggghhhh," I yelled in frustration.

"Are you a pervert AND a pirate?" she asked.

"Look, I warned you a while ago that I might be an axe murderer or something. But I swear to you that staring at you was not my intention when I came in here. I knocked, but you didn't hear me. I brought you a robe." I held it up. "I wanted to wash your clothes. It wouldn't do you any good to get all nice and clean and then put dirty clothes back on."

"Then why were you standing there staring at me?" she asked.

"Because I'm a guy," I said. "When we see naked women, we get stupid."

"But I'm old and ugly ..." she began.

"And apparently blind," I said. "So I'll just take the clothes and leave you the robe."

"I used some of your shampoo," she said. "I kind of used a lot of it."

The accent was something I hadn't noticed before. Maybe she only used it when she wasn't screaming. It was a soft southern accent. It wasn't as hard on the ears as the Hee Haw, down on the farm, deep south accent, but it was southern just the same.

"I kind of noticed," I said. "It was kind of worth it. I'm going to put your clothes in the washer."

As I left the bathroom, I breathed out a huge sigh. I had to get out of that room before she noticed how hard my dick was. I was actually kind of surprised myself.

Since Sharon's departure, I'd had virtually no interest in women, at least not in women outside of porn. My opinion was that women were like Ferraris. They were nice to look at and to think about in a purely theoretical way, but they were too expensive, too hard to maintain, and not dependable enough that I wanted to own one.

I put her clothes in the washer and dumped in some Tide, and some off-brand fabric softener that I'd had on the shelf since Sharon used to do the laundry. I had no idea what the hell fabric softener was supposed to do, but women seemed to like it.

Sharon always seemed to know, on the rare occasions that I did laundry when we were together, if I used it or not. I figured this would be a good chance to get rid of it before it went bad.

Just as I turned the machine on, I had a thought. What if the fabric softener had already gone bad? What if the chemicals broke down, turned into acid, and ate her clothes?

I returned to the living room and looked outside. The snow was coming down even harder now. Come morning I was going to have to make a really hard choice.

I could either go to all of the trouble of getting my snow blower out and putting gas in it and coaxing the motor to start; or just get my ass out there with a shovel.

This seemed like heavy assed heart attack snow. But I didn't really have to worry about that. Even at forty-five years old, I looked and felt younger. That was due to daily runs, workouts in my home gym, and of course my Mustangs.

All of the experts say that people who smile, live longer. And every time I saw my car, I smiled.

"Is the police car still there?" she asked.

I actually hadn't been looking for it. "I don't see it," I told her. "But they could have just turned off the search lights. With the snow that heavy, I can't really tell. But you can't leave yet anyway. I just put your clothes in the washer. It'll take them about forty minutes to wash and another forty five, at least, to dry."

She didn't seem to mind that, in fact, she almost smiled. I think that she was thinking that her wet clothes gave her a bit longer inside before she had to go out into that hellish weather.

"So what do I do until then?" she asked in a small voice.

"I was about to watch a movie and eat some pizza," I said. I sat down aimed the remote at the TV and pushed play. "Have some pizza and a beer."

She looked at me with a really funny expression on her face.

I hit pause again. "Okay, what's wrong?" I asked.

"I don't drink beer," she said. "You probably don't remember, but I told you that at the store."

"Come on," I said. She followed me into the kitchen and looked around. I could tell that she was impressed by the kitchen. I opened the fridge, and she looked through the assortment of drinks.

"May I have some of that?" she asked, pointing at my peach medley juice. I nodded.

"I need a glass, please," she said. I walked over to a cabinet and got her a glass. As I turned to head back into the living room, I heard it.

"Uhm ...?" she said in a voice so tiny that I barely heard it.

"Uhm what," I asked.

"I need a plate," she said, "and napkins." I rolled my eyes skyward.

"It's pizza!" I said. "You eat it out of the box."

"It's greasy," she said. "And YOU eat it out of the box. I'd like a plate and napkins. You have a very nice sofa. I don't want to leave grease stains on it."

I got her a plate.

She attacked her pizza like she hadn't eaten in a while. From the first sip of the juice, her eyes lit up. She sipped it sparingly, savoring it.

"You do know that you can have more juice... right?" I said.

"Thank you," she said. I turned to look at her. She was certainly one of the more polite people I had run into.

Turning to look at her was a mistake. Eating and drinking had put some energy into her. Her pale skin seemed to have a glow about it.

"I think I heard the buzzer for the washer," I said. "I'll go and put your things in the dryer."

When I got back she was sitting on the floor with her feet pulled up and tucked inside of the robe. I looked at her quizzically, and she frowned.

"I'm warm," she said. "But my feet are cold, and I was beginning to get a little sleepy. I don't think I've eaten that much in a long time. You said that I had about forty to forty-five minutes for my clothes to dry. So I was going to take a quick cat nap."

"Why not just stretch out on the sofa?" I asked.

"I wasn't sure how you'd feel about me putting my feet on your furniture," she said.

I shook my head and then bounded up the stairs to the linen closet. I brought her back a blanket and a pillow.

"I don't understand how you'd even want to sleep with this awesome movie going on but have at it," I told her.

"Perhaps when I wake, we'll discuss your awesome movie," she said. "Thanks for everything."

I watched the rest of the movie while glancing at her every once in a while. She was very polite and actually kind of pretty, all cleaned up. It had been a really pleasant evening, so I didn't bother her when the dryer stopped.

The snow outside was almost a foot deep, and I was having very evil thoughts.

I let her sleep until she awakened. I had folded her clothes into a neat pile and stuck a fifty in the pocket of her threadbare jeans.

She woke, stretched, and looked around at the clock. It was nearly midnight, and she had slept for a little over three hours.

She looked at me and actually smiled. "I guess you're not an axe murderer," she said. "If you were, I wouldn't be alive to wake up. And I still have all of my clothes on, so maybe you're not as big a pervert as I thought."

I just shook my head. "I suppose you want to watch me get dressed," she smiled.

"Please... Change in the bathroom," I said.

She came out a few moments later, and she looked vulnerable. Maybe the layers of dirt and the scowl on her face had been some sort of armor.

"Why is there money in my pocket?" she asked.

"It's not mine," I said. "Maybe your pants were so dirty that you didn't know it was there."

We just looked at each other for a while.

"It's awful out there and I... " I began.

"Thank you for everything. You're a really nice ma ..." she said at the same time.