Not Out of Gas

The engine of Henry Wilson's pickup sputtered once, then twice, and then just died altogether. He and his wife of 40 years, Amy, had been out for a drive on their farm. Normally, Amy didn't ride along to perform this rather mundane chore but when she had seen him walking towards their old pickup she thought it would be fun to tag along.

"Are we out of gas?" Amy asked.

Henry Got out and lifted the hood. Amy's father had taught her to always look for the simplest problem as it was often the main one. They had broken down near a little stream that started on their property and ran into a larger stream that fed into the Missouri river. She plucked up a long cat tail branch out of the stream and walked back to the truck. She removed the gas cap and inserted the cattail. It came out as dry as it had gone in.

"Are we out of gas?" She repeated.

"Can't be the gauge is at the half."

"Oh Henry, That thing hasn't worked since Carter was president."

Amy climbed into the cab and hit the dashboard with her fist. The needle of the gauge dropped like a stone all the way to "E."

Stubbornness had been Henry's only ally through draught and flood but it had been a fickle friend as of late, getting him more trouble than anything else, and right now was no different. He'd forgotten to put gas in the truck and knew his wife was right. Amy so often was but he was not ready yet to admit it. After half an hour, all he had to show for his work was a pair of dirty hands and a scraped knuckle. He mumbled a curse under his breath, slammed the hood, and kicked its front bumper for good measure.

Henry walked around the back of the truck to discover his wife sitting on the tailgate drinking, what looked like a cup of coffee. While he had been "fixing" the truck, Amy had been far more productive. She had built a little fire and unrolled a couple of blankets on the tailgate which made a pretty comfy seat for two. She had filled a couple of canteens with water and added a few aqua clear pellets to kill any bacteria in the water and then made coffee with it.

"Buy you a drink, sailor?" Amy asked with a smile.

Henry sat down while she walked over to the fire, to refill her own cup and a second one for Henry. "Well, look at you. Wouldn't your den mother be proud?"

Henry took a small sip expecting the coffee to be cold and bitter. It was neither. "Where did you get this?" asked Henry.

Amy nodded to the pile of old camping supplies still stacked in the truck bed. "Oh, dear lord this has to have been in here since our last camping trip with the kids. That was what, five or ten years ago?"

Amy took another large sip and then gave her husband a little love bump, "Tastes ok to me. Just because something is old doesn't mean it isn't still good."

She picked up his left arm and draped it over her shoulders. "Are you cold?" Henry asked.

She cuddled in closer and smiled, "Not now."

They sat that way watching the sunset for a while before Henry asked the question that had been weighing on his mind for a while. "Did you bring your cell?"

"Nope." Amy answered accentuating the p, "How about you?"

"Nope."

They sat there for another ten or fifteen minutes before Henry spoke again, "Well, we had better get started back."

Amy's eyes never left the sunset as she asked, "why?"

Henry looked down at his wife, "Because it's getting dark."

"I can see that Henry. Isn't beautiful?"

"Be that as it may, it's a little ways back to the house from here. It may be dark before we get there."

"All the more reason for us to stay here."

"You don't want to stay out here all night do you?"

Amy turned to looker her husband in the eyes. "It could be fun. Look, Henry, I was a good little girl scot and the last thing I want to do is sprain my ankle stepping into a hole or burrow or God knows what, that I could have avoided if I only had had the good cents to not go wandering around in the dark." Amy took in a deep breath, "besides we haven't roasted marshmallows yet." She said in a slightly pouty voice.

Henry couldn't help it, he started to laugh. Amy handed a straight cat tail with all the bark on one end stripped away. She opened the bag and impaled two marshmallows on each stick and started to roast hers. Upon examining the bag more closely he noticed the marshmallows had expired two years ago. "Amy..."

She looked over at the bag Henry was proffering to her, "That only if you open the bag, Henry." She said eating one marshmallow and poking another on.

They got their camp set up just before the last bit of light faded. They rolled out all of the sleeping bags they could find to serve as a makeshift mattress in the back of the truck. It was still pretty hard but much better than sleeping on the cold rough ground. Thankfully the night was not too cold and they only need one sleeping bag between them to keep warm. After an ample amount of stargazing and cuddling Henry spoke, "Frank Meyers' son ran into me at the sale barn the other day."

Amy propped herself up on one arm, "Bobby? How is he doing?"

"Pretty well I guess. He told me he was doing so good in fact, he wanted to move his family out here. He's got a wife and I think two kids, anyway he wants to get them out of the city. It's too busy and crowded and his mom's not well."

"Margret was telling me that her diabetes was giver her problems again."

"Well anyway, he wants to buy a farm, our farm to be exact."

Amy's face turn serious, "What did you tell him?"

"I said I'd have to talk with you about it."

Amy now spoke the line she had repeated through more hard years than she cared to count, "We can't sell the farm."

Henry looked at her with equal seriousness, "It's no secret that you and I are not getting any younger. He's offering a fair price, more than fair in fact. If we sell now, not only can we retire in the black but do the traveling you have always wanted to do. Plus we'll be helping out a good friend's son."

"Henry I would love to travel but the farm...You love this farm."

"I love you, Amy. I always have and God knows I always will. I love the five children that we raised here. I love that it was our home and that working it made me the man I am today, healthy and free. But it's just dirt."

"Oh Henry," Amy couldn't help it her eyes began to fill with tears. "But I want you to be happy."

"Amy, as long as I'm with you I'll always be happy. We worked hard all our lives it's time for us to have a little fun."

They kissed like they had not kissed in a long time. They wrapped their arms around each other and held each other so tight they didn't even notice the sound of the approaching truck. Suddenly the entire campsite was lit up by spotlights. A gruff deep voice called out, "What's going on here?"

Henry's mind flashed back to all the times they had almost gotten caught, unflagrant in the back of this very truck and was glad they had not gotten that far yet. Recognizing the voice of the local Sherriff, a long-time friend Carl Owens, Henry shielded his eyes and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Carl. Turn those damn lights off."

"That you Henry?" asked the deep voice sounding a lot less menacing.

"Who the H-E-double-hockey-sticks do you think?"

The lights went out as suddenly as they had come on. It took several moments and a little head shaking for Amy and Henry to clear their vision. Even after their pupils dilated they were seeing large spots. Carl came rushing over, "Sorry about the whole COPS thing. I saw the fire and thought you had squatters. I figured a shot with the high beams would scare them off. What are you and Amy doing out here?"

Amy caught auditable and looked around at nothing in particular. Amy hadn't had to explain what they were about to do in the back of the truck to anyone since their youngest had turned 10. Henry decided to take the lead, "We were out checking fields and decided to do a little stargazing. Unfortunately, I forgot to fill the tank so we ran out of gas."

Carl knew bull shit when he heard it. His Sherriff's eyes recognized the scene for what it was. He took Henry by the arm, turned his so they both had their backs to Amy, and whispered in a low voice, "Does that old 'we're out of gas' line still work?"

Henry replied in an even lower voice, "It was about to."

Carl started to walk towards the back of his truck. He returned with a gas can. Carl handed the can to Henry and in a voice much too loud said "Compliments of the county Sherriff's department. Just get the can back to me next time you're in town."

"I can bring it in tomorrow morning, Carl. I have to go to the bank and see Robert Meyer's about selling him my farm anyway."

Carl leaned out the window of his truck, "You mean you're actually going to sell? Somebody told me Bobby asked you, but I didn't think you'd sell. I know how much this place means to you."

Carl nodded toward his wife "Yeah, but she means a whole lot more."

Henry patted Carl on the back before walking back to his wife.

"Hey, Carl." Call Amy as she took her husband's hands in hers.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"It'll probably be closer to the afternoon before he'll be able to get that can back to you."

"Yes Ma'am,"

With that, Carl drove off leaving the couple to spend the rest of the night together.