Monday, November 21, 2011

Mixed Messages and How My Husband Almost Died

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The Golden Sky by E.C. Stilson



    Now, for the story of the day . . .
    I am not a construction worker.  I know this may shock you since I seem tougher than nails and stronger than Samson.  But, really, I hate to ruin the picture you had because once again, I am not a construction worker.
    This does surprise me a bit, still, because when I was a kid, I wanted to be a pastor or a drill rig operator.  Neither happened.  I sinned too much to be a pastor (which doesn't stop some people) and no one would hire me to drill.
    Back to the point; Cade asked if I'd go with him to the dump.  We'd take the dump truck and everything, so that's why I said, "Heck yeah!"
    When I was little, there was nothing better than going to the dump.  I didn't have to get out of the truck.  The whole time I visited with my daddy.  And then, at the end of the adventure, that sweet man would buy me a slurpee!  (That's a slushie, in case you didn't know.)
    Anyway, Cade drove us to the dump.  "Can we get slurpees on the way home?" I asked him.
    "Ummm . . . Elisa, why are you so excited about this?  And why are you asking permission?"
    "Because it's nostalgic, and we're in a genuine dump truck."
    He shook his head and tapped the wheel.  "Now pay attention.  When we get to the dump, I'll lift the back section, and you'll need to be in the driver's seat."
    "Yeah?" I said.  Was he serious?!  Did he think it was my birthday or something? 

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    We were almost there.  "I'll show you some hand signals.  When one person's in the front and the other is back there, this thing is too hard to hear over."
    So, the man, who practically looked like Zeus with tan skin and bulging muscles, he showed me some hand signals.  "This one means backward, and this one means stop.  This means forward and this means turn, right and then . . . left.  This means cut the engine.  This means boom down."
    "Hold up, boom down?" my joy screeched to a stop.  He'd distracted me with his charm and plus, there was another problem. "Two of those signals looked exactly the same . . . and why do I need to know how to boom down?"
    So he did them again, like he was either deaf or the master of air kung fu.  "Did you see the difference that time?" he asked, pulling to a stop near a stretch of garbage.
    I absolutely did not, but I wasn't going to sound like an idiot.  "Well . . . yes.  Of course . . . I saw the difference."
    So Cade jumped out and I scooted in the driver's seat.  I sat there--it was epic.  Maybe if I did a good enough job, he'd say some great words about me and I'd finally accomplish my dreams . . . after years of sitting on my butt, writing, I'd finally become a construction gal.
    Cade motioned to me.  He looked so tiny and cute in the side mirror.  He'd pushed a button and lifted the dump section of the truck so garbage was about to slide out.
    He gave me a signal, so I pulled forward and hoped I'd done the right thing.
    I looked at him, completely worried.  Would he be proud?  Things moved in slow motion as I waited for his reaction, then reminding me of the ending in "The Mighty Ducks" or one of those sappy movies, Cade gave me a thumbs up.  
    Has anyone ever given you a thumbs up?  Well, let me tell you, it was better than drinking a slurpee in July!  Plus, I just knew, we might have some alone time later that night. But then he gave me another signal and that's when things went awry.  
    Did that mean stop or go?  Backward or forward?  To turn . . . or not to turn?  This is what it looked like:
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    I went into reverse, 'cause that sounded right.  (Little did I know, the signal OF DOOM meant 'stop engine.')
    At that point, Cade starting doing all of the signals at once.  What in the heck did that mean?!

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    I gawked at him.  Who would have known; he could have been a cheerleader!
    I watched as the dump lifted higher.  I stopped because I heard Cade cussing even over the sound of the truck.  "What the Hell?" he screamed.  "What the Hell!"
    I put it in park, turned the thing off and jumped from the truck.
    Cade gave me "the eye" as he stepped back, and his sandals sunk into something that didn't look edible.  His feet appeared stuck and that's when it happened.  The garbage in the extended truck-bed started to descend.  I knew Cade wanted to move, but his feet were glued to the filth beneath him.
    "Get out of there," I screamed because in life, hand signals are NOT the answer.
    He tried to move again, but barely got out of the way.  A bunch of garbage  landed in front of him.  A poof of nastiness went up in his face.
    "Ahhh," he screamed.  "Ahhhh!  When I tell you to go cut the engine . . . you cut the engine."
    "I DID cut the engine!"
    "After you poured garbage ALL over me!"
    He was so dirty, but still pretty dang sexy.  And that voice, he has a nice, strong voice.
    "So, this doesn't mean you'll ask the boss to hire me?"
    He just glared at me and stomped closer.
    "Do I still get a slurpee?"
    He looked at all the trash that had almost buried him, then stood like a peacock, one who might attack.
    "Do we still get alone time tonight?"
    He tried to be stern, but smiled then, this crazy smile that he gave me the time he proposed.  "Fine, you can get a slurpee.  And as far as tonight goes, we'll just have to wait and see."
    "So, you practically said yes to everything else . . . maybe you'll hire me too?"
    He laughed so hard then, apparently seeing the humor in the moment.  "No, you're better at blogging."
    He hugged me and laughed even harder.  "There," he kissed my cheek, "now we both stink."

    Has anyone ever confused you with mixed messages?  How did your story end?