Which is fine, a trip to visit Granny isn't exactly about hooking up. I mean, I'm sure there are plenty ofbonny lads and lassiesfor me to work with but I'm here this week to be with my family.
I turn right to merge into traffic and the car rattles like every bolt under the hood is loose.
"Clicking sound my ass cheek." I grumble. "This ship is being held together by a hope and a prayer."
I'm here to be with my family, I just have to get back to them first.
***
"You fucking hornswaggle!" I grunt as I kick the tire on the lily-livered hunk of junk my Granny calls a car.
I'm two miles from her cottage on the edge of town. I navigated traffic circles, three way stops, single lane roads, a flock of sheep on the shoulder, and it was a slight bend to the right that did me in.
We'd been doing fine, The Golf Cart and I, gently easing through turns, rumbling along the puddle laden country road, all while Rhys Reid sang to us through the speakers.
Then one water filled crater appeared in the middle of the road and I jerked to the right to avoid it because I learned to drive a car in America not the UK and The Golf Cart couldn't recover.
The wheel locked up so I got myself to the side of the road as best I could.
I’m stuck in the mud, I’m not giving up.
I've got the hood open trying to decipher the child’s Etch A Sketch piece of an engine in front of me as the rain steadily falls.
Naturally, I don't have cell service so I can't even look up how to fix this, or call for help.
My family will realize I'm not there soon enough, right?
But if I'm in Granny's only car, how will they come and get me?
Fuck.
For all the times Felix has worried about our whereabouts here I am, actually stranded, and he's none the wiser across the Atlantic.
I look out over the hills on either side of this road. They roll and tumble into each other and the rain seems to dump in heavier sheets from one place to the next.
Yeah, May in Scotland might not have been the best choice.
A sudden torrent falls, soaking me to the bone. I reach up to unlatch the stand from the hood, finally calling it, and as I drop it down headlights blind me from around the turn.
Holy shit, I'm saved.
I wave my arms but the only greeting I get is a wave of dirty pothole water as the giant black SUV speeds by.
"Son of a scurvy dog!" I grumble as I shake the water from my arms, turning away from the road.
I hear a car door slam.
"Oy, you alright?" The voice calls through the storm.
"Yeah, dandy." I say as I lift my glasses and pinch the filthy water from my eyes.
"You look like a wet rat." The voice is close behind me.
"Hey, fuck off," I start but then a warm, heather and herb scented blanket wraps around my shoulders. My neck rolls to accommodate my suddenly dense and cloudy head.
"Here," the man mutters and steps around to face me.
Brown Chelsea boots are tucked under darkwashed straight leg jeans. I push my glasses up my nose as I take in the man’s sage green chunky knit fisherman’s sweater. Ink covers his knuckles, and peeks out on his wrist and forearm.
