Charlie

He was dying. Dad left me there with him. I sat down beside him and he crawled up into my lap and put his head in my arms. He was so weak; all he could manage was a couple of licks and a wag or two. Again, all I could do was talk softly to him. Telling him everything will be all right. Charlie died in my arms that morning. I was fourteen.

My first car was a Chevy coupe... small block V8 all decked out in chrome, candy apple red with a black top and a matching black hood scoop, a pumping' stereo system playing' good rock 'n roll. On my way to my after school job and barely able to keep my wits coz my girlfriend was the bosses' daughter and she would be there too.

Suddenly… BAM! My tire blew out, damn! I pulled off

the road as best as I could, there wasn't much of a shoulder on that old country back road. I had run over broken glass from a beer bottle. Worrying about being late for work I hurriedly got the spare out of the trunk and began jacking the car up. Next thing I know a semi is hitting his brakes and sliding all over the road out of control and slammed into the ditch about six feet
from where I was rooted to the ground, probably in shock.

The driver climbed down and looked like he was in shock too. I finally asked him if he was all right, to which he replied, "Yeah, just rattled my teeth some...and my CB is out." We finished changing the flat and I told the trucker to hop in and I'd get him to a phone so he could call a wrecker. On the way he said that I was lucky to be alive because he always took that corner wide and used the shoulder too. He said he wouldn't have ever seen me in time to stop. When I said I heard him hit his brakes he told me the damnedest thing. I'll never forget it. He said he s lammed on his brakes to keep from hitting a small brown dog that was crossing the road ahead of the curve, a small brown dog that had a limp to his back leg.

I was sixteen. Charlie had been laid to rest two years ago... sometimes I wonder.