alcala0001
10-21-2010, 10:45 PM
Bertie sat on his front porch, just rocking in his old wooden rocker - his father's chair. He watched cars go buzzing by on the highway, enjoying the day. Bertie was an old coal miner, fifteen years retired, and he was beginning to feel useless. That was, until the highway came through! The state had first told him that he may need to move, but he never planned on going anywhere. The highway had broken through the trees and had been open for a year now. Bertie's old family house stood not a hundred yards from the divided, double lane highway, busy with traffic moving over 75 miles an hour.
Bertie didn't care for the highway at first. He was opposed to it, even going so far as to step into the county building to raise hell. But, after a few months of the highway being here, he actually kind of enjoyed it. This stretch of highway was one of the most dangerous, probably because the speed limit was higher than most other parts around here. Bertie's hearing wasn't so good, so the noise at night didn't bother him. What bothered him was lack of privacy that the highway provided. His beautiful forest was stripped bare to accommodate the winding beast. What made it worthwhile, though, were the accidents. This stretch of road always had somebody skidding off of the road, or people slamming into each other - all kinds of mishaps were common here. And Bertie was useful again. Bertie even went so far as to keep extra blankets and an impromptu first-aid kit made of an old tackle box and various over the counter medical supplies.
Just last week he helped a woman who rolled her car over into a field. a week before that he helped save a little boy in a collision. On this stretch of road, Bertie saw new life as a good samaritan, administering aid and comfort to those who needed it. Bertie was never a man to offer help, or show any sign of humanity, for that matter - just ask anybody who knew him. Bertie was a grumpy old man, set in his ways and as tough as old boot leather. But that was before his important new role as Guardian of the Highway - that's what he thought of himself as. He had never felt so exhilarated as he had during his first rescue. A young lady had veered off of the road while texting and had rolled over into the weeds, her car coming to rest less than a hundred feet from Bertie's porch. Bertie had rushed to her aid and seen she was in a bad shape, her body pinned under her seat. Bertie managed to pry the seat out and his quick actions had saved her, so Officer Chilton had said. He also said something about 'not moving people because of possible spinal injuries blah blah blah'. The point is, Bertie had saved her life and the lives of at least a dozen other people, and he knew that he was destined to save many more on this fast, dangerous stretch of highway.
Bertie glances at his watch and slowly gets up from his old rocking chair - his dad's rocking chair, and stretches, his old joints aching. Today is Friday. Every day Bertie gets out about noon and picks up litter along the highway, donning a bright orange vest with green reflectors that Officer Chilton insisted that he wear. Most days he picks up litter, but today is Friday. Traffic is heavier on Fridays, he's noticed. Bertie hefts his bucket and trudges through the high grass, to the highway. He sets the bucket down and puts on an old leather glove, then reaches into the bucket. Mindful not to injure himself, he scoops out a handful of inch-long roofing nails and waits for a break in traffic, then showers them out along the blacktop with a swing of his arm. Yep! It's gonna be a busy weekend for sure!
Bertie didn't care for the highway at first. He was opposed to it, even going so far as to step into the county building to raise hell. But, after a few months of the highway being here, he actually kind of enjoyed it. This stretch of highway was one of the most dangerous, probably because the speed limit was higher than most other parts around here. Bertie's hearing wasn't so good, so the noise at night didn't bother him. What bothered him was lack of privacy that the highway provided. His beautiful forest was stripped bare to accommodate the winding beast. What made it worthwhile, though, were the accidents. This stretch of road always had somebody skidding off of the road, or people slamming into each other - all kinds of mishaps were common here. And Bertie was useful again. Bertie even went so far as to keep extra blankets and an impromptu first-aid kit made of an old tackle box and various over the counter medical supplies.
Just last week he helped a woman who rolled her car over into a field. a week before that he helped save a little boy in a collision. On this stretch of road, Bertie saw new life as a good samaritan, administering aid and comfort to those who needed it. Bertie was never a man to offer help, or show any sign of humanity, for that matter - just ask anybody who knew him. Bertie was a grumpy old man, set in his ways and as tough as old boot leather. But that was before his important new role as Guardian of the Highway - that's what he thought of himself as. He had never felt so exhilarated as he had during his first rescue. A young lady had veered off of the road while texting and had rolled over into the weeds, her car coming to rest less than a hundred feet from Bertie's porch. Bertie had rushed to her aid and seen she was in a bad shape, her body pinned under her seat. Bertie managed to pry the seat out and his quick actions had saved her, so Officer Chilton had said. He also said something about 'not moving people because of possible spinal injuries blah blah blah'. The point is, Bertie had saved her life and the lives of at least a dozen other people, and he knew that he was destined to save many more on this fast, dangerous stretch of highway.
Bertie glances at his watch and slowly gets up from his old rocking chair - his dad's rocking chair, and stretches, his old joints aching. Today is Friday. Every day Bertie gets out about noon and picks up litter along the highway, donning a bright orange vest with green reflectors that Officer Chilton insisted that he wear. Most days he picks up litter, but today is Friday. Traffic is heavier on Fridays, he's noticed. Bertie hefts his bucket and trudges through the high grass, to the highway. He sets the bucket down and puts on an old leather glove, then reaches into the bucket. Mindful not to injure himself, he scoops out a handful of inch-long roofing nails and waits for a break in traffic, then showers them out along the blacktop with a swing of his arm. Yep! It's gonna be a busy weekend for sure!