A Slap On The Wrist, chapter 2
As soon as it had begun, it was over. Hannah was laying on her back on the dusty rock beneath her. The sun was a brilliant blue, there was one cloud far, far up in the atmosphere making the sky look so far away. She picked herself up and dusted down her back before looking around her. The orange seemed to stretch for ever on all sides, apart from one where far off she could see a huge collection of jagged rocks and mountains. She started to walk away from them. . .
She had not gone far when she had noticed the heat. She was soon sweating and gasping for a drink of water. She needed to find the road. There HAD to be one nearby. She carried on walking. . .
Suddenly, from behind her a car horn sounded. She tunred and saw the familiar sight of a car heading straight for her. This time she reacted and dived sideways onto the floor as the car stopped, a man got out and walked over to her.
"You can't just go walking in the middle of the road, hunny, even out here in the desert," he said. he was short, had a pink cap on and large sunglasses, the areas of his face not covered by such accessories was dominated by a thick stubble. He continued to speak, "You look lost. Why ARE you out here in the middle of the desert?"
"Thats exactly why. I'm lost. You couldn't give me a lift to the city could you?" she replied.
"Certainly. You look thirsty. I'm going for a slash, theres some water in the back seat," he walked over to a dry, dead bush and proceeded to water it. . .
Hannah let the window down and allowed the breeze to run over her neck and face. Bad idea. Dozens of small insects, flies and mozzies splattered all over her, much to the man's amusemant.
"Nice one errr... I never did catch your name, did I?"
"Hannah. Whats yours?"
"Err Frank. I'm Frank."
"Thats cool."
"So what brings you to America, Hannah? I notice you're not from round here."
Should she tell him? This stranger that there is in fact a God? That she has met him and St. Peter? That she has been set a difficult task to determine whether she lives or dies?
"Holiday. I...I... I'm on my own though... and I kinda got dumped out in the desert when they found I was on the coach without paying. So I'm all alone with no cash, no stuff and nowhere to stay."
"Thats too bad."
He didn't seem to care. He pulled off the road and leant over to the passenger seat.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Hannah said, louder than she had hoped. The man's hand continued and opened up the glove compartment.
"Just helping you out."
He sorted through a loud of crap: a half eaten sandwich, a drum stick, an empty box of condoms and several fake spiders. He got out a wallet and a set of keys from the very back, put them on the daskboard and continued to drive.
"What was that for?" Hannah asked.
"You'll see," Frank muttered.
The city appeared faster than Hannah had expected. They had passed a few villages on the way, some shacks, a large area full of smashed up cars and even a liquor store with an old man sitting outside holding a shotgun menacingly in his arms. Suddenly, the dirt track was replaced with tarmac and white buildings complete with satellite dishes and air conditioning vents cropped up alongside the road.
"So what your saying is, the Government knew all about this yet didn't do anything about it?"
"Thats what my mate reckons. He's really against the Bush regime, he likes writing songs against it and everything."
That last comment released a snort of laughter from Hannah's nose.
"Who is he? Billie Joe fucking Armstrong?"
"Yeah something like that," Frank said with a little smile, probably wanting to tell his mate that he'd been called the frontman of Green Day, "Ah, here we are."
Frank pulled into a small road with 4 houses down each side. They had front lawns, sprinkler systems and one house even had a statue of a dolphin on the lawn. Hannah was rather amused that this scruffy man could afford such a nice place like this.
"This is my mate's house. He's on his honeymoon for another week in Australia so you might as well kip here until you find your way out. Here's some cash, and here," he said as he scribbled on a scrap of paper, "is my phone number in case you need to talk to a friendly face."
"Wow, you don't have to do all this you know," Hannah said amazed that some one could be so nice to a person they'd never met before.
"Well if you don't want it, I'll just take it back then," he muttered from behind the shades.
"I didn't mean it like that. Cheers a lot dude, I'll see you around."
Frank pulled off and Hannah watched him go round the corner, singing Rock n Roll Girlfriend by Green Day to himself as he went along. She composed herself, turned around and went into the house. It was messy inside, yet in a controlled sort of way. Obviously a messy husband and a neat girlfriend or vice versa. Once she had found her way around the place, she grabbed a coke and slumped on the couch. The sun was just disappearing behind the garden fence at the bottom of the garden.
There were many pictures on the wall: A wedding photgraph of a man with short spiky hair and a beautiful woman with amazingly green eyes, a signed edition of Rolling Stone magazine with Steven Tyler on the cover, and a painting by Andy Warhol next to the door. But it was the one above Hannah's head that grabbed Hannah's attention.
The same couple from the wedding photograph, with three people she had recognised as soon as she had seen it. Scrawled along the bottom was:
"To Nyck and Nicola, Congrats With The Wedding. Hope You Both Rock On Forever Dude, Love Tre, Mike and Billie Joe."
The strange thing was, she had already seen those sunglasses earlier that day. The sunglasses from the picture which were presiding on Tre Cool's nose. She could only manage one word:
"Frank..."
She had not gone far when she had noticed the heat. She was soon sweating and gasping for a drink of water. She needed to find the road. There HAD to be one nearby. She carried on walking. . .
Suddenly, from behind her a car horn sounded. She tunred and saw the familiar sight of a car heading straight for her. This time she reacted and dived sideways onto the floor as the car stopped, a man got out and walked over to her.
"You can't just go walking in the middle of the road, hunny, even out here in the desert," he said. he was short, had a pink cap on and large sunglasses, the areas of his face not covered by such accessories was dominated by a thick stubble. He continued to speak, "You look lost. Why ARE you out here in the middle of the desert?"
"Thats exactly why. I'm lost. You couldn't give me a lift to the city could you?" she replied.
"Certainly. You look thirsty. I'm going for a slash, theres some water in the back seat," he walked over to a dry, dead bush and proceeded to water it. . .
Hannah let the window down and allowed the breeze to run over her neck and face. Bad idea. Dozens of small insects, flies and mozzies splattered all over her, much to the man's amusemant.
"Nice one errr... I never did catch your name, did I?"
"Hannah. Whats yours?"
"Err Frank. I'm Frank."
"Thats cool."
"So what brings you to America, Hannah? I notice you're not from round here."
Should she tell him? This stranger that there is in fact a God? That she has met him and St. Peter? That she has been set a difficult task to determine whether she lives or dies?
"Holiday. I...I... I'm on my own though... and I kinda got dumped out in the desert when they found I was on the coach without paying. So I'm all alone with no cash, no stuff and nowhere to stay."
"Thats too bad."
He didn't seem to care. He pulled off the road and leant over to the passenger seat.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Hannah said, louder than she had hoped. The man's hand continued and opened up the glove compartment.
"Just helping you out."
He sorted through a loud of crap: a half eaten sandwich, a drum stick, an empty box of condoms and several fake spiders. He got out a wallet and a set of keys from the very back, put them on the daskboard and continued to drive.
"What was that for?" Hannah asked.
"You'll see," Frank muttered.
The city appeared faster than Hannah had expected. They had passed a few villages on the way, some shacks, a large area full of smashed up cars and even a liquor store with an old man sitting outside holding a shotgun menacingly in his arms. Suddenly, the dirt track was replaced with tarmac and white buildings complete with satellite dishes and air conditioning vents cropped up alongside the road.
"So what your saying is, the Government knew all about this yet didn't do anything about it?"
"Thats what my mate reckons. He's really against the Bush regime, he likes writing songs against it and everything."
That last comment released a snort of laughter from Hannah's nose.
"Who is he? Billie Joe fucking Armstrong?"
"Yeah something like that," Frank said with a little smile, probably wanting to tell his mate that he'd been called the frontman of Green Day, "Ah, here we are."
Frank pulled into a small road with 4 houses down each side. They had front lawns, sprinkler systems and one house even had a statue of a dolphin on the lawn. Hannah was rather amused that this scruffy man could afford such a nice place like this.
"This is my mate's house. He's on his honeymoon for another week in Australia so you might as well kip here until you find your way out. Here's some cash, and here," he said as he scribbled on a scrap of paper, "is my phone number in case you need to talk to a friendly face."
"Wow, you don't have to do all this you know," Hannah said amazed that some one could be so nice to a person they'd never met before.
"Well if you don't want it, I'll just take it back then," he muttered from behind the shades.
"I didn't mean it like that. Cheers a lot dude, I'll see you around."
Frank pulled off and Hannah watched him go round the corner, singing Rock n Roll Girlfriend by Green Day to himself as he went along. She composed herself, turned around and went into the house. It was messy inside, yet in a controlled sort of way. Obviously a messy husband and a neat girlfriend or vice versa. Once she had found her way around the place, she grabbed a coke and slumped on the couch. The sun was just disappearing behind the garden fence at the bottom of the garden.
There were many pictures on the wall: A wedding photgraph of a man with short spiky hair and a beautiful woman with amazingly green eyes, a signed edition of Rolling Stone magazine with Steven Tyler on the cover, and a painting by Andy Warhol next to the door. But it was the one above Hannah's head that grabbed Hannah's attention.
The same couple from the wedding photograph, with three people she had recognised as soon as she had seen it. Scrawled along the bottom was:
"To Nyck and Nicola, Congrats With The Wedding. Hope You Both Rock On Forever Dude, Love Tre, Mike and Billie Joe."
The strange thing was, she had already seen those sunglasses earlier that day. The sunglasses from the picture which were presiding on Tre Cool's nose. She could only manage one word:
"Frank..."
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