I was on my way to a show in Apalachicola. It’s an hour and a half drive and I made the drive once a week in my 1998 Ford F-150 that season.
I got to play a baby grand piano on Sundays for 3 hours overlooking Downtown Apalach and the bay. My routine was to get there 30 minutes early (since there was no set up) and grab my specialty coffee from Apalachicola Chocolate and Coffee company before sitting down to play at a local restaurant.
Does it sound cozy? It was.
I always thought it was kinda an interesting juxtaposition showing up to my gigs in my over 20 year old vehicle dressed to the nines. Usually I wore something sparkly. Helps attract attention to the fact, “Hey, there’s a pianist over there.” And I get more tips.
But that day, ole Bessy decided to get over heated.
Luckily I pulled into a Hardware store off highway 98 before she cut off on her own. I wiped the sweat from my brow, slammed the door and shuffled inside in my heels. No coffee for me today.
“Welcome in!” A voice said to my left.
“Thanks.” I said. “Motor oil?”
A nice woman with white hair escorted me. I chose the cheapest I could find and ran up to check out.
“Y’all don’t have gallons of water do you?”
“Nah.” She said. “Check nextdoor. Everything alright?”
“Yeah.” I said, sighing. “I’m on my way to a show. I’m a musician. My truck overheated. It’s been burning through water and oil lately.”
“Gotta get it checked.”
I cried inside. “Yep. You’re definitely right about that.”
I check out with the oil and run nextdoor to the gas station for a few gallons of water. Then I’m in my sparkles, with one heel on a tire, pouring water into the reservoir. Then I added a can of oil.
She lived! I drove her into Apalach until she kaputted right into a parking space. I got out, looked around, and started shaking out my hair. I took some spare papers out of the glove compartment and started fanning myself. Then I put on my sunglasses and strode into my show with five minutes to spare.
I cooled down over the next three hours, drinking several glasses of water, praying to God my truck would just magically make it back home.
She didn’t. I found myself on the side of Highway 98 a mere 30 minutes into my return trip.
I wanted to kick the tire but I didn’t have many fancy shoes. Instead, I took my heels off and took out the flip flops I kept in my car.
I put them on and looked under the hood, sweat pouring down my back, wondering how my life could possibly get worse.
You know. Like we all do when we’re stranded on the side of the road in 100 degree heat.
“Do I need to come get you?” Eli said over the phone.
“Nope! You have a show.”
“Man this sucks.”
“Yeah.” I said, popping my lips. “Tell me about it.”
“Why can’t we get shows together?”
“That’s a damn good question.” I said, looking over my shoulder. “I gotta go. Someone’s pulling up.”
The woman with the white hair from the hardware store pulled up. “I thought that was you.” She said, giving me a knowing smile.
“Ha!” I said, bracing the plank of wood I used to keep up the hood and meandering over to her.
“Can I give you a ride anywhere?” She asked.
“Nah.” I said, looking out to the Gulf of Mexico. “I’m just gonna have to take it in spurts, ya know? It’ll be a long trip back home.”
“You’ve gotta get it checked out.”
“Yes ma’am. You’re right.” I said, laughing. “I’m positive it’s the fuel pump, but we just replaced the alternator so I gotta wait.”
“Alright. Well.” She said, looking to the water. “It’s a beautiful day otherwise.”
“Yes ma’am.” I responded.
“I’d help you more but I got truck problems myself. How was your show?”
I looked at the stranger, smiling. “Any day I get to play music in my home is a good day to me.”
“Alright then. Maybe I’ll see you around.” She said, waving goodbye.
“See ya.” I said.
She drove off.
I went back to the hood and looked down. Everything was still so hot.
“Ouch!” I pulled back my hand. I’d accidentally touched metal and there would definitely be a blister.
Fuming, I left the hood up and jumped inside the truck, lifting my body over the back seat and rummaging.
“Aha!” I said, as if I had found unexpected treasure.
It was a bathing suit. We native Floridians always have one handy. No use in just sitting there for thirty minutes being hot and miserable.
I changed discreetly in the truck and hopped out, running towards the Gulf of Mexico.
I dove in, the water perfect, spinning and spinning in the tide like I did as a child, my blistered finger stinging but soothed from the salt.
I thought about what a sight it must be to see me pop out of that darn truck at my fancy gigs. What do people really think about me?
My hour and a half trip took me three hours. I took it all the way home in my bathing suit.
I collapsed into the shower but left the salt in my hair.
Life Gets Better by came to mind.
Jack and Gin is an indie Southern rock duo bringing coastal storytelling, powerhouse vocals, electric guitar, and piano-driven soul to the stage. Led by Sandi “Gin” MarLisa and Eli “Jack” Ingram, their music blends Southern rock, folk, blues, and raw, rootsy charm into a sound they call Salty South.