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3rd Place goes to: Jodi Henry Eugene, Oregon Congratulations Jodi! |
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Jodi’s Bio: Jodi Henry has a background as a journalist, copywriter and publicist in corporate and non-profit environments and has written for electronic and print media. She and her husband John Reed operate Writers Welcome, an editing and critique service. Her work has been published in various publications, most recently, In Our Own Voices, An Oregon Writers Colony Anthology. She lives in Eugene, Oregon and is currently working on a series of personal essays. www.writerswelcome.com Writers Welcome is a professional editing and critique service for writers of all levels striving to be "a cut above the rest." |
Jag Meets Iguana
By Jodi Henry
Sandra held the sleek Jaguar XKE to sixty-five. She'd made the final payment. Her widowed neighbor, Ruby, dozed in the passenger seat, a gigantic flowered bag clutched to her bosom. Yellowstone, where Sandra's ex-husband never wanted to visit, was two days away. The Jag purred along I-84 out of Portland, toward Wyoming. Sandra checked the side mirror as she passed a semi. She looked again; an iguana was crawling out of Ruby's bag. Sandra jerked the wheel and the Jag swerved toward the guardrail.
Ruby's eyes popped open. “What happened?” she said.
“Get that thing away from me,” Sandra screamed.
Biggs Junction truck stop loomed ahead. Sandra cut in front of the semi and careened down the off ramp.
*
Sandra glared at Ruby over the rim of her coffee cup. “What's with the damn iguana?” she said.
“That's Puzzy, my dude magnet. Nothing breaks the ice like an iguana.” Ruby pulled a pint of Jack Daniels from her bag and poured some into her coffee.
She patted the bag. “Puzzy won't cause any trouble.”
As if on cue, the iguana clambered onto the table, ran along the back of the booths and onto the counter, skittering across a state trooper's pancakes. A waitress dropped a stack of plates, a trucker swatted Puzzy with his baseball cap, the cook ran out of the kitchen, brandishing a greasy spatula.
The trooper jumped up and grabbed for the iguana, perched on the cigarette machine. The room fell silent. The grim-faced officer walked over to Sandra and Ruby. He held the animal in his left hand; its tongue flicked the trooper's nametag – J. Reed.
“This belong to you?”
“She's mine,” Ruby said. “Hand her over.”
Officer Reed picked up Ruby's coffee cup and sniffed. “Ma'am, have you been drinking?”
“No officer, she's fine,” Sandra said. Nice hands.
“I'd like you both to step outside.”
“I'm not going anywhere,” Ruby said.
He grabbed her arm, pulled her from the booth and marched her toward the door. Sandra followed, eyes downcast.
*
Officer Reed leaned into the Jag's window, reached across Sandra and handed Ruby a ticket. “Exotic animal possession and public intoxication. Animal control will confiscate the reptile.” He looked into Sandra's blue eyes. “Unless you want to see my lights in your rearview mirror, keep it under sixty-five.”
Half mile down the road, the women looked at each other and smiled. “Sorry about Puzzy, but you don't need a dude magnet. You're one foxy grandma,” Sandra said.
“You're the one Officer Reed was checking out,” said Ruby.
That week, the two shared their stories and finished off the Jack Daniels under a Yellowstone moon.
*
Before they knew it, the Jag was back on I-84, closing in on Biggs Junction.
“This is Officer Reed's territory. Remember what he told you.” Ruby winked.
“I sure do,” said Sandra. She pushed the accelerator down–seventy, eighty, ninety. She glanced in her rearview mirror and smiled.***