zero plus nothing equals - 25. a smooth ride

by jeremy witherington

part twenty-five of 31

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the ride between oklahoma city and santa fe was as smooth as the glass table top at madame rose’s in pocatello idaho on a summer night. frank got off at the last stop after indian territory. there were a million stars in the sky over pop’s store. frank pushed open the door. pop was alone behind the counter, looking like he was falling asleep. the way he always looked. but you couldn’t get anything past him. there was no sign of glenda. frank almost bumped into the cracker barrel. you should move that barrel farther away from the door, he told pop. then it would not be close enough to the stove, pop replied in his sleepy voice. you could move the stove too, frank answered promptly. what can i get you, frank, pop asked, abruptly terminating the conversation about the cracker barrel and the stove. some ham and cheese and two slices of sourdough bread. and some mustard if you got it. no mustard. the dutchman hasn’t been around lately. i am sorry to her that. i hope nothing happened to him. i did not hear that he was hanged. other than that, i can not say. i do not see glenda around either. she went back where she came from. and where might that have been? it was a different place every day, pop replied wearily. and with that, pop shuffled away from the counter to get frank his ham and cheese and two slices of sourdough bread. leaving frank alone with his thoughts. suddenly frank woke up. or maybe he went back to sleep. either way - you never can tell. old number 9 used to come around the bend right about now - next