Whats Your Sign? J.S. King Amber Alice drove at a steady rate - TopicsExpress

Whats Your Sign? J.S. King Amber Alice drove at a steady rate down Rte. 272 on her way to work at the Glorious Cat Meat Canning Facility, talking quietly to herself. And then Ill say, she told herself, you can take this job and can it, get it? can it and…and… She sighed as she replayed her favorite daydream. The sun was shining and it was another beautiful day in Willow Street as she grimly repeated to herself Its good to have a job, Its good…. The speed limit was posted 45 mph and Amber Alice was keeping her car to a mere 55 mph, to show her respect for authority. She briefly scanned the roadway for cross traffic, all was clear. Up ahead, on the right, a battered green pickup truck pulled up and rested at the stop sign on Shiprock Rd. Soon, though, the truck edged forward a little, the driver leaning over the steering wheel and peering in her direction. Amber Alice glanced at him casually, dismissed him from the front of her mind and returned to her fantasy of quitting her day job and making her living as a writer. If only editors didnt have such an aversion to schlock, she mourned, her fortune would be certain. She approached nearer to the side road, closer, closer, and was almost past it. A sudden flash of motion brought Amber Alice out of her daydream into harsh reality. The truck had pulled out in front of her and was moving sluggishly across her forward bow. Amber Alice slammed on the brakes and wrenched the steering wheel sideways. There was no time to curse or pray; time only to grunt and heave the car off the road into a ditch. Down, down, down, how deep was this ditch? Then a muddy splash and she was thrown back as the car started up the other side. Uhngh, she grunted and struggled to take a deep breath, then another and another. She looked around in a daze and saw shrubs pressed tightly against the car windows and her hands still doing a white-knuckle death-grip on the steering wheel. She drew another deep breath, uttered a long stream of words that she knew her mother wouldnt approve of, and struggled out of the car. She turned around and around, throwing her hands up and down wildly as she addressed the heavens. Why? she demanded of the world. Why, why, why? Why does every yo-yo in the world want to pull out in front of me? What is it about me that attracts every suicidal pinhead for miles around? Why do they pick me? Its like I have a sign over my head! She turned towards her car at that point in her monologue and stared at the vehicle in astonishment. There was indeed a sign, not over her head exactly, but over the car. There, hanging patiently in the air, was a large neon sign. A border of white lights blinked off and on and a large arrow pointed down towards the car. Bright red letters spelled its message to the world: PULL OUT IN FRONT OF ME! it declared. Well, Ill be damned, Amber Alice allowed, look at that! There is a sign over me! No wonder everyones pulling out in front of me; theyre just doing what theyre told. She sighed with exasperation. Im not happy about it, but at least theres an explanation for it. She shook her head at the random cruelness of the world and called a tow truck.