M.

June 3rd, 1992 found Travis on Interstate 10 about fifty miles west of Phoenix, Arizona headed home to Texas. He had spent the last four years at U.C.L.A. playing baseball and getting a degree in business. Honestly, Travis was happy as hell to get out of Los Angeles and California altogether.

Having made some good friends while he was there, it still was not the place for him or most of his friends either for that matter. Bo Tyson was from Mobile, Alabama, and headed home. Bobby McCallister was from a small town in Nebraska and leaving L.A. tomorrow. Terrell Jackson from Macon, Georgia was staying a little while to help his Aunt Shelia and Uncle Leon. They owned Jackson’s BBQ and Soul Kitchen, which had been what sustained the three throughout college.

Shelia, who decided they all should call her Aunt Shelia, was more of a mom to them most of the time. “You boys get in here and eat. Looking like skin and bones all the time,” she would tell them. Travis could close his eyes in their little restaurant and his nose would make him feel like he was in his granny’s house in East Texas. Aunt Shelia made the best chicken and dumplings he had ever tasted. Travis would be sure not to tell his granny about that or the cornbread that melted in his mouth.

Leon smoked ribs and pulled pork all day every day and that alone would make you walk there in the rain just to lick the plate. He would sneak the boys a beer and got popped on the back of the head by Aunt Shelia every time he did.

Travis’ baseball coaches complained when training would start at the beginning of a season that they put on too much weight, but the coaches were in the restaurant nearly every Saturday themselves. Friday night, Saturday, and Sunday there was a line sometimes around the block of people waiting to eat. Travis and his friends always slip in the back door and Aunt Sheila would load them a plate up that would nearly make them pass out. She would also never take any payment, so the boys would go help out when they had time. Cleaning, unloading supplies that came in, and splitting wood for Leon; but they were not allowed to do any work in the kitchen. Travis got popped on the butt more than once and told to “Git,” when he tried to help do the dishes.

Travis was going to miss them, but hopefully one day he could come back to visit. Currently, he was headed home and outside Phoenix when the radio Emergency Alert started blaring out of the speakers. Leaning forward he turned the radio up to hear what the message was going to be. His eyes had been watching lightning in the eastern sky for about thirty or so miles. Thunderstorms in this area could cause a lot of problems, much rain could make a flash flood, or much worse yet, a haboob could spawn.

Anyone that has not witnessed a haboob cannot fully comprehend what they are, and he was hoping he was not heading into one during the night. Being it was about an hour before dark, dark would make it worse when it hit.

A haboob is caused by violent winds pushing downward and outward from a thunderstorm. Those winds pick up dust and small debris like small pebbles and twigs. Visibility during the day could be almost zero with these walls of gusting winds and sand stretching thousands of feet up and miles across.

Sure enough, that is what the voice on the radio was saying, a haboob was headed straight toward him. Minutes later cars were meeting him on the highway flashing their lights and honking their horns. Travis knew his old 1985 Chevy C/K 10 would survive well enough. Turning the roll bar and pushgard lights on he began looking for a place to pull the old 4x4 truck off the road. The sand was a big worry so even with a four-wheel drive he wanted to be extra careful. Sand could get deep in this area.

He was running out of what was acceptable looking terrain when the first winds hit with a little bit of grit in it peppering his windshield. Slowing the truck down and heading off the side of the road while hitting the power windows up as he did. He eased along off the road as the fading light instantly became night and a lighted wall of sand blanketed the truck.

Figuring the truck was well off the highway Travis put the truck in neutral, set the parking brake, turned off all the lights, and remember to take his foot off the brake. Travis had read a news article probably two years ago about a man who pulled over and turned his lights off but left his foot on the brake. Another car was not smart enough to stop and kept driving. The driver saw the taillights and assumed he was following another car and slammed into the parked car. Luckily, there were only minor injuries from the accident but it still was a risk that he was not fond of taking. But Travis was well off the road, unlike the others in the story.

Setting in the truck sweating, the radio fading in and out due to all the disturbance Travis waited on the storm to run its course. The storm sandblasted the truck with small pebbles and even rocks in sounded like now and then. Luckily, Travis always carried two one-gallon jugs of water when he was on these trips; this storm might last a few hours. Though he had AC in the truck he hardly ever used it out on the open road as it was, but with the haboob blowing all the fine dust he made sure he kept it off. No need to cause more trouble. With the force of the winds picking up, he decided to kill the engine since it was sucking air in to make sure it stayed operational.

Almost two hours later the winds had stopped and there were a few sprinkles of rain hitting the windshield. A lot of the dust was settling. Travis fired the big engine up thanking his stars that it started, hitting the wipers throwing sand everywhere, then powered on the headlights, lights on the roll bars, and the push-guard. Still, with too much sand in the air, he killed the roll bar lights to see better since the lights were reflecting off the sand. Heading back towards the road seemed further than it should have. Travis had gone a lot farther from the highway than he had originally thought.

As he got closer to the road he felt the tires slip now and then. Getting out he locked the hubs to put the truck into four-wheel drive. Back in and easing along he felt the front tires give and then heard the pops and the air hissing. With the floating sand in the air, he had not seen a narrow trench that was covered by tumbleweeds. Sharp jagged rock edge sides had punctured both front tires about twenty feet from the highway.

Slowly he backed out of the trench, having only one spare would not work with the problem of two flats. Travis sat and debated for a bit about just waiting till morning and then flagging a car down, but right now he was hot and sweaty and wanted a shower. Maybe he could get a ride to Phoenix, get a motel room for the night then find a tire shop tomorrow and get going again.

Travis moved the bags he had in the bed of the truck into the cab after brushing the sand off. Taking a smaller bag, he put a few items for the night in it. Travis stood at the open door of his truck having his back to the road when he felt a sudden cold wind that made his spine shiver and his body shake. Travis closed the truck door and turned to see a black Thunderbird sitting there on the shoulder of the road. He had not heard the car approach or seen any lights in the night. This old T-Bird had to be a classic automobile from the looks of it. The old car shinned under what little moon was visible with a good amount of sand still suspended in the night air.

Travis’s dad was a car guy and could have told him the year model if had he been there. Travis guessed it may be pre-sixties with those wide whitewall tires on it. He was also able it tell was a hard-top convertible as it just sat there idling. Not being sure if they had pulled over for him or what, he stood staring at the passenger window in the dark. With the night and sand still in the air, he could not see through the window. The driver honked the horn with a short beep, so he headed toward the door.

Opening the door, Travis was greeted by a smiling blond with ruby lips. “Where you headed, Cowboy?”

“Looking for a ride to Phoenix for the night, ma’am.”

She turned the ignition off, handing him the keys. “Put your things in the trunk.”

“You are sure, ma’am?”

“Of course, Cowboy.”

Travis placed his bag in the trunk, climbed in, and handed her the keys. “Thank you, ma’am. Much appreciated.”

When she started the car and the dash lights came on, Travis thought she had dressed appropriately for the vintage car. She looked vaguely familiar and reminded him of old pin-up models he remember seeing on the nose of World War II planes at an air show once. Nose art he remembered his dad and grandad had told him.

“Where you headed?”

“Home to Texas.”

“So, I was right, you are a cowboy?”

“No ma’am. Just a simple country boy. That’s about it.”

“Sure, are cute. What’s your name or would you rather I just call you Cowboy?”

Travis could feel the heat in his cheeks and was grateful she could not.

“Travis ma’am. Travis Steele.”

“Sounds like a cowboy name to me ... or maybe the name of a spy in a book.”

He laughed. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

“Just call me M.”

“M? As in the letter?”

“Yeah.”

“Where you headed?” Travis asked making conversation.

“Oh, I always love to take this car out down along the highway during the night.”

“What model car is it?”

“‘56 Thunderbird.” The blond replied.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. I bought it brand new.”

Travis sat trying not to stare at her in the glow of the dash. She was gorgeous and there was no way she bought this car brand new in 1956. This was currently 1992. The car was thirty-four years old and she was maybe thirty. However, was not going to argue with a beautiful blond, much less one that let a stranger in the car with her and gave him a ride.

Hearing her chuckle he turned to look at her more fully. “What?”

“You. You are adorable. You are trying not to look at me and failing.”

Embarrassed, he managed, “You look so familiar. I’m sorry.”

“I get that a lot. No worries. Is that all that makes you look at me, Travis Steele?”

“Well, you are quite beautiful. Even in those jeans and a white shirt, you have a look of class and elegance.”

“My, aren’t you the charmer.”

“Oh no ma’am. Just ... Just never really met someone quite like you I guess.”

“Oh, I’m just a simple girl from Los Angeles.”

“Riding out near Arizona in a storm?”

“I like to ride at night. You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette, would you?”

“No ma’am, I don’t smoke.”

“I miss them. I haven’t had a cigarette in years,” she said driving along.

“You just look so familiar,” Travis remarked again as they rode.

“Thanks, Cutie. I take that as a compliment. So where to in town?”

“I just need a motel for the night. Anywhere cheap.”

“How about the Hotel San Carlos? It’s been there for years.”

“Long as it’s cheap.”

The beautiful blond he only knew as M never said another word about the hotel. She talked about the music on the radio, which all seemed like oldies. It’s like the station came right out of the ‘50s. She would make remarks like, “I remember that song,” or “I always loved dancing to that.” Maybe M was a psyche patient on the loose. There was no way this woman sitting in the diver’s seat was much older than thirty. If that.

Sure enough, she pulled up in front of the Hotel San Carlos. Travis was surprised when she got out of the car too and then handed him the keys to get his bag out of the trunk, then headed to the door and waited. Catching up with her at the door opening it.