The Sign

Long ago, there lived a man by the name of John Oswald. Legends of him had been told at many a gas station; about his careful way of life, his strange demeanor. I had never heard any of these legends.

One night, I had a goal, a mission from my creator himself. The mission, steal a sign from D highway to present to my friend of the same name. I stole my mother’s car from her house, my father’s chainsaw from his, and I was off to a desolate stretch of highway to acquire the sign. I was 15 years old.

The sign presented with some difficulty. For one thing, I had never chain sawed anything before. For another, there was traffic. I decided to go with a less aggressive approach and try to take the screws out of the sign. To do this, I had to stand on the car, get it done, and arouse no suspicion from passersby.

In the process of trying to do this a truck, of course, pulled in in front of my car. I was sitting in the driver’s seat, discretely, I might add.

A hooded figured stepped from the truck. It began to shamble over. I ran my hand over the tire iron in the floor bored, prepared to bash this horrible apparition until the movement ceased.

The man approached, and I got out and stood behind the open door.

"Car trouble", I proclaimed. "Damn thing overheated." The visage that stood before me did little to ease my mind. Neither, for that matter, did his constant attempts to try and get me to go with him to his home, which was 'just over the hill' to get the necessary supplies to fix my vehicle.

I had to stall. It was surely my only chance of survival. Furthermore, I couldn’t allow myself to be separated from my life saving tire iron of justice....err....sign stealing....Whatever.

So I had to bullshit. And bullshit we did.

His name was John. He was heading home. His wife had left him. Somewhere around this point in the story John produced a small bottle of whiskey from his hoodie pocket, took a hard swig, and offered me the bottle. Could I refuse? Hell no. I took the drink, and I took it in stride. As the warmth washed over me, I was emboldened.

"John", I said. "Can you keep a secret? There's nothing wrong with my car man. I’m here for this sign."

Silence. He eyed me carefully, then the sign, then me again. For a moment I wasn’t sure what I had done. Then the figure spoke.

"Hell", he says, “Back your car up and I'll run over the damn thing with my truck."