Hendrick's Holiday Happy Motoring

The Home Cook Meal-Approx 397 Words

With Carolina still on his mind, Hendrick barreled down the interstate, hitting the seventies mark one hundred percent sure, no laws were being broken. Toll booths nonexistent, the runnin rebel escaping the emotional clutches applied power displaying a far west silver belle flying over the Florida state line wanting paradise retaliation.

A few hours passed and the computer inside the car encouraged a coffee break. Agreeing, the professional homeless traveler proceeded through the modern suburban civilized area until the road ended by the beachside, dead end.

Finding a parking space, Hendrick left his wheels behind and walked, completing the journey. Standing on his own two feet, allowing the sand to challenge his base, the athletically toned driver watched the water arrive and naturally leave peacefully.

“Why doesn’t it stay?” He asked, and an individual riding a horse appeared.

“Are you a mirage?” Hendrick asked, shielding his eyes.

“No, I am a Seminole and I wanted to welcome you, runnin rebel Hendrick, to my state of sunshine.”

“Well, blinding me by the light, you do exist?”

“Yes, I do exist, and my name is Osceola, this here is my partner Renegade,” the academic figure announced, “where is your lifetime commitment?”

“She read a flyer saying she could be a cougar and dumped me for a Tennessee Volunteer,” Hendrick explained, “ran off to Hawaii accompanied with this Orangeman.”

Keeping a tight hold, Renegade waited for commands when Osceola mentioned a holiday dinner party. Apparently, Bethune the cook man created a menu entrée, that would tempt anyone’s taste buds.

“What’s on it?” Hendrick inquired.

“He calls it the night cap, Buffalo with sauteed spiders,”

“Spiders? Really,”

“Shipped straight from Richmond Virginia, every day and they are quite good,” Osceola responded offering the stranger a ride, “hop aboard.”

Deciding to transition to another horsepower style, Hendrick joined his new companion, heading off embracing the sunsetting scene.

“Something smells great,” Osceola commented after hitching up Renegade outside Bethune the cook man’s residency.

“It should spark interest, some nice tender buffalo and seasoned spiders,” Bethune the cook man announced.

As the two sat down at the table Bethune brought the heated dish out. “Hendricks,” Osceola said, “I am sure this will be better than going to your southern belle’s family for the same old turkey Thanksgiving.”

“Yeah, surf, sand and spiders,” Hendrick smiled.

“And buffalo beefcake,” Osceola put a fork into the rare pink meat.

Mom’s Magical Bean Soup-Approx. 597 Words

Usually, speed racing machines roared around the professional paved surface but on this spiritual evening when the Advent calendars revealed all their secrets, Hendrick experienced the charity holiday display, driving solo, mouth closed, enjoying a silent night.

Only a few hours ago, the stressed out, uptight cover magazine image living in the fast lane, felt like a number as the masses finished last minute needs, bringing photogenic life to a man-made street, built as a desert oasis, filled with new hope and change.

After passing the final electrical gimmick, the lonely soul pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, spotting high school students holding donation canisters.

“Were you entertained?” One inquired when Hendrick rolled down his window.

“Happy holidays,” Hendrick answered dropping the bill into the festive pot.

Taking his foot off the brake pedal, Hendrick suddenly gunned it when the rural road turned into the federally funded Interstate property. Deciding immediately not to return to the cosmopolitan cocoon the single individual continued north and within a few miles entered a native American reservation.

Car beams assumed the guiding light responsibilities while the engine cruised the legal limit. Noticing, a travel plaza sign, the hungry heart suddenly felt a surge, encouraging him to eat. Bypassing the gas pumps Hendricks rolled into a space neighboring the diner entrance. Leaving the heated secure confines, the adventurer welcomed the chilly setting before heading inside the twenty-four hour three hundred sixty-five day a year establishment.

“Anyone here?” Hendrick called out.

“Just take a seat,” an invisible voice answered.

Picking up the flyer menu, seeing only one item Hendrick smiled when the server emerged, “What can I get you?” The employee inquired.

“There is only one thing?” Hendrick noted.

“The magical Christmas Bean Soup Special,” the server confirmed.

“Then I will have that,” Hendrick relinquished the paper.

Instantly the meal arrived, “here you go, sir.”

“Thank you,” Hendrick replied.

Quietly, Hendrick accepted the holiday entertainment featuring bread and butter until nothing seemed left in the bowl, “that,” Hendrick paused, “was very good.”

“I hope it will bring you, good cheer,”

“How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing, it’s the Christmas Bean Soup Special, it serves its purpose,”

Standing up, still leaving a tip, Hendrick casually departed, until a cramp terrorized his stomach. “Bathroom is to your right,” an invisible voice directed.

Finding his way into a stall, Hendrick took care of business before professionally clearing his internal pains. Laughing, feeling much better, realizing the special gift the establishment gave him. “a peaceful resting digestive system.”

“Have a wonderful Christmas,” the server wished, tending to an officer and a gentleman, splitting the complimentary bill.

Hendrick saw two adolescents singing about comfort and joy while setting off fireworks creating an honest, joyful spectacle. “Sir,” one respectably called out, “you seem to be independent, stay awhile, celebrate your freedom with us and our true American rockets.”

Leaning against his bumper, Hendricks watched the colorful presentation, until the kids’ ammunition ran out.

“That’s all folks,” they told the audience member.

“Well, have a good one,” Hendrick retreated into his protective Ford built tough model environment.

“Are you two finally done?” A motherly figure appeared wearing an apron.

“Yes, Mom,” the pair came over.

“Did you entertain that nice man?”

“Yeah,”

“He seems much calmer.”

“It’s your soup, Mom,”

“You think so,”

“As you always say the Great Spirit works in many different ways,” the youngster pointed out.

Grinning the mother offered soup to her son’s friend.

“No, Mrs. Hobbythacco,” the trusting companion answered, “my parents ordered the casino buffet take out option number one with the lobster claws.”