Salesman

Salesman

By

Michael S. Freeman

Lightning raced across the dark sky. Thomas, mid thirties, was driving down the rough gravel road that stretched before him. The car had begun to clang and make a grinding noise.

“God-dammit!” Thomas expressed as he yanked the car to the side of the road.

Rain poured down as he opened the door to investigate under the hood as if he knew what to do. The latch on the hood hung as Thomas fumbled with the wet-slick hood to get it released. It sprung open with a puff of billowing white smoke, sending Thomas back on his heels.

Thomas slammed the hood down on the car, “FUCK!” Frustrated he walked to the rear door of the car, snatched the door open as he argued with himself. “Got me out here selling these pieces of shit, overpriced, vacuums like some kind of needy Jehovah Witness!” He grabs a leather bag from the seat then slammed the door.

Thomas walked for over an hour before he could see lights at a farmhouse off in the distance. “Finally.”

The rain continued to pour down in sheets just as Thomas made the porch of the house. He knocked on the door, but no answer came. Knocking a second time produced the same result. Thomas leaned around the corner of the porch to see if he could see where the light came from that he had seen down the road. About halfway back, he could see the glow of the incandescent light shine out in the yard.

Thomas went to the window. He grasped the window ledge and peered in at the very moment lightning lit up the darkness. Horror washed across Thomas’s face as he fell back onto the wet grass. In a panic he gathered his belongings and tucked his feet firmly under himself as he ran off into the night.

Daylight began to peek over the distant trees and the rain had subsided before Thomas made it to the next farmhouse. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door. A portly fellow came bobbling out, a cup of coffee in his hand, dressed in coveralls.

“Can I help ya son?” he asked in a Wilford Brimley voice.

Panting, Thomas asked, “I need a phone, my car broke down.”

The old man led him to the old rotary dial phone. He left Thomas to his call and returned to the porch.

After a few moments, Thomas made his way back to the porch. In an unsure voice, he asked the old man, “Did you know your neighbors were really strange?”

“Come again son?” asked the old man.

Thomas hesitated again, “I stopped there first and knocked on the door, but no one answered.”

The old man took a sip of the hot coffee before he spoke, “That’s not strange.”

“Oh no sir, that was not the strange part. After no one answered I went around to a window with a light on and looked in. How I wished I hadn’t, but I did.”

“What did you see in there son?” a smile spread across the face of the old man as he put the cup to his lips again.

Thomas shuttered, “The woman, at least eighty was standing on the bed stark naked, her boobs stretched past her navel, her squeezing them vigorously. Over in the corner, sitting in a chair was a man of the same age jerking off while holding an open umbrella.”

The old man sprayed his coffee as he burst into laughter. “Son, they are not strange. They are deaf and dumb. She was telling him to go milk the cows and he was telling her fuck you, it’s raining.”

A tow truck pulled up at the end of the drive and without a word, Thomas walked to the truck, his head held down.