What Did Jason Get Me Into?

I groaned and rolled over in bed half asleep to answer my phone.

"Hello?" I said half asleep and not bothering to look at the caller ID.

"This is super -last minute- but I need you to cover for me today," Jason's voice spoke through the line.

"Why? What happened? It's a Saturday and I've volunteered the past four weekends. I'm tired." I sat up in bed trying to brainstorm a way out of this.

I met Jason when I joined a volunteering program that helped the elderly. Jason was cute but he wasn't attractive enough to get me to spend another one of my Saturday mornings running errands for senior citizens.

I volunteered for a program that helped drive the elderly on weekends anywhere they may need because some of them were no longer able to drive themselves or did not have a car.

I thought this was a great way for me to get involved and keep my mind occupied during the weekends. I enjoyed keeping their company because my grandmother was showing early signs of dementia. I had a soft spot for older people that were abandoned by families in homes.

"My car broke down last night so I have to take it to the shop today," Jason explained.

"I won't be able to drive Mr. Peterson to vote today."

He paused for an awkward amount of time before he continued.

"I was hoping you could give him a ride to the polls."

I groaned.

He knew how much I cared about voting this year. Voting was the only way we could get the idiot we elected out of office.

"He's a really sweet old man." I could practically hear the smile in his voice when he spoke which only served to annoy me.

"He likes to talk about the good old days, he has a great spirit. You'll like him he-"

"Fine," letting out a long, tired sigh of defeat.

"Send me his address," I said.

I added, "you're lucky I like you."

He laughed and thanked me before hanging up.

I threw myself into bed again and lazily held up my phone waiting for the text message with the location and pick-up time.

"Shit," I mumbled to myself when I jerked awake after dozing off for what felt like a few minutes.

I caught sight of the clock on my dresser but didn't register the time before checking the text message Jason had sent me.

I was going to run late if I didn't hurry.

I pulled up the address in the Google maps app and followed the directions to Mr. Peterson's house. I tried my best to not speed but of course, with my luck, I hit almost every red light on my way there.

When I arrived at the location I was surprised, to say the least.

Who I assumed was Mr. Peterson, was standing with a walker on his porch screaming at some kids running around on his lawn.

The scene would have made me laugh had I not noticed the dad hat Mr. Peterson was wearing, when I squinted I could make out the white words in big capital letters.

It had President Butterfinger's slogan on it (MAKE AMERICA STRONG AGAIN).

Oh no, what did Jason just get me into?

Was this old man a racist?

President Butterfinger was a racist, if this old fart supported him, then this old fart was a racist too.

Was I about to be complicit in a possible vote for the worst presidential candidate in American history?

My head caught an instant migraine when images of President Butterfinger at one of his political rallies attacked it.

Grab her by the pussy, President Butterfinger said.

This was the phrase that had both sides of the political sphere polarized. No one wanted to admit they were wrong so news cycles flashed in and out with the same phrase's meaning debated over and over again.

What was there to debate?

Butterfinger was an asshole.

No woman should be treated like that regardless of the situation.

What was so polarizing about that?

I couldn't figure it out.

My blood boiled in anger at Jason for lying to me about Mr. Peterson being a good man.

I considered driving off and pretending like I wasn't his ride for today.

One of the kids ran near my car making me jump.

The smallest kid had gotten too close to my car but he had stopped himself just in time to not faceplant into my side door.

The old man yelled something I couldn't hear and the small boy ran away in the opposite direction, laughing while a slightly older-looking boy followed after him.

I assumed they were running into the house next door, they must be the old man's neighbors.

All that action made the old man's gaze land on my waiting car and I froze.

Too late for me to make a clean getaway, he had seen me, and I felt stuck.

I couldn't figure out how to be mean to the friendly-looking and very harmless old man.

He offered me a big smile and a wave before he slowly made his way down his porch steps. He took each step one by one and used his walker for support.

I groaned loudly inside my car while I watched him move.

He was going to take forever to make it over here, despite this, I smiled back and waved awkwardly, not wanting to be rude when he looked up.

All I could think about was him and his stupid hat as he deliberately made his way toward my car, careful not to fall over his over some of the weeds on his lawn.

I hated politics because it creates such a strong divide in America.

After the horrible four years, we had with our last president, I felt it was more important than ever to make sure I got everyone to vote even if I had to drive them to the voting booths myself.

What was one more Saturday driving an old fart to feel like his vote still matters?

What I hadn't considered was spending one of my Saturdays off giving a ride to someone who was willing to give Butterfinger another four years in office.

President Butterfinger was not a politician, he was a crooked man that only cared about his business. Butterfinger had no experience working in government, as a government major myself, you can only imagine how his lack of understanding for the American government served to piss me off to almost a blinding rage.

"Hello," I heard Mr. Peterson say as he passed my passenger side.

Where was he going?

He had walked around my car and opened the back door to the seat behind me.

His odd behavior had taken me out of my racing thoughts.

"You must be the girl Jason said would pick me up," he said as he slowly and almost robotically entered the car.

Usually, I had no issue with old people taking their time.

But knowing his beliefs had me wanting to shove him in and out of my car as fast as possible. I gripped the steering wheel and bit my tongue to stop myself from giving him some snarky remark.

"My wife used to handle the neighborhood kids better than me," he said in an attempt to start a conversation.

"She didn't like it when the kids played near her garden, those kids would listen to her when she spoke, kids these days don't care about what old men have to say so now they don't listen when I ask them to stop playing on my lawn,"

I nodded politely as a sign that I was listening but I intentionally didn't answer because I didn't want to even engage in conversation longer than necessary.

"Could you help me out?" the old man asked.

I glanced at him through the rearview mirror. He was struggling to get inside the car and put his walker inside with him quickly.

I jumped into action and when I was ready to help him he stepped back and waved his hand, "just hold the door for now," he said.

I watched him confused as he folded his walker into smaller and smaller parts until it was a neat square. He slipped into the car and placed his walker on his lap before he let out a tired sigh and looked up at me through the door, "you can close it now," he said motioning towards the door.

I clenched my jaw to hold back a rude comment before closing the door and before I knew it we were driving.

I made a full stop at another red light that was only about a mile away from the old man's house. The gas light on my car blinked notifying me that I needed to fill the tank and the voting location was still a good thirty minutes away.

I internally screamed.

"Looks like you need gas," Mr. Peterson stated.

"I could go for some gas station coffee."

I forced a smile and nodded.

"Sounds good, Mr. Peterson," I replied.

"I will be sure to fill the gas tank quickly."

I pulled up to the nearest gas station planning to patiently wait my turn when I noticed all the pumps taken by other cars.

"Let me get that for you," Mr. Peterson said as he leisurely got out of my car.

I watched him move so slowly it was like he was a lag in a video game.

Did he not know we paid with cards at the pump these days?

"That's okay, Mr. Peterson, I…"

He interrupted me by closing the car door, making me jump with surprise.

I was even more surprised by what I heard him say next through my open window.

"No young lady is going to pay for gas on my watch!"

He rubbed his lower back as if it was in pain and prepared his walking stick, "my wife would roll over in her grave if she knew I was freeloading, I don't like abusing people's kindness," he said loudly as he walked away.

Why did he say it so loudly?

Was he trying to make sure everyone at the gas station heard him or just me?

I watched him walk away and tried very hard to figure this guy out.

So did he want to pay because he was an old man with pride or was he paying because his wife taught him to be a good person?

Old people were weird.

I shook my head and pulled the pump.

After I finished filling the tank up for twenty-five dollars, I paid it with my card.

Moments later, Mr. Peterson walked outside and slowly walked back looking a bit sheepish.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Peterson?" I asked as he walked towards the passenger side.

"When I handed the young man a twenty, he said they don't take cash at this gas station,"

I found it very hard to hold back a grin at the situation, "says they robbed the place a while back so the owner decided to make this a card only place until they find the man who robbed it,"

"That's okay Mr. Peter…" He interrupted me, "Larry," he said, "you're being so formal with me. Just call me Larry," he almost sluggishly opened the car door.

"I don't have no degree, I didn't even graduate high school so no need to go around calling me smart just because I'm old,"

Was that supposed to be a joke?

My eyebrows scrunched up with confusion at his words and the implications again while I opened the car door and turned on the car again.

I was seriously overthinking today.

"I am young at heart you see," he patted his chest and reached for his seatbelt as soon as he finished. It was almost as if he had remembered 'safety first' when his hand made contact with his chest. At this, I couldn't stop a smile from creeping onto my face.

He immediately noticed.

"Ahh there it is," he said, at the same time, he said that I heard the click of his seatbelt pinning him to the seat. The timing of his response made me wonder if he was commenting on finding the seatbelt or my genuine smile.

I guess I haven't given him a real smile since we met.

"You have a wonderful smile."

He said, "Reminds me of my wife," he sighed.

I heard him slump back into his seat, "Carol would have liked you," he murmured almost to himself.

Ahh, so he was referencing my genuine smile.

Strange to hear him say that so casually.

Usually, the only time I hear a man comment on my smile is when they are hollering to ask me to smile.

Never heard a genuine sounding 'your smile looks good.'

It's always more like 'you look good, smile.'

This made me curious.

"What happened to your wife, Mr. Peterson?" I asked, suddenly realizing that he had brought her up a few times.

"Oh Carol's not dead," he said, "she passed away physically yes but her ghost, her spirit still haunts me," he smiled as he spoke and his face lit up. I could describe his look as nothing but genuine glee even though I only got a side eye's view of it.

I quickly looked to him and back at the road not wanting him to get a hint for how bad my driving actually was.

"I'm sorry for your loss," I responded politely because I felt uncomfortable with his honesty but he only laughed which caught me completely off guard.

"Carol lived a full and happy life," he said, "she wouldn't like anyone to be sad over her passing, she'd want you to pick yourself up and be productive even if you hated the situation you were in,"

I smiled again, "she sounds like my mother," I said.

Of course, my mother had raised me with spirituality that was more of the tarot and moon type, not the god and the bible type but this little link brought me some strange comfort.

We fell into a comfortable silence for a bit after that and before I knew it we were at the voting booth.

He clicked his seatbelt off and took hold of his walker to support him as he got out.

He slowly got out and turned his torso back around so he could sort of make eye contact with me at a half-standing half leaning but very awkward-looking position. He hunched over and rubbed his back again. I followed the movement with my eyes and worried he would hurt himself.

"Thank you for the ride," he said, "don't wait around for me, I plan on taking my time and visiting a friend after I vote,"

"Are you sure Mr. Peterson?" I asked.

"I'm sure," he said turning his back to me, "I gotta go vote this President out, it's against my beliefs, but it's what Carol would have wanted,"

I stared at the old man in shock as he walked leisurely into the building.

He walked as if he had all the time in the world and no burdens on his shoulders despite his old age.

Larry stumbled at the two steps leading to the door. He held his back and used his walker for support to come down from the two steps that were also inside the building.

Larry hated stairs. He considered them his enemy because of his bad back.

He slowly made his way to the young lady sitting behind one of the empty check-in booths.

"One vote for the President, please," Larry said and smiled a semi-toothless grin at the young woman.