Jamaicarunnings Serial- "the Girl from the Lane"

The Girl from the Lane- 14th Installment

The late evening traffic moved snail-like along Hope Road, bumper to bumper. It was as if all the vehicles were linked an invisible chain and were being reined in link by link. It had been a long day for her made worse by the fact that she had driven in from Ocho Rios to catch her class at the Mona Campus of the University of the West Indies.
“Sunshine, blue skies, please go away.
My girl has found another gone away,
With her went my future
My life is filled with gloom’
So day after day,
I spend locked up in my room….” The Temptations song wafted in from the speakers of her brand new Honda Civic and overtook Sheila’s thoughts. Even without realizing it she was swept up by the lyrics and bobbed along to the rolling piano keys that accompanied the song.
“ …how I wish it would rain,” the song continued. Even though she was dead tired the music was providing a lift to her spirit.
Suddenly the steering wheel felt tight, pulling the car slightly to the right. Sheila tugged the steering to the left and slowly eased into the left lane. She glanced in her rear view mirror and guided the car into the gas station.
“Damn it man,” she let out as she exited the car. She knew it was a flat tyre, and was in no mood to perform a tyre change now. Moreover, this was the one thing that she hated about driving.
“ Hi, can I help?” The voice came from behind her as she had leaned on the driver’s door, back to the traffic in the service station to collect her thoughts. The figure strode towards her, the white shirt glistening in the light. The silk pastel necktie fluttered around his face in the evening breeze.
Sheila looked him up and down before responding. She noted the gleaming black leather belt how it seemed to have come from the same leather as the black Bally shoes with the burnished shine, hugged by the cuffs of a slate- gray pair of pants.
“Well…I…” Sheila struggled for a response. The man was clean shaven except for a carefully trimmed mouthstache which framed the most brilliant smile that she had ever seen. “ I think … I think it is a puncture….a puncture, “ Sheila stammered. The wisp of his cologne caught her as he bent over to examine the tyre.
“ It is a puncture,” he acknowledged. “Let me help with it.” He took the key fro her outstretched hand and opened the trunk of the car. The ease with which he operated, as if he had known her before was all that she could think of. In a matter of minutes the handsome stranger had completed the tyre change and replaced the tools in the trunk of Sheila’s car.
“Thank you so very much,” Sheila said. “I really was in no mood to do that tonight,” she added.
“Oh, that was nothing,” replied the stranger.
“Do you hang around gas stations just waiting for ladies in distress, I mean, not that I mind but…” Sheila fumbled.
“But what?” he seemed so unhurried. “ I am Charles,” he said sticking out a dirty hand. Sheila noted how well manicured his fingers were as she hesitantly put her hand forward to shake his.
Immediately, he pulled back the outstretched hand. “I am sorry, dirty hands.” he said.
“Oh don’t worry,” she laughed as she responded. “After all, the dirt is from my car. I am Sheila.”

The traffic seemed a little easier and Sheila reminded herself to have her tyre repaired as soon as possible the next morning. As she made her way along the Portmore Causeway, she could not get the exchange with Charles Livingstone out of her mind.
He had slipped his card into her hand before parting. “If you need to get that tyre repaired, you can call me at this number,” he had said in parting. Sheila looked at the card a couple of times throughout her commute. Charles Livingstone & Company: Attorneys-At-Law.

The disc jockey on the radio seemed to be playing all her favourite songs.