Jack and Darrell

Jack came up to the side of the road. He anxiously looked at his watch and wondered how long he would have to wait for some compassionate soul to come by and give him a ride to Port Oliver. It was 8 pm on the dot. He had to get to Mary. He had to explain. The cold rain had turned to snow and he despaired of anyone stopping to pick him up on this lonely road. He decided to walk back towards St. Francis where there was a gas station and a restaurant not too far down the road. Maybe someone there could help him.

Darrell stopped outside the Stubborn Mule. He checked the address that he had written down on the back of an envelope. This was the place, but still he hesitated to go in. A couple came out of the restaurant and the man held the door open for him, so Darrell was obliged to enter. He stood at the door for a moment, taking in the scene. It was a nicer place than he had imagined. It was clean and tidy - rustic by design. Several tables were occupied by families. To his right was a bar at which one man was seated, talking to an unseen bartender. He was keenly aware that he shouldn't be in a bar according to the conditions of his parole. A hostess appeared and greeted him.

I'm here to speak with George Smith, he said, and she took him to a booth at the back of the restaurant by the kitchen. Mr. Smith stood up and stuck out his hand.

You must be Darrell, he said affably.

Yes sir, Darrell replied, shaking it.

Mr. Smith sat back down and became serious. I have a job for you, he said and handed him a piece of paper which Darrell put into his breast pocket in one smooth motion without looking at it.

Darrell was walking out to his car when he saw a bedraggled figure coming out of the mist. His long hair was wet and stringy and he appeared frantic. Darrell thought he might be mentally ill or on drugs, so he hurriedly fumbled with his keys. He didn't want to be bothered with someone like that.

Please! Jack called out. Could you give me a ride to Port Oliver... if you're going that way? Darrell was going home to Port Oliver but he wasn't sure he wanted company. Please, help me! Jack continued, I've got to get to Port Oliver to see my fiancée! Please! I'll pay you.

Okay, get in, Darrell replied gruffly.

Thank you so much Jack gushed as they pulled out of the lot, I'm so late...

That's okay, Darrell said, softening, I'm going to Port Oliver anyway. Jack relaxed, and began looking out the window. After several minutes of silence, Jack struck up a conversation.

I'm Jack, by the way - Jack Denton, he said, sticking out his hand.

Darrell awkwardly shook it while not taking his eyes off the road. Darrell, he replied.

I'm so grateful that I met you tonight and you were willing to help me. You're a real good guy.

I said it's no problem. You can stop thanking me. And I'm no good guy.

Why do you say that? Not too many other people would have helped a stranger like you did. A few more moments of silence passed.

Sorry, Jack, I'm preoccupied. I know you're just trying to make conversation.

Actually, it would help me to take my mind off my current situation. What's your story, Darrell? Why do you say you're not a good guy?

I've just made some bad choices is all. Darrell summoned up the courage to open up to this stranger and maybe get some advice. After all, he would never see him again. I just got out of prison a month ago and I'm having a hard time adjusting.

Jack nodded, encouragingly. You need to believe in yourself.

That's just it - I don't believe in myself. I don't trust my own judgment.

It doesn't necessarily come naturally. Do you want to start a new life?

I don't know if I can.

I do know. From now on, when you hear yourself say that you don't believe in yourself or you don't trust your own judgment, tell yourself that you do. Be good to yourself. Be just as kind to yourself as you have been to me tonight.

Darrell thought about the note in his pocket. He really didn't want to go back to prison. He really did want to have a good life. Maybe this was his one chance to change his life for the better. I'm an ex-con, he said aloud. What chance do I have?

There you go again. Turn that thought into a positive. Like, what kinds of things can I do? What am I good at? How can I learn to improve myself?

They had arrived in Port Oliver. Darrell made a right turn onto Main St. And make sure you associate with good people - the kind of people you want to be associated with, Jack continued. Okay, I'll get out here. Thanks again. I hope everything works out for you. Jack was out of the car in flash. Darrell looked at the seat and saw that Jack had left a $20 bill. He was about to go after him to return it, but when he looked up Jack was nowhere in sight.

Darrell woke up the next morning with a renewed sense of purpose. His mother had made him breakfast and left the newspaper for him so he could read the want-ads. There on the front page was the headline: St. Francis Man Dies In Crash and it was accompanied by a photograph of a mangled car against a tree. He began to skim the article.

Jack Denton, 23, died last night when his car ran off the road and struck a tree about 7:45 pm.... He was on his way to Port Oliver for his wedding rehearsal.... He was to marry Mary Jacobsen tomorrow....Funeral details to be announced.

Darrell left the grocery store with a bouquet of flowers and a newspaper and headed out of town. He turned into the Blessed Hill Cemetery and slowly coasted past the rows of tombstones until he came to the one marking Jack's resting place. It had been just about a year since their chance encounter. He laid the flowers at the foot of the stone and unfolded the paper to reveal the headline: George Smith Charged With Drug Trafficking. Darrell tucked the paper into an indentation between the headstone and the ground and secured it with a rock. He struggled with what words to say and decided on: Thank you. You saved my life.