I was third in line in the drive-thru at the bank in my small town. Normally, it is in and out fast but today the man at the beginning of the line must have had a lot of business because we were there for a while.
I found myself looking at the truck ahead of me and felt the hand of the Ghost of Christmas Yet To Come at my shoulder, pointing. A white pickup, a bit older than my white pickup, with a little more wear. The back window was busted out, with fragments of cracked glass all around the rim. Odds and ends of this and that in the truck bed. The license plate was bent backwards on each side as if it had been backed into a fence post or a trailer tongue.
The lady driving was 10-15 years older than me with a face wrinkled by the sun and wind of west Texas. Her gray hair was a little shorter than mine. It looked like she had combed it with her hands, which is the way I've been combing mine lately.
She got her cell phone out and made a call. I got mine out and checked Facebook. She ran her hands through her hair. I ran mine through my hair. A man with a cowboy hat walked by from the parking lot. He nodded to me and I nodded back. He nodded to her and she nodded back.
I was beginning to get the feeling that we were much alike when the man in front finally finished. He drove away; she moved up, finished, and drove off, avoiding the 18-wheeler unloading at the hardware store next door. I moved up, finished, and drove off, avoiding the 18-wheeler unloading at the hardware store next door.
My next stop was to get a Diet Coke before I continued my errands. I drove down the street to the Sonic, ordered at the drive-thru, and pulled around toward the window. There was one customer in front of me. It was the lady in the white truck from the bank.
When she finished her errands in town, she probably went home and put feed out for a herd of cattle or goats. When I go home, I will put feed out for two longhorn steers who are pets. She probably got up several hours before me and will probably go to bed way before I do.
We are different and yet we are the same. I'm a watered down version of her. We are women who love this life and this part of Texas. When I looked out my windshield I saw myself 15 years from now. I wondered if she looked in her rear-view mirror and saw herself 15 years ago.