1972. US56. Western Kansas.

Bonnie checked the gauge. Red.

Copeland. Pop.310.

She slowed to thirty. The headlights flashed a pump beside the elevators. Bonnie pulled in and got out. She crossed the street and knocked at a house. A light blossomed, and a man opened the door.

“Sir, do you know who runs the pump?”

“Out of gas?”

“Yes. I’m driving to Wichita.”

“Be right there.”

He returned with keys and opened the co-op. He filled Bonnie’s tank and cleaned her windshield. She offered fifty.

He refused. “Drive safe.”

Bonnie started the engine and waved. “Thank you. Good night.”

 

The Meta-Story: This version is 99 words.  To get it that short, I altered the true story.  For a more accurate version of what happened that night in 1972, read below.  I was the eight-year-old daughter.  My mom’s nickname is Bennie.  I made her Bonnie for clarity.  We were accompanied by my little sister, but it cluttered my story unnecessarily, and I doubt she remembers that night Mom was scared we’d run out of gas on the highway.  In those days, there were no mobile phones, no 24/7 Quik Trips in Copeland.  You relied on your neighbors and the kindness of strangers.  Like Mom did one summer around midnight.

Friday Fictioneers: 100-word stories

photo prompt: Roger Bultot

 

Bonus Version: 211 words

1972. US56. Western Kansas.

For the last fifty miles, the headlights revealed nothing but broken, yellow line. Bonnie checked the gas gauge. In the red. Her eight-year-old daughter, Mindy, read the first sign they’d seen for an hour.

“Copeland. Population three hundred and ten.”

Bonnie slowed from sixty to thirty through the darkened town.

“Are we home yet?”

“Five more hours.” The headlights flashed a gas pump beside the grain elevators. Bonnie pulled in and got out. She crossed the street and knocked at the nearest house. A light came on, and an old man opened the door.

“Sir, do you know who runs the pump?”

“Out of gas, are you?”

“Yes, and I have my little girl in the car with me. We’re from Wichita.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll be right with you.”

He returned with a set of keys. Bonnie followed him back to the co-op, where he opened up and switched on the pump. He filled Bonnie’s tank, cleaned her windshield, and gave Mindy a jawbreaker from a jar inside on the counter.

Bonnie offered him a fifty on top of the gas. He refused.

“You two get home safe now,” he said.

Bonnie started the engine and waved. “Thanks, Cecil. Have a good night.”