Headlights
Sep 26 '06
The Bottom Line Sometimes things are as they seem, sometimes they are not.
Reynaldo was experienced with a lot of things. He had flown as an intelligence operator on United States Air Force aircraft during conflicts in Panama, the Persian Gulf, and many other places. His 15 years in the Air Force had exposed him to many different people. He met people from the island, like himself, people from the Deep South, people from the Northeast.
Rey especially delighted in meeting people from places like Utah, for they were so different, and yet most were exceedingly patriotic and good. He counted many friends from all over the country, all with the common thread of Air Force service.
There were things about this new place in Northwest Florida that were very familiar to Rey, and yet some things that were not so much. The white sand beaches and beautiful Gulf Coast vistas reminded him a bit of Fajardo were he had spent so much time as a kid. He noted that the smell of the ocean was similar in nearly every place he'd experienced it, and he'd been practically around the globe.
Still, he recalled driving into town, seeing a hole-in-the-wall tourist gift shop on U.S. highway 98, complete with Confederate battle flags snapping in the gulf breezes. He spoke briefly with a friend that was already assigned to his new unit to verify that indeed there were some folks around that may not be as worldly as the people he was used to knowing. A small part of him resented the fact that some locals here might not like him because of his olive skin and Puerto Rican emanation. He was serving them, after all.
Rey had taken an assignment to a Special Operations unit at Hurlburt Field, Florida. He was very enthusiastic about the new opportunities and the important mission on which he was about to embark. Considering Rey had never turned down a mission, and he enjoyed physical challenges, he was buoyed by the prospect of doing exciting, difficult, and perhaps dangerous missions with Air Force Special Operations. Any time, any place, was their motto. He was down for it.
These were the trying days of a military re-assignment. The member and family must re-establish the household in another city, another town, across the ocean or across the country. Rey's family was settling in well, the kids were signed up for school and they had rented a nice, single family dwelling west of the base, near a small coastal town called Navarre.
Navarre had all the charm of a fishing village, with the sound bordering the south part of town, and a bridge with access to the barrier island that was the shore of the Gulf of Mexico. Inland the Spanish moss hung from the Live Oaks like ghosts of the Deep South's past. There was more than one reason this area of the Gulf Coast was known as the red neck Riviera.
Rey was restless. He was to report to his unit at normal duty hours, his base in-processing was complete. He had a rough night of sleep, and was up and about at 0400. The anticipation was driving him a little batty, so he did what Rey usually did to burn off some tension, he laced up his Brooks Adrenaline 5s and headed out the door for a run. This wasn't an unusual behavior for Rey, but this was a relatively unknown area to him. Still, he thought a run would do him some good, so he struck out the door and started running up the residential street in front of his home.
As Rey ran up his street, he noted at how dark the moonless morning was. The sun was an hour-and-a-half from cracking the horizon, and the night air was still and heavy with coastal humidity. The street lights, the few that were there, were surrounded by the a hazy halo, part mist, part flying insects. The sounds of the night animals were present, they seemed to carry on whether humans were around or not.
Rey ran across the deserted four-lane to the northern side of the highway, and then headed up a two-lane road that bordered a sparse, piny wood subdivision. There were plenty of paved roads and the border road went for a what seemed like a very long way, and houses filled in every sixth or eighth lot. Rey was feeling his rhythm now, and he was feeling pretty good.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed them, a pair of headlights. The headlights were behind him now on the border road, back about a quarter-of-a-mile. Rey thought it was unusual that the lights didn't catch up with and pass him in the five or so minutes he observed them. They slowly moved forward, and they were making some ground on him, but they weren't catching up. To Rey, these headlights were following him.
A lump filled his throat and he felt his adrenaline surge. "I can't believe this," Rey muttered under his breath, "I've been here less than a week and there is some ne'er-do-well on my six." He wondered why this car would target an early morning jogger and then he conjured his answer, "They don't like my color."
Rey spun the scenario through his mind and tried to reconcile any error he might have made in judgement. As he looked back he saw the headlights ever closer, but never catching up. "Yup, this cat is surveilling me," he muttered. As the headlights approached ever closer, he planned a salvo, he'd turn left and run down another street to see what the vehicle would do.
As Rey bore to the left and ran down the road, he glanced back and much to his dread the lights had followed. His heart raced now between his fear and the ever-closing headlights. "This is going to come to a head, and soon," he thought. He made another plan, this time to change course once more. If the vehicle followed, he'd know it was no fluke.
At the end of the long street, he made another turn, and he noticed a street sign over his right shoulder that said, "No Outlet." "Here we go," he thought, "this is the big show." He was actually surprised and shocked to see the lights follow. The sparsely populated subdivision was very dark, and no one else stirred. It was Rey and this guy, or these guys, one-on-one, or one-on-five, and no one else.
Rey considered his options. He could make a fast break for a house and pound on the door, or he could look for a fence and hop it. He could also just bolt for the woods, seeking cover in the unfamiliar terrain. It was at that moment he remembered what his father had told him back in Puerto Rico, "Mi hijo, a veces la mejor defensa es una fuerte ofensa." "Yes," he thought, "The best defense is a strong offense."
He came to the cul-de-sac, the darkness was overwhelming. He was steaming with sweat and adrenaline, and he readied himself for the fight. The headlights were still coming right for him, with tortuous deliberation. This was it, he started to get his body ready for his offensive move, he would charge the vehicle and confront the evil within.
He pumped up and made a straight bolt for the headlights. His respirations were audible as gulps of humid morning air. As he got closer to the headlights, he saw it was a smallish pick-up truck, and the driver was hurling stuff out of the window. "Is he throwing things at me?" Rey wondered. "What the heck is going on here?" As he got even closer he roared as loud as he could, doing his best water buffalo plus lion imitation.
Just then the driver moved ahead seemingly readying a vehicular assault. Their eyes met, Rey's plan was an obvious success as the driver of the truck, shocked and obviously frightened by Rey's audacious approach, dropped what was in his hand. It fell to the ground at Rey's feet, and Rey struggled to clear the fire from his head to see what it was.
The truck was now stopped, and its headlights glinted off the dropped object. Rey could just make out what was written there, he read it with disbelief and disgust, it read, "Northwest Florida Daily News."
Copyright 2006 MJA
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Member: Mark A
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