Unstuck - Craig Walters

Photography
16" x 20" x .5"
 
Good Lord Willing and the Creek Don’t Rise
By Jenifer Dearinger
 
“Turn it to the right!” Pa yelled.
“Which way is right?” I thought.
I tugged the stubborn wheel, while the Willys sat silently, mired in mud. 
“No!” Pa yelled, as red as a beet.
Slick red clay as thick as tomato paste dappled his arms and checkered shirt. 
“Why did we try to cross the creek after it had rained all night, anyway?” I pouted. “It’s not like Pa didn’t know the backroads of Georgia flooded when it rained.”
“Right!” Pa yelled. “The other way!”
I grimaced. “Guess I turned the wheel in the wrong direction.” I turned the wheel the other way.
Groaning with effort, Pa pushed with all his strength. The bare rubber tires made sucking sounds as the clay tried to keep them imprisoned. Slowly, the clay yielded its prey.
Pa yanked open the door and I slid over to the passenger side of the old Willys Jeep. The middle-aged man climbed behind the wheel.
Muck covered his overalls and shoes. The slick red clay oozed onto the floorboard.
He laid his head back, staring at the ceiling. Pricks of light shown through the thin canvas.
I watched a silent prayer cross his lips. We sat in silence for what seemed an eternity.
Then, as careful as if it were made of china, Pa turned the key in the starter.
A rumble spurted from under the hood. The old Willys lurched alive! 
Pa sat straight up, the key starting his heart as it had the Jeep’s. The gear shaft creaked with a rusty moan as his hand worked in rhythm with the pedals under his feet.
Pa smiled a tired but reassuring smile. His shoulders relaxed. He reached for my hand. I didn’t care about the red tinted clay that crusted his nails as his big hand swallowed mine.
“Let’s go home, Baby Girl,” Pa whispered.