When you forget where you left your glasses or misplace your keys, people don’t say, “Everyone does that.”
They start saying, “Well, you are getting older.”
And eventually, you begin doing it to yourself.
Maybe I hadn’t filled the tank completely.
Maybe I’d driven farther than I remembered.
Maybe the gauge was acting up.
I let it go.
Then it happened again the following week.
That time, I knew something was wrong.
I’d filled Earl on Sunday.
On Tuesday morning, I was supposed to take Mrs. Patterson to the pharmacy.
I climbed into the truck, turned the key, glanced at the gauge—
and saw less than half a tank.
I slapped the steering wheel.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
My phone rang.
Mrs. Patterson.
“You still coming, Frank?”
“Of course.”
“You sound irritated.”
“Truck problem. I’m just running late.”
“Oh, don’t rush. I’m not going anywhere.”
“I told you nine-thirty.”
“Frank, it’s fine.”
But it wasn’t fine to me.
When I tell somebody I’ll be somewhere, I try to be there.
I had to stop for gas first.
By the time I reached her house, I was twenty-five minutes late.
