Ferrying (Original Vignette)

Ferrying

I stood outside, breathing in smoke from my cigarette. The moonlight illuminated my surroundings, and I bundled myself under my coat. Petals of snow drifted down onto me, and as I looked up a shiver ran down my neck. 

To my left and right, the road stretched for eternity. My ferry was parked beside me – scratched and dented. An old truck that had made the crossing many times. I tapped my fingers on the door, and saw the approaching headlights coming from the south. 

I flicked the cigarette away as the car rolled towards me and stopped. The window slowly slid down.

“You’re the guy?”

“I’m the only guy here.”

We both looked at the long road. The driver smiled. 

“Looks like it. How far is the drive?”

“Not too far. How’s the roads?”

A shrug. “Ain’t too bad. Could be worse. You got winter tires?”

The flashlight almost stunned me as he turned it on, shooting it towards my tires. “Guess so.”

He got out of the car carrying two large duffle bags. I popped the trunk.

“How long will you be staying?” 

He nearly slipped as he held onto them, his neck and arms straining to heave them into my trunk. 

“I’m hoping I can last a week. What’s the longest somebody lasted?”

“Two nights.”

With a heavy sigh he set the bags down. “That’s it? Why so little?”

“It doesn’t matter. Nobody lasts long.”

Silence. Then, a whisper broke it.

“How many trips has this been for you?”

“A couple dozen. The family sends folk out this way occasionally. Not many make it as far as you.”

We both sat down in my ferry. Old and worn beyond her years. The passenger shuffled in the seat, and scrunched his nose up.

“Just throw the old cans out the window.” I began throwing out some old cans myself.

“These cans still got beer in them.” he said, “You ain’t drunk right?”

I turned the key.

 “Sorry.” The passenger touched his neck, and the engine roared awake.