Salvation

*Continuation from previous week*
A highway trooper had pushed Martin more than a mile down the freeway, I was standing with a full 5-gallon gas can in my hand, and it was hot. Oh, and my phone was in my backpack, which was in Martin’s Suburban. I took my time walking back to the gas station, knowing that it could be awhile before Martin would come to pick me up.
All happy thoughts of our recent trip to Southern Utah had fled as I trudged back and found a shady spot near the intersection so I could watch for Martin’s return. I had my doubts, though, that I would see Martin anytime soon. You see, I had his wallet and driver’s license. My wallet was with my phone, and I hadn’t had time to rummage through everything because we were in the middle of a freeway and death was only one inattentive driver away. I was pretty sure the trooper would want to see Martin’s license, and upon discovering that Martin was lacking his license, the trooper would in all probability cart Martin off to jail. It never occurred to me that Martin’s 11-year-old son also being in the vehicle might throw a wrench into that whole scenario. Maybe the trooper would take both of them to jail. Then, I thought, maybe Martin’ll tip them off, and they’ll come back and haul me off to jail. But I hadn’t even done anything! I was just in the car with the guy who ran out of gas on the busy freeway. A panicked mind is rarely rational.
Now most people would have said a quick prayer and left the situation in God’s hands at this point. But I had too much faith in Martin. I gave him one hour. After one hour, I would call the police to see if they knew of his whereabouts, and then maybe say a quick prayer that I would make it home.
Time went by extremely slowly. Everybody knows that a watched kettle refuses to boil, and the kettle I was trying to watch wasn’t even anywhere in sight. The truly ironic part of the whole experience is that I had no way to tell time, unless I wanted to reenter the gas station, but the cashier had looked at me funny when the PIN to Martin’s card had failed four times and then I signed his name like I had just learned how to write cursive. Anyhow, every ten minutes I kept telling myself that only five minutes had passed, and so Martin’s hour really could have gone on for multiple hours and I probably wouldn’t have made a move until the sun started to set.
When I was little, I had gotten lost at the county fair, and my parents had taken the time beforehand to instruct us to return to our van if we became lost. Thank goodness for that, because within five minutes of being lost I was found. Scouting had taught me to stay where I was in the event of becoming disoriented. While standing in the shade of a traffic light pole, I knew that the only chance of seeing Martin again was staying right where I was. Right where he knew I was stranded.
After what seemed like forever, a disembodied voice rang out through the noise of the endless traffic: “Gabe!” I looked all around, but nothing. When somebody yells my name, it can sound a lot like, “Hey!” or, “Jake!” After seeking for the source of the voice for a few more seconds, I decided that my delusional brain would only begin to make matters worse for my over-hopeful heart, and I turned to walk into the gas station and place a call to the local police.
And there, in front of me, in all its glory, was a white Suburban, mud-spattered and beaten. And yet, it was the most beautiful sight I have ever seen in my life. Well, at least on that day. Martin had come through and saved the day. It was the perfect ending to the most epic adventure I’ve had in a while.