Friday, 2 September 2011
07:24:27 PM (GMT)
Annabelle Marie was written in dark letters on a stitched on
nametag on a dark blue dickies workshirt with rolled up sleeves. Dark work pants had
drag marks from wiping her hands on her pants, and in her back pocket was a red rag
with grease and oil stains abundant. A young woman, four years since highschool sat
on the back of a semi, staring down at the open back where the driveshaft and
attachment hitch was for the luggage. She raised a sandwich to her mouth and sighed,
letting her light green eyes wander to the grease gun next to her. She had a few more
grease fittings to do then she had to replace the lugnuts in one tire and she could
turn in for the night.
This was her 12:00 routine nearly everyday. Same place, different trucks and faces.
She worked with eight other males, plus her boss. Clearly, she was the only female
mechanic in the Diesel industry in the small town of Heartland, Georgia.
Outside of her constant work she lived in a small two bedroom farm house where she
hoped to one day bless her non-existant husband four more mouths to feed. In front of
her house, about a half an acre away was her mailbox right on the street. Behind her
was six acres of hard earned land that was passed down to her. Down the road was the
farm that she often worked at other than the garage. She wasn't poor, but she wasn't
filthy rich, but at least she was happy. To bad she didn't have anybody to share her
happiness with. Now, before you go thinking about how she might be babied or drooled
over because she's a pretty Southern belle with a full figure and hair that brought
out the best in most men and works at a truck-repair stop.. Stop! Because she's so
used to that, that she just wish every one of her admireers would back off. It's not
her thing, she just wants someone to treat her like a person and tell her when it's
wrong and not wrong and what looks good and not. But everyody just tells her how
beautiful she is, and how perfect she is.