WriteRight4Life, LLC: Teaser for Raising Mother Nature — a Mystifying Narrative Nonfiction Book

The parking lot had just one remaining spot before reaching full capacity, and everyone was waiting for a delivery truck to bring fuel. Calhoun pulled in and turned off the engine. Kameron, his girlfriend, sat impatiently in the passenger seat, fussing about the inconvenience. Calhoun leaned over the center console, asking for a kiss, only to find her resistance heightened their anxiety. Kameron watched an older woman sitting in her automobile, worried about the effects of the intense Mississippi heat. She told Calhoun to grab a bottle of water from their cooler and walk it over to the sweating woman. He did as she asked. 

Calhoun asked, “Mame, would you like a cold bottle of water? My girlfriend wants you to have it.” 

The woman grabbed the bottle, removed the cap, and started drinking the water without even a thank-you. Calhoun walked back to the Jeep. Two men approached him, showing immediate aggression at the sight of a license plate that read Ohio. The humidity distorted the view from the pavement, and the smell of singed rubber from his sneakers stung his nostrils. 

The first man had a long, wiry beard and wore an orange hunting cap, and he said, “Y’all Yankees must think the South is a playground for showing off and stealing our resources.”

Calhoun attempted to reply, but the other man in Bermuda shorts interrupted him.

The man argued, “How in the Hell are our townspeople supposed to get from point A to point B if we allow outsiders to come take our gasoline?”

Calhoun immediately felt saddened by the men’s unfriendly attitude. Usually, in the South, offering good food and good times was always a guarantee. He said, “I need gas, so we have no other choice.”

The man in the Bermuda shorts said, “Now, if you drive further south, about a mile and a half down the road from here, you’ll find a gas station with plenty of fuel.”

The other man said with a warm smile, “Shucks, those good boys down there won’t fuss over your Yankee blood or the trouble of your need for gasoline.”

Calhoun claimed in the Jeep, and Kameron, overhearing the conversation, asked him what he wanted to do about the threats now coming from the two men. Calhoun decided to start the engine, back out of the spot, and onto the roadway. Kameron kept his ear open, fearing they would soon have to walk, and abandoning her sister’s Jeep out in the backwoods of Mississippi was not the best idea. They drove for miles without seeing a house, a store, or a gas station, just as the men had suggested. 

Just as Calhoun’s voice crackled with worry, Kameron slugged him on the shoulder. She yelled for him to turn around. He did, on the two-lane road, heading back to what Kameron described as a shack with a single gas pump sitting near the road. After Calhoun drove into the mud-rutted lane, a much older black man stood waving them to pull up next to the pump. The man wore a pair of bib overalls with a white undershirt, and his white hair stood tall in a horseshoe shape around his scalp. 

Terrence Little greeted them with, “Howdy, folks! The fog sure has taken over this evening, and I bet visibility on the road is still pretty limited. Y’all are a long way from home. I’ve been waiting all day to help y’all. I don’t get many drivers around here. I’ve got plenty of gasoline for you, lovely folks. I’m Terrence Little, the owner now that the Hollander family has all passed on to Heaven.”

Calhoun engaged in small talk while Terrence filled the tank for $2.50 a gallon, whereas other stations charged more than $10.00, even $20.00, for just one or two gallons. Some carjackings and other crimes made fuel shortages frightening for travelers. Calhoun explained the facts, and Terrence’s responses felt strangely eerie. 

Terrence said, “I don’t want y’all to worry, Calhoun. I’ll have you in Baton Rouge in no time, and your momma will feel safe soon enough. I hope, when y’all make your journey back through this area, you can stop and introduce me to your lovely mother.”

Calhoun agreed to the imposition despite not knowing what lay ahead in his travels. He had no clue what might happen once Kameron and he left that man’s kindness behind. 

The truth about this chapter in our narrative nonfiction book is a blessing. I learned about God’s intervening power that day. Please read, share, and let’s publish one of the most powerful stories of the last century. Angels exist when God knows our consciousness grows tired; this idea happened to me, so I am sharing proof of my experiences to urge everyone to look for signs and wonders.