I come from Albuquerque New Mexico, and have an experience
I would like to share with you all.
At first it was eerie and terrifying, but soon I came to cope with the event as
something that was bound to occur.
North of Albuquerque on
the northbound I-25 is Santa Fe, the capitol of New Mexico
where my grandmother lives. My grandmother is a very sweet
old woman, who was widowed at the age of forty. My father
himself hardly knew his own father, my grandfather, and my
grandmother hardly spoke of him, as she loved and missed
him so dearly.
The event takes place on March 27th of 2001, around eleven
thirty at night. I was going to visit my grandmother for
the night, and I chose a time when there would be little
traffic. About fifteen minutes up the freeway, I spotted
the bulldozed remains of a fast food diner that used to
stand when I was a child, and I continued onward as usual.
About five minutes after that, I spotted a man in a brown
suit and a brown hat walking up the edge of the freeway.
Not wanting the man to freeze or to be mugged, I pulled
over by him, and asked him for a ride.
When I turned to look at the man, my skin suddenly tingled
with fear as the man looked at me. He was a middle-aged
man, with a thick black mustache and thick eyebrows. His
skin looked very pale, as if he really was cold, or quite
sick. I asked the man where he was headed, and the man
replied Santa Fe. As I opened the door for the man to
enter, I noticed his form of attire was very distinct and
old fashioned. I looked at the man, who smiled kindly, and
soon I began driving back on the road.
We spoke as we coursed to Santa Fe, and I asked the old man
his name. He replied his name was Roger, and that he was
eternally grateful for me picking him up. He replied that
his own car had broken down back at a diner on the road,
and that he was walking to find a station down the road, or
in hopes that someone could help him. At this I looked at
the man, and mentioned that the diner had been bulldozed
and that there was no car there. Roger smiled kindly, and
informed me that I had to have been mistaken. I mentioned
nothing, thinking him to either be mistaken, or lost.
As we arrived closer to Santa Fe, I grew tenser and felt an
urge to look back at Roger. The man had his hands calmly at
his sides, as a puddle of blood was forming on his shirt. I
screamed in terror that he was bleeding, but Roger shook
his head and begged me thoroughly to drop him off on a
certain street. I turned down the street, hoping that there
would be a clinic or a store to call help from, but then
Roger placed a cold hand on my shoulder, and told me to
stop my car here. I opened the door for Roger, and gazed at
the empty home in front of him. Roger thanked me kindly,
and closed the door. I watched Roger walk to the door, and
simply disappear. At this moment I lost all courage and
tore out of the neighborhood, regardless of the sleeping
people and traffic.
I got to my grandmother's home ten minutes later, and found
her to be reading a book. My grandmother told me I looked
very pale, and told me to have a seat, and then asked me
what had happened. I told her she wouldn't believe me, or
even half the story, but she insisted regardless. I shook
my head, and she said she would bring me some water to
drink. As my grandmother walked out of the front room, I
tried to relax myself by looking at a group of pictures on
the coffee table she displayed. Aside from pictures of my
cousins, of my dad and his siblings, and me one picture
gripped me beyond fear. It was a picture of a man in a
suit, with a thick moustache and thick eyebrows. I looked
closer, and the man was holding my grandmother. As I picked
up the picture, my grandmother sat next to me, and sighed.
The man was my grandfather I remembered, and my grandmother
commented on how much she missed Roger. I looked at her,
and asked her to swear to keep this event between her and
me. I mentioned that on my way over, I picked up a
hitchhiker on the I-25, and the man claimed to have had a
stalled car at the diner along the freeway. He told me his
name was Roger, and that he was headed for Santa Fe. As my
grandmother felt tears trickle down her face, I pointed to
the man in the picture, and my grandmother finally spoke.
My grandfather indeed stopped by the diner over fifty five
years ago, and stopped for some food on his way back from
work. My grandfather had picked up his check at work, and
cashed it as well that day. After the meal, my grandfather
went to start the car, but it failed to start, and the
restaurant owner suggested a tow station a few miles up the
road. As my grandfather walked up the road, a few men from
the diner left as well, and drove their car to follow my
grandfather. When my grandfather stopped to speak with
them, one of the men brutally stabbed my grandfather, took
his car keys, and drove off back to steal his money. The
crooks were caught and jailed, but my grandfather died on
that freeway, from a combination of the cold weather and
because of his wound.
I mentioned that my grandfather asked me to drop him off at
a home, and my grandmother insisted on me showing her the
home that very morning. At nine thirty we road out to the
home, and I showed her as my grandmother smiled meekly. As
tears streaked down her cheeks, my grandmother smiled and
grasped my hand. She told me that was wear her and Roger
had lived, in that empty home. My grandmother moved away
shortly after the murder, and never looked back.
Since that night, my grandmother no longer hold back on
talking about Grandpa Roger, or talking about his fate. I
asked her recently why she felt so liberated about the
whole affair, and my grandmother responded when we drove
away from the home, she spotted my grandfather walking down
the porch steps to wave at her. At that point my
grandmother said, she felt the same warmth and love she
felt when she was married to Roger, and that he indeed
never forgot about her. She says whenever she goes, she
won't be afraid to go, because my grandfather will be
they’re waiting for her patiently. And as for me, I am glad
I got to finally meet my grandfather, even under the odd
and terrifying circumstances.