"Mommy!"

This is fiction. Nothing in this story actually happened to me, or anyone I know.

“I'm bored. Let's pinch from the stash in the spare," Tommy announced from the back of the car.

Ari took his eyes off the road to share a glance with Jeff, who, riding shotgun, took the hint.

“No way, man," Jeff shouted, competing with the music on the stereo. "We’re in deep backwoods, in the South. This place lynches potheads!”

When his smug laughter subsided, Ari added, “Besides, Tommy, just 'cause you have nothing to fear doesn’t mean that the rest of us can shrug off our concerns and get blazed. My name is Ari Schwartzberg, and Jeff is, well, he's uh, stereotypical."

Jeff laughed. "You can say it. I'm as fabulous as they come." He turned the music down then turned around to face Tommy. "No weed till we cross the Mason Dixon line."

"But I'm bored!" Tommy whined.

"Then play with the app I made."

"That sounds even more boring."

"Not the Bluetooth one. The other one—it's a game," Jeff said.

"I can't believe you woke up for that class every week but slept through all of pre-law," Ari said.

"Um, it’s ‘cause law is boring and tech is cool," Jeff replied. "Duh."

"Well, someday when I'm rolling in it, practicing law, and you're begging people to download some app, we'll see who's more bored."

"They both suck," Tommy muttered.

"You're just bitter cause we can't get high," Jeff said.

"Enough," Ari said, turning the stereo up.

They continued driving as Ari drifted into memories of their Spring Break road-trip to New Orleans when a clunking noise brought him back to reality. He looked at his dash and was shocked to see he had only enough gas for a few miles.

Jeff turned the stereo down. "What's up?"

Ari stammered, wishing he wasn't the fall guy for this, but he was, and there wasn't a great way to present it. They were running out of gas on a backroad north of Biloxi, Mississippi at 2:36 a.m, with an ounce of weed taped to the spare tire hub in the trunk. “Um, guys...I, uh, I don’t wanna scare you, but, we’re running out of gas.”

As if on cue, the car coughed and lurched and the engine cut out, forcing Ari to use its remaining momentum to guide it to the side of the two-lane road.

"Shit!" Jeff exclaimed, looking at his phone. "I'm not getting any coverage."

Tommy and Ari nodded. "Same."

“I guess we'll have to walk and get help,” Ari said, opening his door.

The boys exited the car and their feet stuck to the soft, muddy swampland, but that concern was quickly overshadowed by unexpected, frigid winds.

"How is it this cold?" Jeff asked, hugging himself.

Tommy started hurling expletives at the sky and Jeff shouted, “Shut up, dude!"

"Why?"

"Cause we're basically in a foreign country.”

“That’s just your dumb stereotype,” Tommy replied.

Tommy and Jeff turned to Ari with a look of expectancy, and he shrugged.

Telephone-pole shaped trees stretched out in every direction along the sides of the road, towering into the dark sky far above their heads and there was no light, save their headlights, not even a dismal star to draw hope or salvation from. Their visibility was limited by a faceless fog.

"Which way should we walk?" Jeff asked.

A distant hum interrupted them and two dim headlights emerged.

“We’re saved!” Tommy exclaimed.

Jeff tsked. "They probably won't even stop."

Tommy scoffed. “Oh yeah?" He stepped into the road. "Then I'll make them."

"Just calm down and wait. This could be dangerous," Ari said.

Tommy didn't budge. "You guys suck. It’s cold as hell and I’m not walking through these backwoods to look for gas. I’m flagging every car down until someone helps us, and you can thank me later.”

"C'mon, Tommy," Ari pleaded. "Just step back and see if they stop."

Tommy took another step towards the oncoming car. "You guys are chicken. No one here cares if you're gay, Jewish, or any of that other crap. It's 2025. Get with the times."

Ari didn’t feel chicken. He was just fearful of being Jewish in the South, thanks to stereotypes from movies where minorities get harassed and even lynched. So even though he knew it was unfair to stereotype others, here, in this moment, his heart and bowels didn't seem to care.

Jeff felt differently. He wasn’t scared. He was from a small town, so he was used to people judging him for his spiky green hair, tongue, nose, and lip rings, multiple ear plugs, and eye-brow piercings. His issue was that he had trouble biting his tongue around those people.

The approaching car slowed and Tommy smiled, but when it came within view, he stepped back with a look that said "I may have made a mistake."

Ari felt a lump in his throat as a dirty red pick-up with a confederate flag neared, its tires spitting mud as it made a U-turn then cruised to a stop in front of their car.

The boys shared concerned glances after reading its bumper sticker, “Keep honking, I'm reloading" and their hearts sank as two men emerged pointing blinding mag-lights at them.

“Hello,” the glare on the left said, “Y’all need help?”

The right swirl laughed and said, “Looks like they need jackets."

Left glare chuckled. "Good point. I thought y’all wore jackets up in Pennsylvania?”

Well, at least they're literate, Ari thought, looking at his license plate.

The mag-lights' focus fell to the ground and Ari’s eyes adjusted to see two large men in jeans and hunting jackets, but he felt his eyes bug out when he noticed the one on the left held a rifle.

Both mag-light beams swung back up to blind the boys again and the man on the right said, “So, what y'all doing out here?”

Tommy stepped forward. “Oh man, I’m so glad you’re here. We just left NOLA—for Spring Break—but we didn’t realize we were low on gas, so we ran out, and now—”

“What a predicament!” rifleman replied.

"Yeah," his friend added. "You’re lucky we stopped. There's all sorts of critters out here. And I'm not just talking about the swamp folk."

"Good one, Jim-Bob," rifleman said with a laugh.

"Jim-Bob? Really?" Tommy asked.

Rifleman nodded. "Yup. That's Jim-Bob, and I’m Randall."

Jeff, eyes on the rifle, edged closer to the car and Jim-Bob shouted, "Hey! Where you going?”

Jeff opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“I said, where you going, f——?” Jim-Bob goaded.

Jeff balled his hands into fists. “What did you call me?” Then, in a voice he thought was under his breath, he added, “You fucking hick.”

Randall cocked his rifle and turned to Jim-Bob. “What the fuck did that f—— say?”

Ari looked up at the starless sky then down at the rotting leaves at his feet. The swamp air smelled like a septic tank as crickets filled the silence.

Randall returned his attention to Jeff. “Don't you think its disrespectful to ignore someone offering their help?"

Jeff stared ahead, visibly shaking with rage.

Randall used his free hand to point at him. “C'mere, boy!”

Eyes steeled, Jeff walked to Randall, but he broke character and cringed when he encountered his beer breath.

"What are you upset about now?" Randall asked.

Ari held up a hand. “Hey, um, listen, guys. I think this is turning into a big, unfortunate misunderstanding. I think what Jeff—um, that’s him.” Ari pointed at Jeff as he came to his side. “Jeff's just really shy and—”

Two headlights appeared and the boys felt relief when it turned out to be a police car. It turned around to park behind Ari’s car, and as its blinking red and blue lights washed over the scene, Tommy gave Jeff an "I told you so" look and Ari felt his shoulders relax.

They were saved.

The state trooper's thick black boots made a pleasant suction noise as he traversed the mud to approach the five men, but Ari's stomach re-knotted when the officer doffed his campaign hat at Jim-Bob and Randall and they returned his salutation with a familiar smile.

Ari took a deep breath, willing himself to appear friendly, considerate, and not Jewish, while also trying his best to not look at the trunk with the weed.

“Hi,” the officer said. “You having car problems?”

Before Ari cold answer, Randall said, “Yes, but we stopped to help.”

“Were you going to help them with that gun?” Officer Bradley asked.

Ari glanced at his friends with relief. He'd obviously misread the situation, again, and he wanted to apologize to the state trooper for stereotyping this region so unfairly.

Randall looked down. “No, sir. I just carry Betty for protection. You never know who or what yer gonna run into at this time of night.”

“Well, no need for that now,” Officer Bradley replied. He turned to Ari. "This your car, son?"

"It is."

"Pennsylvania? Whew! You're a long way from home, huh?

“Oh, well, you see, our car ran out of gas and we were stranded until we saw them, and then they stopped, and got out, and we were—”

“OK, OK. I get it. No problem. I'll radio for gas.”

“Thanks, man!" Tommy exclaimed.

"That's Officer Bradley, not 'man,'" Randall said.

Officer Bradley looked annoyed and Ari panicked. "Oh yes. Sorry. It's a pleasure to meet you, Officer Bradley." He paused. He knew this was an officer of the law, but he was still scared of Randall and Jim-Bob, so he fibbed. “I’m John. And this is Jeff and Tommy.”

“I think we should inspect his stuff,” Jim-Bob suggested with a knowing tone.

Officer Bradley glared at him then walked to the car, circled it, and started back towards his car, announcing over his shoulder that he'd radio for help.

The boys waited in awkward silence as Jim-Bob and Randall gave them menacing looks until Officer Bradley leaned his head out and said, “I need to see the owner's driver’s license,” and it was all Ari could do to offer his friends a look of apology before trudging away.

Randall circled the car, shining his light at it, as if he didn’t trust Officer Bradley’s inspection, then crouched by one of the tires and said, “Oopsie daisy,” and the sound of air escaping from a tire filled the night.

“What the hell did you do that for?” Tommy shouted.

"You better calm down," Randall warned, eyeing his gun.

Officer Bradley returned with Ari and gave Jeff and Tommy a long, hard look, then said, “Looks like you're abetting a liar. Your friend 'John' is really Ari Schwartzberg."

“I think their tire is flat, sir,” Jim-Bob interjected.

“Really?” Officer Bradley went over and bent down, then looked up, nodding. “Well, I guess we should change it, huh?" He turned to Ari. "You got a spare in that trunk?"

Ari felt nauseous as he imagined Officer Bradley finding their pot.

"Open the trunk."

Ari obeyed then stepped to the side as Officer Bradley began to poke and prod each bag, tossing them into the mud one-by-one.

Tommy gasped. "I don't think you're allowed to do that!"

Officer Bradley nodded at Ari. "He opened it."

Ari jumped to attention. "Well then I'm saying no, now!"

"Are you resisting procedure?"

"But I don't think this is allowed," Ari pleaded.

"Maybe you should wait in my car."

Jeff and Tommy hung their heads and Jim-Bob and Randall looked giddy as Officer Bradley put Ari in the back then returned to continue his search.

Devoid of hope, the boys waited in silence until a shrill ring pierced the stagnant night.

Jeff pulled his phone from his pocket, gave it a quizzical look, then put it to his ear. “Hello?”

Officer Bradley looked up with a frown. "Hey! Put that away."

Jeff rolled his eyes, mouthing, It's my mom.

"He said put it away!" Jim-Bob snapped.

“Yeah, Mom. It's a bad time," Jeff said. "I should go." He put the phone to his side and Officer Bradley resumed his search, and after tossing the final bag in the mud he said, "Found the spare."

Jeff returned the phone to his ear "Mom?" He paused then a moment later said, “So there's a law about detaining individuals without reading them their Miranda rights?”

Officer Bradley looked up and Jeff smiled. “Yeah, it's just that this cop, well, he asked us to open our trunk, but we never said he could look inside or take stuff out, and he's doing it anyway.”

“I said to put that away!” Officer Bradley shouted.

Randall shook his head and went to the trunk to start unscrewing the tire cover and Jeff shouted, "You can't do that! Get away!"

Randall gave him the finger, but Officer Bradley grabbed his hand and said, "Just wait a second, Randall. I got this."

Jeff hammed apologetic impatience. “OK, OK, I get it, Mom. So, like anything after that, even if someone breaks the law, because it's illegally obtained without cause, it's not admissible?” He looked at Officer Bradley. “Oh, one more quick question. So, like, even if you give your nickname to a cop, that's not probable cause, right?”

"Fuck this," Randall said. "I 'aint no cop."

Officer Bradley pulled him back with force then turned to Jeff. “Now listen, young man. There’s no need to get anyone involved. Get off the phone and we'll clear this up.”

“I'd rather not. You see, my mom's a D.A., and she must have a sixth sense or something, because she called to remind me of my inalienable rights, so unless you're going to arrest me, I'm not getting off this call.”

"I said put it away," Officer Bradley replied, but his tone no longer conveyed authority.

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Fine, Mom, you can do a check. It's B-R-A-D-L-E-Y. Got it?" Jeff gave Officer Bradley a quizzical look. "Wait. Really?” Jeff put his phone to his chest. “My mom said she wants to speak with you."

Officer Bradley shot his accomplices an angry look. “Alright. Enough is enough. This is official police business. Get out of here.”

"But that's not fair!" Randall protested. "We have every right to be here!"

"Don't make me cite you for that gun," Officer Bradley snapped.

Randall and Jim-Bob shook their heads and returned to their truck and left.

"Okay, you can hang up now."

"No way. Not until you call for real help and leave."

Officer Bradley clenched his teeth, walked to his car, and let Ari out, then got in front, spoke something into his radio and shouted, "The tow will be here in ten."

The boys waited until a full minute after Officer Bradley’s taillights had disappeared into the dark abyss, then collectively laughed at their luck, exchanging hi-fives and cheers.

Tommy pulled his phone out and frowned. “I don't get it. How'd you get a signal?”

"It's his Bluetooth app," Ari said. He fumbled in his pocket and Jeff’s phone chirped and he raised his it to his ear. “Hello?” he asked with a grin.

Ari pulled his phone out, and said “Hi, Jeff, it’s your mom. Now pretend I’m a lawyer, or a D.A. or something, and I'll tell you what I learned in that pre-law class you slept through all semester."

THE END

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This week on Coffin Talk: Steve is a YouTuber & Podcaster for all things literature and content creation, among other things. Check out his phenomenal community, “Pagechewing” to see why he became so successful. Click here to meet this mensch!