Well, It’s Friday morning, 2 am, and I’m pulling my tractor trailer into Viola’s Diner in Penns Grove N. J. I made all my produce deliverys up and down the east coast and it was time for me to take my nap before getting up and having breakfast. The only problem was, I’d just had two dreams this last week, interviewing, or just “shootin’ the shit” as we truckers put it, with Billy Shakespeare and Johnny Adams the founding father dude. I know this must be hard for you, the reader, to believe all this so I’ll try to keep this part of the saga good so you won’t think this man is crazy and X me out. I’ll do my best.

     I crawled back into the sleeper compartment and covered up. It was cool outside, so I left the engine run and idled it up a little to smooth out the cab from squeaks and groans they do when sitting still in neutral. I set the alarm for 5 am and, to my surprise, I crashed right away. Sometime later I was awakened by someone beating furiously on my driver’s door. It sounded frantic so I dove out and into the driver’s seat while rolling down the window. It was Viola and she looked pissed to the max.

     “What’s up Vi?” I asked bravely while still surrounded by my metal cage. “What the hell’s wrong?”

     “There’s another one of your long-haired freaking persons waiting for you inside MY diner, I’m guessing. Ya’ know, you’re really startin’ to piss me off. Twice a week I can count on these hippie buddies of yours taking up good space and never buying nothin’ more than coffee or tea, like that first smuck did. Get your ass up and take care of this…pronto.”

     Now I must tell you, before you get the wrong idea, Viola was one of the nicest people you’d ever meet as long as you didn’t hinder business at the Sunny Boy Diner. She more or less ran the place, and it was a very profitable eatery. I got up and went in after Vi was back inside and out of sight. In the third booth on the left he sat. something about his long hair but mostly bald on top looked familiar to me. I walked slowly up to him all aghast. I knew immediately who he was. 

     “Why if it isn’t Mr. Benjamin Franklin. Mind if I sit down and join you?”

     “By all means. I’ve been waiting for you. The lady with that pot of something in her hand said you would be in before daybreak. Did you sleep well?”

     I didn’t think it proper to tell him about Viola’s lecture, so I lied a little.

     “Slept like a baby. By the way, my name is Tommy,” I said as I stretched out my right hand. He shook it firmly and then Vi showed. I instantly remembered the part about taking up non-monetary space and decided to order.

     “You gents want some coffee?” she said, faking a smile.

     “Yes, we would, dear lady. And I think Benny and I will have two eggs, over medium, home fries and sausage patties. I’m in the mood to spend some money this morning.”

     Now, if looks could kill I’da been one dead dude. But she sighed, wrote the order down and gave it to Angie, the night shift cook. There was no doubt breakfast would be great because Angie had it together. She was in her mid to late sixties, with the motherly kind of thing going in her culinary construction. She reminded me of my own grandmother who wouldn’t let you leave her house until she fed you something. Angie should’ve been cooking in Paris, not Jersey. I began my interrogation in my usual ignorant way.

     “Tell me something, Benny,” I asked as I stirred the sweet and light in my cup, but he looked at me eye to eye, and my mind went awhirl. All kinds of thoughts were flooding my trucker brain, and I almost got a headache from it. I was thinking,

     Dumbass, do you know who this is? You can’t talk to people like that anymore. William didn’t really like Billy and John looked like he was insulted when you addressed him as Johnny. You can talk better than this. Try to act tactual and educated for once, even if it kills your ass!!

     “Excuse me, Benjamin, I misspoke. My proper name is Thomas and my inquiry is about

     “Why yes, it is. I go by that name sometimes and today seems appropriate. Now, there’s a rumor going around that John Adams caught you and a French lady in a bathtub together playing chess. Any truth to that?” I asked, firmly.

     “I would like for Mr. Adams to answer that.”

     “I did. He plead the fifth amendment.”

     “Well, let me ask you. Are you writing any of this conversation down?”

     “Not at all,” I answered lying my ass off because I was secretly recording him on my smart phone. “Please continue.”

     “Why yes, I was playing chess with a Madame…who will remain anonymous and in a bathtub during my tenure in Paris. And I always wanted to thank him for his unwanted visit.”

     “Because he startled us. The Madame bumped the chess board with her knees and all the chess men fell into the water.”

     “Why on earth would you want to thank him for that?” I asked. quite surprised.

     “Because we both puts our hands down in the water” he said, twiddling his thumbs, “to find the pieces but we…found each other, if you understand the concept I am talking about.”

     Benjamin started to pose an ornery smile and I was biting a hole in my lip to keep from crackin’ up.

      “I understand completely. So I take you both enjoyed each other?”

     “It was the most fun I have ever had with a lady. I will never forget it.”

     Just them Viola brought our breakfast. I started to pig out like a field hand but Ben salt and peppered everything and took little bites, one at a time. And I was thinking,

     Holy shit! I’ll never get outta here.

     I finished up first and excused myself to the Men’s Room to take a…urination and sanitize my hands afterwards. I came back, sat down and waited till Ben was all done. He took the napkin off his collar, wiped his mouth thoroughly and then folded the napkin up. I signaled for Vi to bring the check and Ben pulled out a huge leather wallet like he was going to pay.

     “No, no sir. This one is mine to pay. After all, you are my guest,” I said with the utmost sincerity.

     Then I saw his money supply and a bomb went off in my brain. I hate to admit this to you, the reader, but I’ve always had a little con man in the “upstairs cells.” Quickly, I hit eBay and found out how much a Colonial dollar was worth these days.

     “Yet, maybe you can leave Lady Viola a tip, I think that would be appropriate,” I said as I relieved him of a single. “I’ll go pay for this now and then we can do…whatever.”

     I walked up to the register sporting a, as we truckers call it, a huge shit-eatin’ grin.  Vi picked up on it right away but said nothing as I handed her cash for the food. Then I pulled out her tip and gave it to her. She made a Viola standard comment.

     “What the hell is this?”

     “After we leave Google that. All I want is twenty percent of the take. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. You can thank me next Tuesday.”

     I gave her a little love tap on her shoulder and Ben and I hit the back door. As we were walking back to my truck, I suddenly realized something wasn’t right. The other two gents just faded away and then I woke up in the sleeper. Now I’m wide awake and my guest is right beside me. As we got to my truck Ben kept walking, right into the blazing, morning sun.

     “Benjamin” I yelled. “Where you going?”

     “Out here to pick some flowers,” he answered with a big grin. “You have yourself a fruitfull and happy life. Goodbye.”

     And with that, he disappeared into the sunlight. I didn’t know exactly what to do so I got up in and started my ride. I looked at the clock in my AM-FM radio and it said five o’clock, so I put it low gear and headed home. To get there I cross the huge Delaware Memorial Bridge and then Jump on U.S. Route 41. I run that to Lancaster, Pa., on U.S. Route 30, to the PA Turnpike and then to the house. I ran 41 a few miles and that fourth cup of coffee hit me, so I pulled over at a wide spot, cocking the truck a little to left for privacy. You see, truckers have their own bathroom on the passenger side. You put yourself a little inside the truck’s two axles and “drain your vein” as we call it. It’s also called “hosing down the tires.” I know, I know, we truckers have a language of our own, but it comes with road life, only what happened next ain’t part of any tale I’ve ever heard,

     As I was relieving myself, I heard the most beautiful voice coming from the woodline. It was a woman, and she was singing what sounded like a church hymn.

“It is well with my soul, it is well,” and she kept it up. Next, I heard a man’s voice singing the same thing as hers and their harmony was amazing. I almost wet my pants because I thought they were humans and saw what I was doing, but I saw no one. I got up the nerve to walk into the woods, following their almost heavenly harmonies till I came to a clearing. There were the remains of what looked like an old church and the opera was over. The front and back were intact but badly burnt and withered. The inside laid in a huge pile of rubble, and I froze for a second or two. I wanted to run away but my legs wouldn’t move. Suddenly I heard a very mysterious voice saying “Help us. Help us.”

      I ran back to my truck in record time. I almost passed out in the seat because I couldn’t catch my breath. I knew smoking cigarettes would get me some day but not this early in my life. I finally settled down and took several swigs of my water bottle. I took off and made it back to Wheeling W, Va. In record time but I couldn’t get this thing out of my mind. I just wanted to crawl up in my bed and cut some zzz’s.

     That is, if I could sleep.