Overrated (An Original Story)

I

I carefully adjust the grey visor above my head, as the late August sunshine glares at me through the windshield. My little Ford Fiesta hurtles along the country road in the almost tropical heat. Heading back to my home town to visit my family is usually a time filled with happiness or festivity, however this time the context of my journey is drastically different. My dearest grandma was taken ill last month following a stroke. The doctors were initially unsure of how long she had left, but sadly her health quickly deteriorated and within a week she passed of complications due to septicemia. It has left the whole family in a state of shock ever since, and now we're all due to congregate in our familial hometown of Shere, Surrey. Not even the generic summer pop ballad playing on the radio can lift my mood at the moment, as I drive closer towards the inevitable sadness and tears that shall ensue over the next few days.

The whole situation has felt entirely surreal, and a part of me is in abject denial of her death. It couldn't have really happened. My loving grandma Emmeline, the graceful matriarch of the Johnson family, couldn't have actually died. The death of such an eternal figure in my life is something that I've struggled to come to terms with over the past week or so, but that is, I guess, how grief works. And the loss of grandma has indeed affected me, and shall probably continue to affect me, deeply.

Suddenly; a loud bang drags me out of my thoughts, and my car starts to veer off the road. I hurriedly slam on the brakes and pull to a stop directly in front of an old oak tree on the side of the road. Panting heavily, I can hear blood pounding through my head, as I turn the car off, shakily unbuckle my seatbelt and open the door. As I step out, I'm immediately made aware of the almost obliterated tire before me.

"For fúck sake" I mumble, knowing that the dinky old tire repair kit in the boot of my car will not salvage the rubber carnage now laying below my car. I curse my older sister for encouraging me to opt for the tire repair kit when buying my car, instead of a spare tire. "It'll save you boot space" I snarkily mimick her, whilst pulling my phone out of my pocket only to see the screen turn black and display the Samsung logo as soon as soon as I unlock it. It's dead. Fucking great. I should've known that forgetting to charge it last night would've come back to bite me in the arse.

However, the distant sound of an engine takes my attention away from my now lifeless phone. An idea forms in my head, as I spot the car in question coming round the corner. Quickly, I step round the front of my car and stand on the edge of the road, attempting to wave the car down. Thankfully; it comes to halt next to me. It's an old red mini, probably from the 70s. The engine rumbles lowly, as the occupant rolls down their window.

"Can I help you, miss?" A deep, eloquent voice falls from the mouth of what can only be described as a classically handsome man. His dark blonde hair is pushed back messily beneath a black fisherman's cap, and a crooked smile is painted on his pale face, which is adorned with a pair of black aviators. Something about him seems familiar.

"Thanks for stopping, and yes, my tire's damaged beyond repair. And my phone has died. You wouldn't mind letting me call my parents or something on your phone, would you?" Grateful that anyone has stopped to help, my words are rushed and almost frantic. The mysterious man smiles widely at me and leans against the open window with a heavily tattooed arm.

"Sorry, I don't have much signal out here. It's a dead zone" My face falls at his response. There goes my plan. Just as I'm about to retreat to the shade of my car he speaks again. "Whereabouts are you going? Because if it's nearby and you're alright with leaving your car, I could give you a lift and you could come sort out your car after" He suggests, still smiling at me. The smile isn't creepy or overzealous in anyway. It seems to be genuine, and just fits with his face very well. A face, which I still can't remember where I've seen it before. I ponder for a moment on whether to get in a car with a complete stranger or take my chances potentially getting heat stroke out here in the middle of nowhere.

"If you're sure it's no bother" I say, deciding to accept his offer than risk dying from the atrociously high heat.

"It'd be a pleasure. Can't leave someone in need out in weather like this" He replies, opening his door and stepping out to help me as I grab my bags from my car and load them into his. It is now that I'm made aware of his height, whilst passing him my laptop bag I notice how he seems to loom over me from above. "So where are you heading to?" He asks, as we situate ourselves in the car and click our seatbelts into place.

"Um, I don't know if you know it, but Shere. It's a village not too far from here" I respond, watching as he turns the key in the ignition.

"Oh really? I live near there" He looks across at me as we pull away back onto the road. "I might know you, what's your name?" I knew something about him was familiar maybe I do know him.

"Alexandria Johnson, but most people call me Alex" I reply, and asking him for his name in return.

"Ah, is your grandad Andrew Johnson? I used to drink with him in the pub. And I'm Jeremiah. Jeremiah Axton". He speaks, shifting gear as we rocket down a windy back road towards the village. The conversation continues pleasantly as we drive and before I know it we're pulling to a halt outside my parents house. It turns out that our families have known each other for decades, yet how I don't recall ever meeting Jeremiah still doesn't click in my brain.

He aids me getting my bags out the car, refusing to accept money for fuel. Begrudgingly accepting my offer of a drink in the pub after a couple of minutes bartering. I wave him off, as I pick up my bags and turn to enter my parents home, knowing that today's events are just the beginning of one extremely stressful week.