The travelling librarian

Chapter 1: Pilot

Agatha's car sat steaming in front of her and the noon sun beat mercilessly down upon the concrete and grassy plain that went on for miles around, creating the stench of baking dirt and asphalt. 

She was totally lost. 

Getting lost was not something that Agatha was particularly inclined to do for, though quite clumsy and scatterbrained, she compensated for this fact by being meticulously prepared for every situation by means of schedules, phone notifications, and any other color-coded means of framing her life into perfect little boxes. These characteristics were part of what made her such a good librarian. Six days a week she would wander methodically around the library sorting, stacking, and separating, everything has a place or a file, everything was planned. Sadly, in this world, the one thing that you just can't plan on are people. On this particular occasion, she didn't have her phone, since her phone charger had been forgotten at her apartment, and  she didn't she have a map to show her the way, nor would she know how to read one if she had it. She had packed in a rush and driven with her head in a muddle and that is how she became 

totally.

lost. 

Before her car decided to die, Agatha had been on her way to her mom's house after her boyfriend of ten years impulsively decided to join a group of missionary monks in South America. Though it might seem selfish to hate a man who renounced his whole world for a humble life of service, in this situation, the world that he decided to renounce included Agatha and when he renounced it, her own world came tumbling down with it. So, with her life in pieces around her, she sped off to Missouri for a break, a change, and most likely an inordinate amount of sobbing and wallowing. 

Then, of course, her small crappy sedan decided that it would overheat at this moment, in the middle of nowhere, though it is not surprising since she had driven the sedan for as long as she had dated her boyfriend. When she looked at her car, she couldn't feel angry, she felt a bit sorry for her "Bucephalus" as she had named him after the steed of Alexander the Great.  

The heat left her feeling drowsy and subdued and she sat staring into the distance at the plains which reminded her of the deserts in Ozymandias:

"The lone and level sands stretched far away" 

She found what shade could be made from her little car and sat down, sweating profusely and feeling every  bit like a piece of bacon in a frying pan. The sun glared at her mercilessly, burning her eyes. 

Then, as the sun became a half-circle on the horizon, she saw the glorious sight of an eighteen wheeler emerging from its center. Never had she been more exited to see those over-sized hunks of metal. She stood in the road and waved her hands and calling out frantically, 

"HEY! STOP! PLEASE!" Until the huge semi was pulled up next to her and the steam from under it was, scalding her arms and legs. Out of the cabin stepped an old man  with a long beard and a bandanna tied around his head. For a moment she rejoiced at having been saved, but then she realized that her new Uber driver was a surly looking old man who had probably done time in prison. 

She swallowed hard. It wasn't that she had anything against old men, but a thousand undesirable scenarios flew through her head at once.  

"Howdy ma'am, you seem a might lost, where were you headed off to?"  

"I'm trying to get to my home in Springfield," she stammered, "and Bucephalus...well, no, my car...I named him... overheated because I've been driving for awhile and my boyfriend broke up with me..." She broke off, deciding it was best not to tell the large convict-looking man about her personal issues.  

"Well, he said, you seem to be heading in the wrong direction, Springfield is nigh 50 miles thataway," he pointed in the direction from which she had come, "Anywho, it just so happens that I am headed to Springfield miself to drop off this load. You'll be able to find someone there to tow your car and a phone to call up your folks." 

"Can't I use your phone?" she asked. 

"Well, you can try, but I don't reckon you'd be able to reach anyone out here." He handed her a worn flip phone and, sure enough, there was no service. 

"I need to be gittin on young lady, these goods won't deliver themselves, so if you want to come along, we'd best be goin." Agatha froze, her options seemed either to die from heat stroke and get eaten alive by coyotes out here, or to get human trafficked, molested, and beaten up by an old man driving an eighteen wheeler. It wasn't a fun choice. She hoisted herself up into the truck with whatever possessions that she could fit in her bag and they set off.  The A.C. blew loudly and the radio drawled dismally on with sound of old country music.