Gas is gold here in Southern Mississippi. Those who have it are gods. Those who don’t are beggers. We have gas in our tank 19 extra gallons in the RV for our trip.
We parked yesterday off a back road and started refilling the SUV. Someone left the back of the truck open and a man, apparently noticing the rows of red cannisters, pulled up behind us.
Now, this is the gentle south, here in Pass Christian and Long Beach, but there’s a weird, scary feeling these days. I saw in front of a home yesterday a spray painted sign that said “Family and Friends only. Trespassers will be shot.”
Anyhow, the man pulls up, and he looks me in my eyes, right in my eyes, and I walk up to the passenger side window.
“How y’all doing?” I said.
“We need gas,” he said. His kids were in the back seat. “We got food that’s gonna go bad if we don’t get some quick.”
That was 24 hours ago. We still have gas. He does not, unless he got it from somewhere else.
And I’m ashamed.