The Gas Station of Immortality
by Glen Draeger

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Hello Fellow Mortals,

I started reading our book the other night while I was in bed and when I got to the place where Gilgamesh decided to search for immortality I was enthralled. I threw the book down and decided that I too would search for immortality. What have I been doing for 47 years? Eating? Sleeping? Reading? What a waste! If I had spent that time looking for the secret to escape death—why I might be immortal now.

I woke up my wife. "Dear," I said. "Good-bye, I'm going to go on a quest, a quest for immortality."

"I think the car needs gas," she said sleepily. "Good night." Then she rolled over and went to sleep.

"Hmmmmm," I mused out loud. "Gas?" Will I find immortality on some road? A freeway, perhaps? Or maybe at the gas station? Maybe there's a secret gas pump that dispenses immortality—I'll bet it's the Supreme pump. Maybe that's why gas prices are going up so high. Did she know something she wasn't telling me? "Um, Dear?" I shook her. "Are you awake?"

"I am now," she said groggily.

"Why do I need gas to search for immortality?"

"Why wouldn't you?" she replied matter-of-factly. "Good night."

Why wouldn't I indeed? I grabbed my wallet (immortality is probably expensive) and my car keys and headed out the door. Once in my car I drove toward the nearest gas station, but before I could get there the car ran out of gas. Well, no one said the search for immortality would be easy. I started to walk and walk and walk. I began to sweat. It wasn't late at night but it was dark and up ahead I saw two figures on the sidewalk. One had short hair, one had long hair and they were both big. When I tried to pass them the woman moved in front of me.

"Where do you think you're going?" she said. She stood as tall as I am (I'm 6'2") and weighed well over 200 pounds. Her husband was the same size.

"I'm just trying to get to the gas station."

"Without a car?" her husband said. "I don't think so."

"Okay, okay. I'm searching for immortality. I want to escape death and I won't stop until I find an answer. Now let me pass or else I'll kick you, I'll bite you, I'll scream for the police—I'll fight both of you behemoths until you let me pass!"

"The immortality gas station? Yes, we know it well," the woman said. "But to get there you'll have to pass through—" she paused "—The Mall—and," she added gravely, "you cannot buy anything. If you do you will never find the gas station of immortality."

"I'll do it," I said.

"Turn back now," the man said. "No one survives The Mall—you will pass your 12 favorite stores."

"See's Candies?"

"Yes!" the woman answered.

"Mrs. Field's Cookies?"

"Yes!" the man answered.

"The movie theatres and Toys R Us?"

"Yes!" the woman answered.

"And—" I hesitated and swallowed deeply, "a bookstore?"

"Three of them!" they yelled at the same time.

I ran past them toward The Mall. "Good luck," they yelled. Then I heard them say, "He's two parts weird and one part foolish."

The Mall loomed in the distance, its huge parking lot filled with cars, SUV's and trucks. There seemed to be no brighter place in the neighborhood and as I got closer I could hear the throng of adults and children happily rushing from store to store, carrying bags of clothes, toys and computer games. I raced through the parking lot and then—into The Mall. The store windows were lined with every conceivable temptation: televisions, DVD players, bionicles, clothes, cool shoes—but none of these tempted me until—I smelled it—chocolate chip cookies—freshly baked—and a special deal—two for the price of one. I swept past them like a swift river, but the ordeal had only just begun. I made it past the candy store, the computer store and the first bookstore—and the second bookstore—but at the third bookstore, in the window, in plain view for all to see, there it was—a set, not one book, not two books, but four books: The Hobbit and the three books of The Lord of the Rings series — on sale —35% off — illustrated — hardbacks. My mind reeled, I reached for my wallet—my credit cards seemed to be speaking to me and then I remembered the words of Enkidu: "Do or die!" I forged ahead.

Now all I had to do was pass a few department stores and then—I was free, into the parking lot on the other side of the mall. It was then that I saw her—a former student of mine (I've taught a lot over the years and have many, many former students). As she was getting into a car I rushed at her (maybe she could give me a ride the gas station of immortality) — she pulled the car door shut just as I got there.

"Let me talk to you, Susan," I yelled as I tugged at the door. "It's me, Mr. Draeger," I yelled.

"Is not!" she said.

"Is too!"

"Is not!" she yelled. "Look at yourself in the mirror." I did. I didn't look like me. My hair was wet and tangled, my shirt was soaked. "What do you want?" she asked.

"I'm looking for the gas station of immortality."

"Why? You should be home with your wife and son. You should be enjoying a good meal with them — eating some ice cream—talking and laughing."

"I must have immortality! I must escape death."

"I know someone who can take you where you want to go but it means you'll have to pass through— through —"

"Where?" I asked.

"The Freeway of Death."

"During rush hour?"

"That is a fate worse than death—do you see that taxi-driver over there?"

"Yes."

"He will take you."

I ran to the taxi—leaped in the backseat and yelled, "Take me to the gas station of immortality."

"Hey, hey, hey," he said. "Slow down. I must tell you about The Freeway of Death before we venture on to it. Once on it we can never stop—it's go, go, go all the time and fast, fast, fast—we'll need 12 gallons of gas for our trip. Secondly, you must never, never drop anything out of the window—if you do—we'll get a ticket and be fined. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I replied. The Freeway of Death was like a computer game that moves too fast. The cars whizzed by us and cut in front of us. Some drivers honked their horns, some drivers yelled at one another. The gas gage went lower and lower—9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3 gallons left and still we did not see the gas station of immortality. Then up ahead we saw Road Construction. Quickly we had to switch lanes or come to a halt and never make it to our destination. We swerved past as the gallons diminished— 2, 1—. "Where is it?" I asked.

"It's the next exit," but just then the car ran out of gas. As it slowed we coasted onto the exit, then finally, I had to get out and push the car into the gas station.

It didn't look like a gas station of immortality—you must know what those look like—ask your mom or dad. It looked old. The gas pumps were not computerized, the paint on them was chipped and faded and the office was small: it had one desk and behind it sat one old man. His hair was gray, his face wrinkled and he leaned back in his old wooden chair holding a torn and tattered paperback book in one hand and a hot cup of tea in the other. He looked at me over his reading glasses with a peculiar, but relaxed expression.

"Well," he said, "teaching must be a stressful job. You look like you just got slobbered by a big dog and you look worried."

"I am," I said. "I'm going to die and I don't want to so I've come to ask you how to get immortality—you don't look like you're immortal."

"And what do think an immortal looks like?"

"I don't know—younger—handsomer—stronger—"

"Too bad you didn't say wiser. I've learned some things with the time I've had—the important things. You want immortality? It's not yours to have—get over it. You're going to die—we all are, except me that is, but I'm an exception. The important things are family, contentment, memories and peace. Where were you before you began your quest?"

"I was in bed reading."

"Next to your wife."

"Yes."

"You kissed your son goodnight?"

"Yes."

"You had a good meal together with your family before you went to bed?"

"Yes."

"And you were reading a good book?"

"Yes."

"You left that to search for immortality? You're one crazy dude!"

I thought for a moment and suddenly I missed my wife and my son and my dog and my fish and my hermit crabs and my hamster (Bouncy) and the creaky door and the weeds in the backyard and the dishes—I missed them all.

Then I ran and I ran and I ran. I ran down the Freeway of Death, I ran through the Mall and I ran down the lonely dark street past my car that had run out of gas. I ran until I reached my front door. When I burst in my wife was setting the table. There was a loaf of freshly made garlic bread, a salad overflowing with tomatoes and avocados and a large pizza fresh out of the oven.

"You're just in time," she said. "Did you find what you were looking for."

"Yes, yes I did," I said.

We sat down to eat and just before I was about to bite into my first piece of pizza my son said, "What could be better than this, Dad?"

"Not a thing," I said. "Not a thing."

Regards,

Mr. Draeger

©2005-2008 Glen Draeger (all rights reserved)
Millstone Education: World Literature / http://www.millstoneeducation.com/worldLit