The Finger

Dusty late model Chevy of some sort, head barely above the wheel, hands at ten and two.  Slowing down now, more slowing, still slowing, and now we're stopped.  

No one around.  No oncoming traffic.  No farm animals in the road.  No tell-tale sign of car trouble.  We're just stopped.  If we were any further outside the city limits, a tumbleweed would have drifted across the lonely stretch of road we were currently on.  Still stopped.

As I'm about to put the truck in park and get out to see if maybe there's something wrong with the car, or driver, ahead of me, a full 5 count after we stopped mind you, I see the break lights come off and a slow roll begin.  Up comes a old, craggy back of a hand with an index finger extended giving me a little waggle.  A wave of sorts.

OK, so the finger must have meant "oops,  sorry about stopping in the middle of the highway at a cross street with no lights or stop signs.  My bad."

Wait, maybe it meant "oops, sorry about that young feller.  Had myself a very senior moment there."

Then again, I wonder if it was a cautionary finger saying, "don't pity me young one for you too will one day not be able to trust a fart, maybe take the blue pill and forget if it was Viagra or a sleeping pill...and not care either way, maybe you'll stop on a lonely stretch of road for no apparent reason someday and just be fine with telling the world that you'll make a four way stop anywhere you dad-gum please thank you very much!

I did get a finger.  Just not sure what it meant.