Dear Mom...

Dear Mom,

Of course I miss you. In fact, I tried to be back in time for Thanksgiving, but things just didn't work out. I know you'll forgive me - you always said I was the son of your life.

And before I tell the story of why I missed your fabulous Thanksgiving dinner, let me start with some pre-text.

A used car is not always what it's jacked up to be.

I had a pretty good test drive, and the car salesman really drove home his point. So I ended up driving home with a 1995 Honda Civic and four thousand dollars less in my pocket.

However, it turned out that I was really taken for a ride.

A month later, I started driving back across the country to see you, dear mother. Of course, in the middle of Kansas, the car breaks down and I'm stranded in the middle of nowhere - literally. I spent the night in Nowhere, Kansas, pondering what I should do.

That night in Nowhere Motel, I met him - Rob Berman, who made his living stealing motorcycles. He was obviously a cycle-path. However, he also was heading to the east coast and I desperately needed a ride.

He showed me his baby, a brand new Mustang with all the gadgets put in. He had installed the engine, the ignition, everything. Rob was a real self-starter.

"Luckiest car in the world," Rob told me. "Never had to push my luck with this baby."

So that's how I got tangled up with Rob Berman, motorcycle robber-man of the U.S.A. Despite his cycle-pathic tendencies, he was a good man. He had a crooked nose but could always keep a straight face.

Everything sailed along pretty good until we hit Kentucky. We were having lunch at a nice little diner in the middle of the state. I only had two burgers, a small helping of onion rings and a diet coke. It was all I could eat at the time and you know I don't like food going to waist. I was finishing off my onion rings - that's when Rob spotted it.

A nice big ole Harley-Davidson, shiny as could be, sitting out in the parking lot...

"Oh, no you don't," I told Rob, guessing the crooked expression on his crooked face.

Rob rubbed his hands in glee. "Rob Berman gotta do what a robber-man can."

At that moment, however, a big guy wearing a big black jacket hopped on that Harley and drove away.

"Come on, kid, we gotta go!" Rob yelled, throwing some cash down and running out the door.

I followed him, not wanting to lose my ride.

Rob revved up his lucky Mustang and I barely managed to get my seatbelt on before he started to roar after that Harley.

"Slow down the car!" I screamed.

But Rob put his foot down, and the car accelerated more and more. The Harley came into sight, and Rob rubbed the wheel in glee.

"We'll catch that one," he kept muttering. "This is my lucky car. Never had to push my luck."

The speedometer's needle was trembling. We were going faster - faster - faster - suddenly, the Harley swerved into a side road.

"Brake! Brake! Brake!" I hollered, and Rob really tried to put his foot down on the brake this time.

But it was too late. The failure of Rob's lucky car to break in time caused an instant ram-ification.

The car skidded and crashed into a ditch.

And that's how I ended up pushing Rob's luck all the way til the border of Virginia. There, in Nowhere, Virginia, Rob stole all the cash I got and left me stranded in the middle of Nowhere. Again.

I'm writing to you from Nowhere begging you to send me some cash. Just give me a loan so I won't be so lonely out here.

Send something to the address on the outside of this envelope. Mom, I'm counting on you to send me something I can count.

'Course, all my love, your son,

Owen Cash