~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In this particular town there were only two places that stayed open after nine o’clock at night, aside from the bars: Wal-Mart, and Gerkin’s. The latter was an all night diner which catered to a variety of patrons. It sat along the main interstate that cut through the town, making it a favorite of truckers. If one happened to be underage and preferred to be sitting down while loitering, this drab little establishment was the place to be.
Angie and Elsie claimed their usual booth in the back corner and were promptly greeted by Cliff, the night manager. Cliff was a tall, thin young man with a pasty complexion and dark hair, which he kept meticulously slicked back. His acrid sense of humor was a source of much banter for Elsie, with Angie enjoying the exchanges nearly as much. Knowing them as regulars, he had their hot teas and plate of French fries marked down before they could ask.
As a counterbalance to ordering very little and staying entirely too long, they always made a point of tipping him well. Although, whether or not he allowed Elsie to best him in their verbal sparring matches often determined whether or not his tip would be awarded to him in the form of masses of loose change.
The two spent the next few hours discussing an art show Elsie had planned for later in the summer, with a random smattering of obscure topics inserted as her attention span waned.
Angie had absorbed a great deal from Elsie since they’d met in middle school, most of which resulting in her familiarity with the world of the nondescript geek. Their cache of shared interests included comic books, video games, Japanese cartoons, replica weaponry, and role play. It was a safer, less judgmental world, where the inhabitants were more sensitive and creative, if not socially impaired to varying degrees. Most of the time, the ineptitude could pass as an endearing quality. Particularly to Angie, who preferred it to the backstabbing and manipulation that seemed to be the primary teenage-girl alternative.
Graduation had cut the last tie she had to the suffocating version of reality that high school represented. She should have been giddy over her new-found freedom, but an array of unknowns continued to loom over her.
“You get any news on your Air Force guy?” Elsie deviated at last. For the most part, she shied away from any meaningful conversation. But when she did bother with it, she could be astute.
Angie peered down at her mug of tea, having lost count of how many times she’d refilled it. “It’s sounding like I won’t get to meet Don at the end of the trip like we were planning. They put a Stop Loss on his unit. He’s supposed to let me know for sure in the next few days, but unless he can get an honorable discharge, they’re going to keep him for three extra months.” She was sulking now, and she allowed the fact to slip into her voice.
To anyone else, it would sound naive of her to have become attached to someone she had yet to meet in person. She’d come across Don the same way she had most of the others she intended on meeting on her fast approaching road trip: through a text-based writing community. A favored hobby from the age of fifteen, she had Elsie to thank for introducing her to the pastime. There she had been free to create and share stories. What’s more, she felt closer to some of her online peers than she did to the friends she saw on a daily basis.
Don had been among these online friends, and after the September 11 attacks, she’d discovered the twenty-two-year-old was also an Air Force serviceman stationed in Germany. They began having phone conversations, and she quickly became infatuated with his soft-spoken Arkansas accent. Hopeful over the sense of connection between them, they’d made plans to meet once his service contract was up at the end of the summer. News of the Stop Loss had depressed them both and dashed her fragile hopes.
“I should have taken his offer to fly me to Germany,” Angie said in lament. “Now I’ll probably never get to meet him.”
“Well, you know, it might be for the best.” Elsie fidgeted, picking at a rip in the worn booth cushion. Offering comfort had never been one of her strong suits. “Maybe it wouldn’t have worked out. You said he can be kind of moody, and you aren’t exactly Little Miss Sunshine yourself. Who knows, you might hit it off with somebody while you’re on your trip—”
Angie raised a hand to stop her friend’s reassurances. “I’m -not- looking to start some desperate long-distance relationship. And besides, I’ll have plenty of other things to worry about while I’m traveling.”
“Like...staying alive?” Elsie’s lips curled back in a light smirk. “I wish I could go with you. You’re crazy, though—and this is coming from me.” She quirked a questioning eyebrow. “I mean, I know how boring this town is, but aren’t you overcompensating just a little?”
“Yeah, probably. I can’t seem to talk myself out of it, though. I have to go through with it.” Angie managed a tight smile. “Assuming my mom doesn’t carry out her threat to sedate me before I get the chance.”
Elsie giggled outright. “Can’t blame her. My mom would crap a brick.” She sipped at the remainder of her tea. “I mean, you’ve only met two of these people you’re going to be staying with. Well…and one’s my cousin—I guess he doesn’t count. So that leaves how many?”
“Seven others,” Angie answered matter-of-factly. “Yeah, I suppose it does sound pretty…out there. But I checked them all out, just to be safe. And I know I’ll regret it if I don’t go. I’ve only got one semester left before I’ll have my associates degree and...then what?”
“What do you mean, ‘then what?’” Elsie asked, wringing her tea bag into her cup after draining the last of its contents. “You’ve been taking college courses for like two years now, and you just graduated high school. I’d be grateful to be that far ahead of the game.”
“I know, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself. I don’t know what I want—” Angie cut herself short, realizing she was starting to whine. She didn’t have any right to complain, and she didn’t expect her friend to comprehend the upwelling of uncertainty that seized her every time she tried to envision her future. It was all she could do not to turn and run every time someone innocently asked what her major would be. She had yet to decide if the road trip was her way of running away from destiny, or headlong into it.
Finding the hot water pot empty, Elsie reached across the table for Angie’s mug.
Angie yanked her cup toward herself, sloshing a few drops of its lukewarm contents over the rim and across her knuckles. “Negative, Typhoid Mary.” She leered in scolding. “You lost your sharing privileges. Flag down Cliff if you want more.”
Elsie gave a dramatic sigh. “Where is that greasy weasel, anyway?” Defying common discretion, she brought two fingers to her mouth to create a shrill, beckoning whistle. It was late enough that few of the other patrons spared her a glance. Within seconds, Cliff came jogging back from behind the front counter.
“Ladies...anything else I can get you this evening?” He waggled his eyebrows at Angie and deepened his voice in jest. “My phone number, perhaps?”
“More hot water, please.” Angie offered a faint smile as she held up the hotpot. All in good fun or not, flirtation had always been a concept that threw her off. She wasn’t sure if she should view it as a tacky display of guile, or as a legitimate skill she simply had no knack for. Either way, she was certain her ignorance in that area had contributed to her state of perpetual singleness.
“Yeah, I bet you’ve got a nice bachelor pad set up in the dumpster out back.” Elsie resumed her verbal jabbing. “Must be convenient, being able to walk to work.”
“Oh yes, it’s got plenty of glamorous perks.” Cliff quipped back in his typical dry, sardonic tone. “This morning I scraped together a full breakfast -and- I found a perfectly good shoe. Jackpot.” He accepted the container and swiveled on his heels before marching back toward the kitchen.
Elsie looked back toward Angie and grinned. “Too bad Cliff isn’t your type. I don’t think he’d need much encouragement.”
Angie shifted uncomfortably. “I’m pretty sure Cliff hits on eve
rything that moves. You just make it harder for him, what with all of the conversational castrating.” She paused with her mug halfway to her lips, considering a moment before venturing to ask, “So, what exactly is my ‘type? ‘” She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer, but she needed a distraction from the sense of gloom that seemed amplified by whatever was ailing her.
Elsie cleared her throat and splayed her hands across the table as though she’d prepared an important announcement. “Beefcake Philosopher,” she said at last, deadpan.
Angie gauged her friend with caution. “Explain.”
“See, I’ve actually given this some thought. Me, I like ‘em smart and skinny, with minimal sun exposure. You like the big, strong, manly sort, but you won’t give them a second look if they don’t have brains. And those are hard to come by. Not that it’s a bad thing. There have to be a few of those out there that fit the rest of your criteria. …probably.”
Angie rubbed two fingers against each temple, absently noting how warm her forehead felt to the touch. She would definitely have to get checked out in the morning. “So, you’re saying I’m looking for a smart, tough-guy who can meet my standards without resenting it. Oh, and who’d actually be willing to put up with somebody like me.”
“Set the bar any higher and you’d be looking for somebody with pole-vaulting credentials.” Elsie gave a dour nod. “But like you said, you don’t really know what you want. Give it time and some of that adorable idealism of yours might wear off.”
“Thanks,” Angie said in glib reply. “You should go into counseling one day. I could see you getting paid to tell people when they’re being delusional.”
Elsie formed the thin, crooked smile. “Or, you know, you could always settle for less and end up missing it when the right kind of guy does make an appearance.”
“I take it back—you should go into politics.” Angie chuckled in defeat before realizing she was no longer the focus of Elsie’s attention.
Her cohort had filled the bottom of a water glass with quarters and leveled off the water at the rim. She then pressed a laminated menu to the top of the glass and, in a swift motion, flipped it upside down with her hand under the menu to maintain the seal. Steadily, she lowered the menu and maneuvered until the table took the place of her supporting hand.
Angie watched the trick with detached curiosity. “And you’re doing this to him because—?”
“He’s taking too long,” Elsie answered without breaking her concentration. In another quick motion she slid the glass, transitioning it from the menu to the tabletop with only a small trail of water lost in the process. “Voila!”
Angie shook her head at Elsie’s flair for vindictive creativity. The motion turned out to be a mistake, as it triggered a painful throbbing at her temples. “As much as I’d like to see his face when he finds that, I think I’m going to call it a night.” She scooted out of the booth and made her way to the front of the diner. Elsie gave a disappointed whine, but followed without a fight.
Reaching the front counter Angie laid open her wallet, leafing out a few bills and setting them beside the cash register. A weary young busboy emerged from the back and peered over the ticket. As she waited, Don’s picture grabbed her attention from its place in the transparent inner pocket of her billfold. His sandy-blonde hair was crew cut, detracting no attention away from his strong, clean-shaven jaw and keen blue eyes. Arms folded across his broad chest framed the blue AIR FORCE lettering of an otherwise gray T-shirt.
Beefcake Philosopher — Elsie was right.
Regret twisted in Angie’s stomach and she snapped the wallet closed. Pining over something so unlikely was immature, she reminded herself. And this was no time to start acting her age.
June 7th,
I graduated last night, finally. It was a painfully long-winded ceremony, punctuated by an explosion of screaming and silly string. …and nothing about it meant anything to me. I took one last look at my 370-some classmates and it was confirmed in my mind that they wouldn’t miss me. At least that’s mutual. But it’s alright. That chapter of my life is complete. At least I made it through without embarrassing myself.
This morning I went in to the doctor and tested positive for Mono. Elsie must have given it to me when she drank from my smoothie a couple of weeks ago. In a way, it’s a relief to know I’m not just lazy and out of shape. At the same time, I know it could take me weeks or months to get over it. I’ll have to take it easy, especially for the first part of this trip. Hopefully I won’t get anyone else sick. *Think healthy thoughts* Now, on with exploring/saving the world! Or…something.
With the Arkansas part of my trip in serious question, it looks like all I can do is pray and trust there’s a reason for whatever happens. I don’t know yet what I’ll do if it turns out for the worst. I’ll have to play this by ear and hope that Don keeps in contact with me. So far this isn’t going the way I’d planned, but I’m not going to let that stop me. I need to get out of this town.
Three days left, and counting.
~Ang
Chapter 2
In the dim blueish haze of predawn, Angie perched barefooted atop the largest of the granite boulders decorating her parents’ front yard, questioning her sanity one last time. An unfamiliar pairing of excitement and dread swam through the whole of her being in equal measure. It was invigorating. She guessed it to be some lesser form of the sensation skydivers must experience when stepping up to the open door of a plane before hurling themselves into a freefall.
This particular rock was her favorite spot for stargazing, and even now she felt reassured to stare up and watch as the brightly speckled veil of night was lifted. Flanked by thick forest on two sides and several acres of grassy lawn, only a handful of neighboring houses were within eyeshot. It had been a good place to grow up, being outside of town enough not to feel crowded, but not quite far enough out to be considered country.
Her father had bought the land and built their house two decades prior, when the cold war still loomed in all of its uncertainty. Some sense of precaution had convinced him to buy up additional acres that he could potentially convert into a mass garden so that, in the event of a breakdown in organized society, their family would still have a means of procuring food. While Angie understood this motivation to be somewhat paranoid, part of her had always been proud of his forethought and determination to provide for them.
Of course, the hand of the apocalypse had been stayed, and a more conservative use of the land was settled on. Five apple trees hedged the left side of the yard, each of a different variety with harvesting times varying from July through October. To the right along the tree line were beds of tomatoes and strawberries, bordered by thick loops of red raspberry bushes. She would miss most of the strawberry and raspberry season while she was gone, but the apples would still be waiting for her.
“I need you to be with me. I don’t want to do this alone.” She murmured the words aloud as she scanned the fading stars and settled on the brightest point of light that remained, which she absently identified as Venus. From childhood she’d been fascinated by astronomy, and on a personal level, she’d discovered that a clear night sky made it easier for her to talk to God. There was no dogma or ritualistic reasoning behind this. She found it completely natural to pray under her breath at any time as she went about her day, and often did. But there was something profound and awe-inspiring about stargazing that made her feel smaller and yet more connected at the same time.
Angie finally slid off of the rock and waded through the cool grass to her awaiting flip-flops, just beside her pale gold Geo Prism. The car had been a reward from her parents for making good enough grades to get into the Post Secondary program. She had to drive herself to her college classes, and so it made sense that she have her own vehicle.
The car’s condition was too good to be called a Junker, but it was nothing fancy. And that was the way she liked it. She’d come to fondly regard it as an extension of herself, having covered
the back of it with whimsical bumper stickers to suit her personality. Her car had all of the things she’d been taught to value in life: dependability, efficiency, longevity, and a Japanese engine. If it held up faithfully through her adventure, she’d vowed to drive it to the end of its life…or hers. Whichever came first.
She popped open the trunk and scanned over her inventory for the third time since she’d loaded up the previous day. Sleeping bag, road flare, flashlight, extra oil, box of non-perishable food, North America road atlas, emergency travel phone, first aid kit, duffel bag of clothes, and an eight-inch Bowie knife. She was fully prepared to sleep in her car, but given her current plans she should only need to for one night, if all went well. It wasn’t the discomfort of urban camping that concerned her, it was the idea of being exposed and vulnerable. That was where the Bowie knife came in.
A quick sifting through the duffel bag produced a black baseball cap, which she donned after twisting her hair up to conceal underneath. For once, playing at gender ambiguity would be a defensive advantage rather than an oblivious social default. Her father had suggested this measure, concerned that being a lone female would make her a conspicuous target for harassment. Or worse.
“You’re still too pretty to pass for a boy.” The warm insistence drifted from a short distance away.
Angie smiled at the remark and all of its paternal bias. She closed the trunk and spotted her father standing a few yards off at the corner of the garage, watching her with a careworn expression.
At forty-eight, Nicolas could have passed for ten years younger. He was in the solid, trim shape that came with a highly active lifestyle, with all of his golden-brown hair still holding its color and displaying little sign of retreat. His eyes shone a clear, light blue, set with creases against skin that had hardly gone a day without seeing sun. His prominent Nordic nose was a distinguished feature that suited him well, though it was also something that Angie and her siblings were quietly grateful not to have inherited. Standing side by side, no one would have guessed him to be her father. She’d taken strongly after her mother — tall, long-limbed and dark-featured. By the time she was twelve years old she’d surpassed him in height, and now stood easily three inches taller.
Once Upon A Road Trip Page 2
