Can he be saved?

The truck finally slides to a standstill at the rest stop located far from any town. The brakes squeal through rough patches of protest, grabbing traction in minute inches, until the big rig stops. The middle-of-the-night ebony roads have become wet with dew and condensation. The roads’ surfaces wear an oily, slippery film of residue for the ever unwary to tumble down or across, depending on which direction one might be traveling.

Any direction can be treacherous, as he well knows.

The night surrounds the outside of the truck with background noise; the passing traffic on the parallel interstate is muted, but the noise within the cab vibrates with loudness…of unsaid and unspoken thoughts.

He and the driver glance out the wide, bug-splattered windshield. They’re both thinking their own thoughts. One wonders, “What happens now?”

The other wonders ironically, “Isn’t this just like all the other pit-stops in my life?”

He closes his eyes against his image reflected across the dirty glass. The symbolic aspect of filth on the windshield coincides with his inner value of self. He chuckles softly to himself.

“You OK?” the driver asks.

“Yeah.”

Inside the cab, the small space becomes an invisible bubble filled with individual thoughts, the diversity of thoughts only humorous to him.

“You sure I can’t take you further down the highway?” the driver asks.

His head slowly turns to her, tuning out the windshield highlighting his dark soul, replacing the blackness with her brightness. He blinks as he gazes at her with a start of surprise, of reality. She’s sitting sprawled against her driver’s seat with one leg flush with the truck’s door, the other leg raised on her seat with one arm resting nonchalantly on her knee. He notices her hair spiking out in bursts of golden color underneath her ball cap. Her green eyes shadowed, but for all the shadows, they stare at him with concern, with clarity. He can almost feel her will reaching with tenacious fingers grabbing onto him: to shield him, to comfort him. To guide him back, back to life, as he knew it years ago.

Fighting against the inevitable, he opens the passenger door and steps down, slinging his beaten bag across his shoulders.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says as he starts to close the door.

“You sure you’ll be alright?”

With his signature grin of irony he replies, “Yeah.”

She stares at him with that penetrating gaze he’s come to recognize in the three hours they’ve been riding together. The conversation might have been scarce but she has contained her curiosity about him.

“Wait!” She grabs a receipt on the dashboard and scribbles on it with a pen. “Here, take this. It’s how you can get in touch with me if you ever need a friend. Please call…you are the loneliness person I’ve ever met.”

He squints against the dome light at the scrap of paper she handed to him. Not really seeing the words, he caresses the ink with his thumb.

Raising his head, he tucks the paper in his coat pocket and slowly closes the door.

He turns to the trees outlined on the murky horizon; their decaying limbs seem to welcome him in their embrace. He glances back at his truck driver. Her taillights grow smaller in the distance, forever leaving him behind.

He hitches his heavy bag and moves towards the darkness of the forest. He feels an invisible force pushing him; its evil nails imprinting red-hot scratches down his neck leaving blotches of blood. He resists the dark force, even though his will power is not yet strong enough to make a difference in where he’s lead. But he starts to whistle softly. He feels a lightness within he hasn’t felt in ever so long.

He can still feel her presence, her ethereal soul, and her humanity rubbing one of the black stripes away from his spirit.

Slowly he smiles with a true sense of gladness understanding he’s come one step closer to his salvation…his redemption.