Dead End

Dead End

Endless miles of highway stretched before us. No destination in mind, we’d set out from home about a week ago.

We left a box of books and magazines at a truck stop for truckers to paw through. That box of extra clothes went into a thrift store about three states back. I’d been saving the dutch oven for our new place, but that went into a dumpster a few hundred miles ago.

It’s amazing how little you need when you travel. Just a few pairs of underwear and socks, a change of clothes every day or so, and some soap and a toothbrush, and a little food.

On we motor with no place in particular in mind. We stop when we have to. Gas up, get some food. Take a shower at truck stops if it’s been a week or so.

That’s where it happened.

“Did you see who did it?” John demanded.

Our truck sat on tire rims.

I sat on the ground. “Nope. It was like this when I came out from my shower.” My wet hair dripped into the dust.

“We’re so screwed,” John sat beside me, his wet legs grabbing dirt and making mud. “Totally and completely, Marie.”

“No kidding, Sherlock.”

We sat while the sun started it descent. Trucks rumbled by, truckers paid us no mind, as if seeing two people in their underwear, sitting on towels, is a normal sight in their world.

When the sodium lights made the parking lot as bright as noon, we decided to load our packs and start walking. John and I got as far as the edge of the road when suddenly the ground disappeared leaving us dangling, holding on to ropes from advertising banners.

“What the everlasting…” I screamed. My pack dangled off one arm.

John held on to his rope with one hand. His other held his pack by a strap. “Shhh….!!!!”

More ground disappeared as we hung suspended, the truck-stop, the gas pumps, the road in front. Soon all that was left was the small strip of grass and a sodium light holding that staked-down sign, our life lines. I started to swing back and forth, finally reaching the grass, grappling my way to safety. John reached for my outstretched hand then in a split second fell out of sight.

“JOHN…,” I screamed! Jumping to my feet and peering over the edge, there was no bottom; a total black hole. All about me was destruction. My little island, somehow intact, kept me from the same fate.

Clinging to the light pole, I begged for daylight. When the sun came up, I still hugged that pole. Where was I to go now? How was I to leave? Where is our truck?

Over and over those questions, day after day, week after lonely week with no one around. My food ran out, then the water. That black hole looked inviting. But as I laid down on the brown grass, sure to finally meet John in my dreams, a huge bird flew down, landed next to me.

In its talons was a note. Once I took the note, it flew away.

“Come meet me. I am safe.” What? Who sent this? Was it John?

I debated this for some time. What choice did I have? Surely death in my sleep would be better than death falling into a dark hole. So I laid down once again on the brown grass, next to the hole that took John. If I died in my sleep, then rolled into that hole, so be it.

I dreamt I was falling… that’s the last thought I had.


W/C 604