Open Road

by Amy B.

c. February, 2001

Loosely connected to "Invisible People"

Cole only released his grip on the knife in his pocket when the brake lights had faded into the distance. His fingers ached when he straightened them out for the first time in fifty miles. He took his hand out of his pocket and shook his fingers loose as he surveyed the exit where he'd been dropped off.

There was a twenty-four hour Exxon station, a small cafe that seemed to be modeled after a Waffle House on one side of the road, and a flea market and a Tractor Supply Company that were closed down for the night on the other. Real happening place at four in the morning.

He had three dollars and some change in his jeans pocket and a five hidden in his sock. The wind picked up and cut through his denim jacket, so he opted to spend just a little on coffee at the Waffle House-wannabe. He'd get something to eat only if he could do it without breaking the five. He'd had it since Paduca and was hoping to keep it until Charlotte at the very least.

He took a seat at the counter and ordered coffee, as his stomach rumbled at the rich warm smell of baking biscuits and waffles. Listening to a couple of locals talk about the damage the last tornado had done, he couldn't tell if it had swept through three days ago or three years ago, just what impact it had. It was still early in the year for tornadoes, but stranger things had happened. The men went into the kind of detail about destructive wind patterns with a fascination that only farmers and meteorologists could manage.

Suppressing a shiver, he looked toward the windows, but all he could see was himself and the cafe reflected back at him--the waitress, the cook, the three men at the counter with him, and the young couple at a booth. Something about the woman struck him familiar, and he turned slightly so that he could get a direct look at her.

The short hair that couldn't decide if it was blonde or brown and the sadness etched so deeply on her face reminded Cole of his older sister. The sadness didn't go away when she smiled at the guy sitting across from her, and that reminded him of Meryl, too.

Sometimes he wondered if some people just couldn't be happy, if something inside them wouldn't let them be. Maybe Meryl had finally found happiness wherever she was now, but he tried not to think of it--of her-- too much. She sure wasn't likely to be thinking of him, not as easily as she'd walked away from the family, from *him*. It was almost funny that just a few years later, he'd followed in her footsteps.

The waitress refilled his cup and asked him if he was ready for something to eat yet. He looked up at the menu board, did a quick calculation, and ordered a biscuit with bacon. When she brought it to him, he took the curly-crisp strips of bacon off and put them to the side of the plate so he could stretch the small meal out as long as possible. Licked all the grease and crumbs off his fingers before reaching for a stiff paper napkin. He took his time spreading on grape jelly from little plastic packets, just as he had added plenty of sugar and cream to his coffee, stirring it slowly. Killing time until daylight when he could get back on the road.

He took small bites and savored each one while watching the other patrons. His eyes kept being drawn back in helpless fascination to the woman who looked like Meryl, and he gradually became aware that her companion had noticed.

The guy had dark hair, dark eyes, and skin the kind of pale that suggested living in darkness and shadows. He stared at Cole carefully, like he considered Cole a threat of some kind--a prospect that both confused and amused because no one had ever feared him before, not with his skinny build and a face that always looked younger than he really was. But then, this guy didn't look particularly afraid either, just wary. Waiting to see if Cole was going to say or do something to which he could take offense?

Cole glanced over again as the waitress laid the bill on their table and made eye contact with the woman. He smiled out of polite habit and saw her eyes dart away as she grabbed the guy's arm as he started to stand. Cole heard her say "Drew, please..." before her already soft voice dropped further to a whisper. Whatever else she said made the guy sit back down, but he didn't take his eyes off Cole as he listened to her.

Cole had turned his head away, but he watched them in his peripheral vision as he wondered how he'd managed to fuck up this time. He hadn't meant anything by smiling at her. It wasn't even much of a smile really, just the quick reflexive tilt of the lips he gave to the drivers that looked like they might give him a ride.

With diligent concentration, he sipped at his coffee, took a couple bites of bacon, and waited for something to happen. Fine tension settled across the back of his shoulders just like when he was a kid expecting a blow. But after several minutes, he looked up and saw the couple going out the door, the guy's hand wrapped tenderly, protectively around the woman's waist.

Cole breathed a sigh of relief and finished his breakfast, but the tension didn't lessen for so long that he'd grown accustomed to it.

He was back out on Interstate 24, walking and watching out for state troopers, when a man in a pick up truck stopped and said he could take him as far as Chattanooga. He kept his hand on the knife in his pocket as he climbed in and sat on the worn vinyl bench seat. A gospel station played on the radio and a bunch of happy meal toys lay in a heap in the middle of the seat. After ten or fifteen miles of innocuous conversation, Cole felt himself begin to relax very slowly.

He wanted to doze off, but he was glad the caffeine wouldn't allow it. He might lose his grip on his knife, on the situation, and that would never do. He'd sleep when he got home, if his daddy would let him in the house.

If his daddy was even still there. Maybe the old man had finally given in to the bitterness and just taken off himself. Like a need to run was genetically programmed into every one of them. As the miles slipped away beneath the wheels of the truck, Cole hoped that somebody had stayed because otherwise he was going back to nothing. If home didn't even exist anymore, what was the point? What was the point of anything? He'd be permanently lost because he had no idea how to make a home of his own.

The End.