The Truck Stop

I didn't even know why I had come back. Obligation. Guilt. Or maybe, a sense of curiosity. It didn't matter. I could tell that nothing had changed in the few years I had been gone. The same buildings sat empty on Main Street. The towns one light continued to blink yellow after 9pm any night of the week. Over privileged teenagers still used the Dairy Queen parking lot to turn around in.


Home was on the outskirts of the town. I smirked at the idea that anyone would call this place a town or suggest that it was large enough to have outskirts. But, that is how my mom always referred to the location of the small two bedroom stone house the six of us lived in. "Just drive past the truck stop and go another 2 or 3 miles and you'll find us there on the outskirts of town," she'd instructed more than one delivery driver.


The truck stop was just ahead. The neon light was partially burned out, but I would have known the smell of diesel and baking grease anyway. Turning into the parking lot, I decided I had better buy a soda and some snacks. The 5 of us kids may not be living at home anymore, but it was likely the cupboards would be bare. A can of corn or baked beans. Some tomato paste and a family size can of Foldger's original were all that ever seemed to inhabit those shallow spaces that the dishes did not overtake.


The glass doors were heavier than I remembered them. The customers lighter. It looked as if times had been hard in the town. I watched as their thinly disguised stares moved off the steaming cups of coffee and smudged chalk menu to follow me around. Bruce sat on his usual stool. He raised his hat with his oil blackened hand. "Well hell's bells! If it ain't little Miss College back in town." He spit into the can that always sat to the side of his stool. The habit had always disgusted me.


"Hey Bruce! How are you doing?" A genuine smile spread across my face as I crossed the black and white checkered floor to give him a hug. "Bruce. The only person I truly worry about from this town. The one person who ever showed me any kindness!" He felt small in my embrace. Times had been hard.


"Now turn 'round and let me get a good look at you darlin'." Lifting my hand just over my head, he nudged my shoulder gently. I happily spun in a circle, bowing slightly when we were face to face again.


"Well? What do you think now that I am all grown up? Am I everything you hoped for me and better?" I felt like that little kid he use to protect from the older, meaner, privileged kids that loved nothing more than to torment me. I realized his response still meant a great deal to me.


"You got some spiffy duds, that's fo' sure. You've done become a nice lookin' young lady, but you are far from grown up little Missy." A slight pink warmed my cheeks. Whether it was from pleasure or embarrassment, I couldn't say. "Now, why you back in town sweetheart?" He eyed me suspiciously, as if I'd given him reason to be doubtful. "You got some pretty boy on a string jus' waitin' to take you 'round the world or what?"


"Nothing like that. I was just feeling a little homesick and thought it was about time I came home to visit my mom. I thought I would stop in here and pick up a few things for the cupboards and refrigerator first. How is she doing?"


Bruce sat down hard on his stool. He chewed a bit before spitting and then he turned to me to answer. "You know your Mama baby. She' a well-respected, hard-workin' women who ain't never been wrong 'bout a thing in her whole life. She gonna die that way too."

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

What game do you love to play or watch?

I love Scrabble. I can't watch. Not really. I only pretend to watch as I mentally play other people's tiles for them and grimace when they trade in those lovely Q's, Z's, V's, J's, and X's.

Damn Words with Friends (a Scrabble knock-off) for allowing me to access this game any time I want. It's meant for sleepless nights in front of a glowing screen.


*** One Minute Writer ***

First Line

The surrounding area was enveloped in steam as the machine creaked and hissed its way into the air. Cindy looked down at her small town home. It was everything she knew. "Was," she thought. "It was my home. It's not my home anymore." The thoughts floated through her mind, their real meaning laying ahead in a future that she could not fathom.

A flaring orange light caught her attention. She looked between the swirls of steam that continued to rise. "That was my school. I guess I'll never kiss Bobby on that playground again. Or feel the sting of Mr. Hathwart's sting. That will wipe the smirk off Mary Jane's face. I wonder what she is going to have to look forward to now?"

Another flare erupted on what use to be the far end of town. Mr. Frampson's sheep pen, she was sure. "No more of Mr. Frampson's sweet goat milk for breakfast or Mrs. Frampson's pie and cookies." She sighed and turned away from the devastation. Her small group was the last to evacuate and the only one to head north.

Acalde Jensen was talking. "We are not out of danger yet. We still have to get through the ashes and other shooting debris. If we make it through that, we can touch down a good distance from the volcano and resettle. Our scouts found another freshwater lake, good soil, and an abundance of wild life close to the Brookfield tribe. We are on friendly terms with them."

Murmurs from the adults filled the small chamber. Cindy went back to watching the red-orange lava sizzle in the lake and consume the few buildings still standing.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***

Director

"Apply In Person" the last line of the ad read. Cheng folded the small piece of paper and put it back in his pocket. Adjusting the straps on his shoulder, he took a deep breath and blew it out as if through a straw. It was the only trick that his counselor had taught him that ever worked. His palms sweaty and nerves a little less janglly, he walked to the low dusty brown building with the faded green door.


Inside, it sounded like a war had erupted. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the worn door knob. "It's just a test to see if I'm ready for this," he muttered under his breath before gripping the knob and turning it over. Pulling up the rest of his resolve, he yanked the door open before he could change his mind. His gaping mouth showed his astonishment. Men in mail shirts and metal hats chased one another, swords clashing inches from their bodies. He knew he should turn and leave, but he was awestruck and unable to move his body.


"Hey! You here for an acting role or for the assistant director position?" The man was tall, remarkably thin, and probably in his 50's. A tangled mesh of long hair hung behind his shoulders, a touch of grey coloring his uneven beard and his temples. His eyes danced in a yellow mist which sat too close together on his dark weathered face.


"Ye-ye-yes sir," Cheng stammered. His heart thumped against his ribs and echoed in his ears.


"Yeah?" The man laughed a shrill choked laugh that didn't fit with the sounds of war. "So you want to be an actor and director just like all those other fools. Well, you can only be one right now, so which is it? Actor or director?"


Cheng closed his eyes to the confusion. He wondered if any of this was real. Maybe he was in a dream or had opened a portal to another time and place. He sucked on his lips for the thinnest of moments. "No," he thought. "This is all just part of some test." He looked the man in the chin, his eyes out of his reach and culturally inappropriate to look directly into. "I want to be more direct-er," he said with little confidence, but great ferocity.


***Daily Writing Practice***

Happy Rewrite

Rewrite this sentence so that it is less cliche: "And they lived happily ever after."


The memory of the young couple's joy lived on in the stories passed down from mother to child, from generation to generation,from then until now.


*** One Minute Writer ***

The Lake

The waves lapped at my feet as I stood on the shore and stared at the distant lights. The cold water sent chills up my spine as it climbed over my knees and up my thigh. It welcomed the tears and heaving of my chest without judgement. Silently, gratefully, I gave it all space the world had neglected.


***Daily Writing Practice ***

Bodyguard

It's a beautiful warm and sunny day. Everywhere I look, young people are celebrating the day through idleness and friendship. A couple walks slowly down the broad sidewalk, hand-on-hand, licking ice cream cones. A small group of students sit on a blanket laughing, their bodies rolling like waves with good humor. Others sit on the ledges and planters.

Clutching my books, I dodge the dancing shadows cast by the tall maples and oaks common on campus. I strain to hear under the conversations for the slightest hint of his heavy footfall. My eyes dart between the groups of people, under the benches, and over my shoulders. I am constantly gripped by fear, paranoia, anxiety. Heaviest on my soul is the envy I feel toward those idle and careless moments the others take for granted.

If only I could hide from the always judging eyes of the Father. Then, maybe I too could enjoy a few minutes of idleness.

*** Daily Writing Practice ***