Stories, Thoughts and Snippets
A 1st Date 1 A 1st Date 2 A 1st Date 3 A 1st Date 4
Sleep came and went fast, I awoke at about seven in the morning with sun cutting across the horizon. I raised the seat back to a normal level and twisted my now badly stiffened next. Rubbing at the muscles I opened the door and stepped into the morning air that seemed impossibly colder now than it had in the dead of night. I knew from experience that in another few hours the renewed sun would take care of that. There was a group of men I took to be Mexicans standing around a badly aging van about halfway down the lot, drinking coffee and chatting about something, occasionally laughing. One wearing a badly stained denim jacket gave me a long appraising look, and turned back to his companions.
I stretched myself out as best I could in a few painful reaches, locked my car doors and walked past the men to use the facilities I had avoided a few hours before. I doubt the Hispanics would have cared if I had again made use of the bush, but I could not bring myself to appear uncivilized, even if it meant braving the reek of urine that emanated from the door, still five paces off when I began to smell it. I breathed shallowly and when I reemerged the men were loading into their van. The same one that had given me a look before met my eyes, and I gave him a slight nod. He did not return the gesture, but slammed the passenger side door closed and cranked his window down. They passed me by as I walked back to my car; the van had Washington license plates. I made a few stereotypical assumptions that those men were migrant workers, most likely illegal, just across the border for a few days now, on their way to the orchards of eastern Washington. It was too early in the season for apples, but they would be right about on time for cherries, if it had been a warm spring. I wished them luck.
I settled back into my car and selected some more appropriately mellow music. I would make it to San Francisco tonight, it would hurt, but I would do it tonight. I was thankful that I was heading west and the sun lay at my back, but I knew I would pay for it this evening as it settled down below my visor and I would have to squint my way through an hour or two before darkness came again with its relief and own particular dangers. I was driving for the better part of an hour when a highway patrol car eased its way up behind me. I had done nothing wrong, nothing he could possibly have known about in any event, but his presence still made me nervous, as police always did. I slowed down until the needle of my speedometer hovered just around the speed limit, hoping to encourage him to pass. He did not pass. For forty-five minutes he followed me as I sat in the slow lane behind a truck towing a load of some manner of flammable liquid.
I took the excuse that the next exit advertising gasoline offered, turned on my signal well before exiting and pulled into a service station. My heart sank as I glanced in my mirror and observed the officer follow me down the exit ramp.
"Mother fucker." I muttered. Turning down my radio, I was expecting his lights to flash at any moment. But they did not, he followed me into the gas station, pulled up behind me next to a pump, got out of his car as I exited mine and proceeded to fill his tank.
"Good morning." The officer spoke to me. He was not wearing his hat, but he did wear the sunglasses the highway patrol is so famous for.
"Morning, officer." I replied, and turned back to the pump, watching the numbers scroll by.
"Been on the road long?" He asked me.
"This will be day four, sir."
"That is a long trip. You coming all the way from Massachusetts?
Yes sir, moving back to California.
You’re from California, then?
Yeah, I went out to Boston for college, and I m finally getting around to moving home.
Get tired of the winters back there? I have some family back that way, they tell me the winters are real tough.
Yeah, I m looking forward to some sunny weather. Excuse me. I replaced the nozzle and went inside to pay. After paying I asked for the key to the bathroom, hoping to hide in there until the cop had moved on. When I finally thought it was safe enough to come back the cop was gone, but I found a note tucked under my windshield wipers saying, You were weaving in your lane a little back there, I let it go this time, but you should be careful in the future. Get some sleep. Officer Jonas Young.
Asshole. I murmured and got back in my car.