This is a short story that I wrote in a couple of days. It still needs some work, but I figured it was as good of an entry as anything. Enjoy!

“It isn’t a good day to get lost.”

He began to fight with his freewheeling side as he drove down
the two-lane highway. It was clear which side would win. He’d lost most of
his freewheeling side.

He was the only one on the nondescript highway for miles in
either direction. The only sign of life was an advertisement for a local
café, two miles ahead and another mile down an even more desolate
stretch of highway.

The sign appealed to his sense of adventure. He couldn’t get
lost; the directions were too obvious. It also appealed to his stomach, which
hadn’t experienced food all night, and it was nearing dawn.

He had been running away from his life. Given a long weekend,
he had packed his bags as quickly as he could and gotten out of the house
before she could call. It was pretty unlikely that she would, though. Their
last conversation had consisted mainly of shouting, vastly different from the
young lovers’ quarrels they had once had just for fun. Now they knew how to
hurt each other. And it had left her crying uncontrollably, him mumbling to
himself, and both bitter.

He couldn’t face seeing her again, so instead he had jumped into
his SUV and driven to the first stretch of interstate that was available. He
had taken it south, finally taking a random exit. Armed with only a road map,
he had driven anywhere, as long as it didn’t point him homeward. He’d covered
about five hundred miles of road thus far, and he didn’t want to stop until he
reached his destination, which even he didn’t know yet. When I reach it,
I’ll know.

But food was a good enough diversion, and so he turned off onto
the county road lined with pines and magnolias. The quality of the road was
much worse than before, pretty typical of a county road, and so he rattled
along until he reached the diner. MOT’S, it read in plain white letters
painted on the middle of the three windows facing the road. OPEN 24 HOURS was
written in smaller letters underneath.

He joined the lone car in the parking lot and stepped inside, a
small bell sounding his arrival as he passed through the door.

“Nate? Is that you?” a female voice asked from the kitchen of
the diner.

“No, I’m not him,” he said. “I’m a customer.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, stepping into the dining area. She
was in her mid-50’s, with hair that was once brunette, about two-thirds of the
way to light gray. She wore a shirt with “MOT” emblazoned upon the right-hand
pocket, which bore a small order notebook. She had a tired expression, and he
couldn’t tell if it was the early morning or the years that caused it.

“Nate’s my chef,” she continued, beckoning for him to take a
seat at the bar. “My name’s Martha, but everyone I know calls me Mot. Have
since I was a little girl.”

“Why does a 24-hour place not have a chef around?” he asked,
ignoring her background information for the moment.

“No one ever comes in around now.”

“Then why be open 24 hours?”

“In case someone comes in. Like you.” She laughed a little at
this, and he guessed it wasn’t the first time she’d had this exchange of
conversation. “In any case, I can cook too, you know. What’ll you have?”

“Just coffee to start.”

“Well, I’ve definitely got that.” She went back to the kitchen
and emerged with two steaming cups. She handed him one and took a seat on the
other side of the bar, sipping hers as she did. “I should have known it wasn’t
Nate. He doesn’t ever come until at least 6:00.” She looked at him. “So,
what’s your name?”

“Jimmy, ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t ‘ma’am’ me. I bet I’m younger than your mama.” She
smiled. “Just call me Mot.”

“Okay…Mot.” Jimmy sipped his coffee, lost in
thought.

Without prodding, she continued. “So, what brings you
here?”

“Just passing through.”

“Makes sense,” she answered. “That’s what most people do. Not
many ever stay around here. Not much to stay for. What do you do, Jimmy?”

He wasn’t used to being chatted up by a waitress. “Why so many
questions?”

“How do you get to know someone any other way?” she asked,
shrugging. “That’s how I got all of my friends.”

Can’t be too many, he thought. There’s nothing around
for miles. “Yes,” she continued, “I’ve got friends from all parts. Nice
gentleman named Ray from South Dakota stopped back in the other
week…”

He cut her off. “South Dakota? We’re in Nowhere, Alabama.
What was he doing here?”

She shrugged. “Everyone’s story is different. He came through
for one reason. You came for another. I don’t even know when they’ll come,
just that they do.” She eyed him thoughtfully, tapping her left index finger
on her lips. “I may not have a degree in psychology or anything, but I’m
pretty good at reading people, and if I didn’t know better I’d say that you
were running from something.”

He looked up from his cup of coffee at her; she took it as a
sign that she was right, and continued. “Got something on your mind, son?”

He began to warm up a little; it would feel good to talk to
someone else about it, after having stewed to himself for hours on end about
it. “Yeah, I had the biggest fight ever with my fiancé the night before
last. It wasn’t over anything special, but it just got out of control. She
just didn’t understand what I was trying to tell her, and she got frustrated.
I yelled at her and she started crying, and I just couldn’t face her
yesterday. So after work, I just packed my bags and got out of town.”

“Fiancé? How old are you? You don’t look old enough to
have a fiancé.”

“I’m 22.”

“Well, that’s your first mistake, son. No one should be
thinkin’ about getting married at that age. You haven’t seen the world
yet!”

And what would someone operating a diner in rural Alabama
know about that? He voiced a more polite response. “Well, I just knew
that she was the one for me.”

“Well, I can understand that. Someone’s the right one for you,
you have to reach out and hold on to them. As far as I know, that’s one of
only three ways that a relationship can end.”

“And what are the other two?”

“Either she wasn’t right for you…or you weren’t right for
her.”

This seemed a bit simplistic to him, and he decided to take the
bait. “I can’t see that. It doesn’t have to be that way at all. Sometimes
you can both see that you’re not right for each other, and leave it at
that.”

“Maybe that’s what you say. But look back at your own life. Is
that the way it really is?”

This piqued his curiosity, and so he began to think about his
past loves, talking to Mot about them as he drank his coffee. First there was
Megan. What was that, sixth grade? But he had moved away before they could
really do anything beyond silly sixth-grade stuff. She didn’t really
count.

Andrea. Yes, Andrea would have to be the first one. She was in
ninth grade, and even though they had only gone out for a few times, he counted
her as his first girlfriend. How did that one end again? Oh, yeah…she
had wanted to go out with a senior. He wasn’t the right one for her. But he
wanted more in a love than someone who’d trade him in for someone cooler. At
least, now he did. So she really wasn’t the right one for him.

Then there had been Sarah. At the time, he had thought that she
was perfect. He’d basically idolized her from afar, never having the courage
to actually say anything to her. It didn’t help that she was a grade older
than him. But later in his high school career, he’d heard things about her.
He didn’t know if they were true or not, but if they were, he knew he didn’t
want that. She wasn’t right for him either.

He’d gone out with Julie for about a year in his senior year,
but then he’d realized he needed someone more mature than a high school
sophomore. Then he’d asked a girl named Jennifer out in college, and they’d
gone out for a little while, but she wasn’t intellectual enough for his
tastes.

He managed to go through all of his previous girlfriends in this
fashion relatively easily. And every time he came to the same conclusion:
she wasn’t the right one for me.

Until Rebecca.

Rebecca was the first person he truly believed that he had
loved. The others before were either the product of an over-imaginative
high-school student or an over-stimulated college boy. She was just about
everything that he believed that he wanted in someone: beautiful physically.
Academically, an overachiever. A woman of the utmost in morals and taste. A
good conversationalist. She had a loving heart. She had the power to take his
breath and his words away every time he saw her, but made him feel like he was
her best friend every time she talked to him, even the first.

When he had asked her out for the first time, she had thought
about it for a little bit and then answered yes. They stayed together after
that for two and a half years in college, until he graduated. Then he had
asked her to marry him. She had thought about it a little bit.

And she had said no.

I wasn’t the right one for her.

The words cut through him like a knife. Why? He wasn’t
used to the idea that someone else didn’t find him up to their standards, and
it bothered him greatly. He struggled to recall why, and in retrospect, he
honestly couldn’t come up with any rationale as to why she had broken his
heart. The only thing that he could bring up from the memory was the pain and
misery that he had worked long and hard to overcome. The new job helped some;
long hours and some travel kept him busy, but he still had thought of her from
time to time. Then he had met Lauren, his fiancé, and everything had
turned out well to this point, so he thought. But it still nagged in his
mind. After telling Mot about her, he had to ask. “What did I do wrong with
Rebecca?” he asked Mot.

“Well,” she said, “sometimes these things just happen, and there
isn’t a reason at all. But those times are pretty scarce, and I wouldn’t bet
that you’re one of them. The person who can answer that question isn’t
me…it’s her.”

He reached into his pocket, and drew out his cell phone. Call
her? “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Mot looked at him straight-faced. “Depends. Can you live with
not knowing the answer?”

He didn’t really know how to directly get in touch with her, but he knew her
parents. That was enough. He dialed the phone, Mot watching with an
interested look on her face.

Ted Rosenbloom, eyes blinking from being awakened, picked up the
phone and answered it. “Hello?”

“Mr. Rosenbloom, this is Jimmy Kendall. I know that it’s early,
but I just had something on my mind.”

“Jimmy? Rebecca’s old boyfriend?”

“Yes. I need to speak to her, if I could. Is there any way
that you could tell me how to get in touch with her? I just need to ask her a
question.”

Mr. Rosenbloom wasn’t really in the mood to do anything but go
back to sleep, but he figured that it wouldn’t hurt. He had liked Jimmy.
“Sure. Do you have something to write with?”

“Go ahead.”

“Area code 213, 555-6622.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“And, Jimmy? Wait for a little while to call, okay?
It’s…five in the morning out there.”

“I will. Goodbye.” Jimmy hung up and looked at Mot. “Can’t do
anything for a couple of hours…I guess I’ll order now.”

* * *

After his meal, Jimmy looked at Mot and sighed. “How in the
world am I going to ask this question?”

“Why aren’t we together now? I don’t know that there’s a good
way to ask it except just to ask it. If you’re worried that you’ll be hurt
again, you may not want to make the call at all and just accept it.”

He couldn’t do that. This was something that he felt had held
him back for so long unanswered. Knowing why could only help erase the pain.
He took his phone off of the counter and dialed the number Mr. Rosenbloom had
given him.

In a Los Angeles apartment, Rebecca Thomason, five-month-old
with a bottle in its mouth in one hand, answered with the other. “Hello?”

“Rebecca? Hi. It’s Jimmy.”

“Jimmy…Kendall? How are you doing!?” The tone of her
voice was the same as it had always been when she started a conversation; as if
she hadn’t seen the other person in years. In this case, it was actually
true.

“I’m doing okay. Listen, I hate to bother you or freak you out
by giving you a call like this, but I had to ask you a question.”

“Okay…” her voice changed to that of puzzlement, so Jimmy
quickly continued. “I have to know. Why did you say no to my proposal?”

“Oh, Jimmy.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry to bring it up, but I was just thinking about
it, and I realized that I really didn’t know why.”

“Well…” even from across the country, Jimmy could tell
that she was fidgeting over answering this question. It didn’t help that she
had a squirming child in one arm. “I just wasn’t ready for marriage yet.”

It was too easy a response, and he called her bluff on it. “No,
really, Rebecca. I have to know. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.
Why?”

She paused for a couple of seconds, then sighed. “Okay, but
could I put you on hold for a minute, please? I’ve got a baby that I need to
put down.” Without waiting on a response, she placed the phone down and took
her child to its crib. She came back and picked up the phone again. “Okay.
Jimmy?”

“I’m here.”

She sighed again. “Why I said no. Well, I guess that it pretty
much boils down to one thing. The night that you proposed to me, I told you
that I had to go home and think about it, remember? I did, and I realized
something. What I thought that I loved wasn’t a person…it was a set of
character traits and facts. I loved that you had dimples. I loved your voice
impressions. I loved that you knew exactly what you wanted out of life. I
loved that you were active in church. You were kind and generous and treated
me very well, and everything. I knew that you were a great guy.

“But I thought about it, and I realized that I didn’t know
you, I knew of you. The first year of our relationship, we
talked, but it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. And after that, there wasn’t
any depth of conversation at all. The problem was that by then, I was just too
comfortable around you to think about breaking up. I guess that’s not very
good of me, but I had never imagined that you’d propose, even though you were
going to graduate.

“You were a great boyfriend, Jimmy. But that night, I realized
that I didn’t know you the way that a wife should know her husband, or love you
like a wife should love her husband. It’s not your fault..”

He found himself covering for her. “How could that be only your
fault? It had to be my fault, too. I should have tried more to talk to you
about…”

She stopped him. “No, Jimmy. If it hadn’t been that, it would
have been something else. We just weren’t supposed to be together. If we had,
we’d be together now.” She changed the subject slightly. “Are you married
now?”

And her question answered his, because when she said that, he
started to think about Lauren. He remembered the all-night conversations that
they’d had. And while he knew her face by memory, he realized that he knew her
heart as well. And that was something that he had never had with Rebecca, or
with anyone else.

He snapped back to the present. “Uh, no…but I have a
fiancé. Her name’s Lauren. We’re getting married in July.”

“That’s great. Well, I’d love to talk more, but I hear Peter
crying, so I need to go get him. It was great talking to you, Jimmy. Best of
luck to you and Lauren.”

“Thanks. You and Peter too.” He hung up the phone and looked
at Mot. “You were wrong…sometimes neither one’s right for the
other.”

She smiled at him and said, “Maybe you’re right. After all, if
you had gotten married, you’d never have met your fiancé, right? And
she wouldn’t have met her husband either. And both of you turned out fine,
didn’t you?”

“Maybe…if I can get back home quickly enough.” He put
his phone in his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

“What was the fight that you two had about again?” Mot asked
him.

He pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and laid them on the
counter. “It doesn’t matter now. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem, shug. Take care getting back to her, now.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“And come back to see me sometime.”

“If I ever get down here again, I will.” A friendly wave and
the doorbell, and he was gone.

Mot took the money and went to the register to ring up the
total. Coffee – fifty-nine cents. Two eggs – $1.18. One biscuit – forty-nine
cents. Tax included, it came out to $2.42. She put the money in the cash
register. Thirty-seven dollars and change. Not the biggest tip she’d ever
received, but a pretty nice one. I think he’ll be back one day…he
and that fiancé of his.

As he drove northward on the two-lane highway, Jimmy felt freer
than he had in a long time. If I didn’t have to get home right now, it’d be
a perfect day to get lost. He had his cell phone back in his hand and the
number already dialed. “Lauren? It’s Jimmy. Don’t hang up. I’m a long way
from home. I don’t remember what we fought about yesterday, and to be honest
with you, it doesn’t really matter to me. All I know is that I love
you…I really love you…and I can’t wait to see you again.” His
SUV turned onto the interstate, towards home and his love.