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!<\/p>\n
\n“It isn’t a good day to get lost.”<\/p>\n
He began to fight with his freewheeling side as he drove down
\nthe two-lane highway. It was clear which side would win. He’d lost most of
\nhis freewheeling side.<\/p>\n
He was the only one on the nondescript highway for miles in
\neither direction. The only sign of life was an advertisement for a local
\ncafé, two miles ahead and another mile down an even more desolate
\nstretch of highway.<\/p>\n
The sign appealed to his sense of adventure. He couldn’t get
\nlost; the directions were too obvious. It also appealed to his stomach, which
\nhadn’t experienced food all night, and it was nearing dawn.<\/p>\n
He had been running away from his life. Given a long weekend,
\nhe had packed his bags as quickly as he could and gotten out of the house
\nbefore she could call. It was pretty unlikely that she would, though. Their
\nlast conversation had consisted mainly of shouting, vastly different from the
\nyoung lovers’ quarrels they had once had just for fun. Now they knew how to
\nhurt each other. And it had left her crying uncontrollably, him mumbling to
\nhimself, and both bitter.<\/p>\n
He couldn’t face seeing her again, so instead he had jumped into
\nhis SUV and driven to the first stretch of interstate that was available. He
\nhad taken it south, finally taking a random exit. Armed with only a road map,
\nhe had driven anywhere, as long as it didn’t point him homeward. He’d covered
\nabout five hundred miles of road thus far, and he didn’t want to stop until he
\nreached his destination, which even he didn’t know yet. When I reach it,
\nI’ll know.<\/i><\/p>\n
But food was a good enough diversion, and so he turned off onto
\nthe county road lined with pines and magnolias. The quality of the road was
\nmuch worse than before, pretty typical of a county road, and so he rattled
\nalong until he reached the diner. MOT’S, it read in plain white letters
\npainted on the middle of the three windows facing the road. OPEN 24 HOURS was
\nwritten in smaller letters underneath.<\/p>\n
He joined the lone car in the parking lot and stepped inside, a
\nsmall bell sounding his arrival as he passed through the door.<\/p>\n
“Nate? Is that you?” a female voice asked from the kitchen of
\nthe diner.<\/p>\n
“No, I’m not him,” he said. “I’m a customer.”<\/p>\n
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, stepping into the dining area. She
\nwas in her mid-50’s, with hair that was once brunette, about two-thirds of the
\nway to light gray. She wore a shirt with “MOT” emblazoned upon the right-hand
\npocket, which bore a small order notebook. She had a tired expression, and he
\ncouldn’t tell if it was the early morning or the years that caused it.<\/p>\n
“Nate’s my chef,” she continued, beckoning for him to take a
\nseat at the bar. “My name’s Martha, but everyone I know calls me Mot. Have
\nsince I was a little girl.”<\/p>\n
“Why does a 24-hour place not have a chef around?” he asked,
\nignoring her background information for the moment.<\/p>\n
“No one ever comes in around now.”<\/p>\n
“Then why be open 24 hours?”<\/p>\n
“In case someone comes in. Like you.” She laughed a little at
\nthis, and he guessed it wasn’t the first time she’d had this exchange of
\nconversation. “In any case, I can cook too, you know. What’ll you have?”<\/p>\n
“Just coffee to start.”<\/p>\n
“Well, I’ve definitely got that.” She went back to the kitchen
\nand emerged with two steaming cups. She handed him one and took a seat on the
\nother side of the bar, sipping hers as she did. “I should have known it wasn’t
\nNate. He doesn’t ever come until at least 6:00.” She looked at him. “So,
\nwhat’s your name?”<\/p>\n
“Jimmy, ma’am.”<\/p>\n
“Oh, don’t ‘ma’am’ me. I bet I’m younger than your mama.” She
\nsmiled. “Just call me Mot.”<\/p>\n
“Okay…Mot.” Jimmy sipped his coffee, lost in
\nthought.<\/p>\n
Without prodding, she continued. “So, what brings you
\nhere?”<\/p>\n
“Just passing through.”<\/p>\n
“Makes sense,” she answered. “That’s what most people do. Not
\nmany ever stay around here. Not much to stay for. What do you do, Jimmy?”<\/p>\n
He wasn’t used to being chatted up by a waitress. “Why so many
\nquestions?”<\/p>\n
“How do you get to know someone any other way?” she asked,
\nshrugging. “That’s how I got all of my friends.”<\/p>\n
Can’t be too many,<\/i> he thought. There’s nothing around
\nfor miles.<\/i> “Yes,” she continued, “I’ve got friends from all parts. Nice
\ngentleman named Ray from South Dakota stopped back in the other
\nweek…”<\/p>\n
He cut her off. “South Dakota? We’re in Nowhere, Alabama.
\nWhat was he doing here?”<\/p>\n
She shrugged. “Everyone’s story is different. He came through
\nfor one reason. You came for another. I don’t even know when they’ll come,
\njust that they do.” She eyed him thoughtfully, tapping her left index finger
\non her lips. “I may not have a degree in psychology or anything, but I’m
\npretty good at reading people, and if I didn’t know better I’d say that you
\nwere running from something.”<\/p>\n
He looked up from his cup of coffee at her; she took it as a
\nsign that she was right, and continued. “Got something on your mind, son?”<\/p>\n
He began to warm up a little; it would feel good to talk to
\nsomeone else about it, after having stewed to himself for hours on end about
\nit. “Yeah, I had the biggest fight ever with my fiancé the night before
\nlast. It wasn’t over anything special, but it just got out of control. She
\njust didn’t understand what I was trying to tell her, and she got frustrated.
\nI yelled at her and she started crying, and I just couldn’t face her
\nyesterday. So after work, I just packed my bags and got out of town.”<\/p>\n
“Fiancé? How old are you? You don’t look old enough to
\nhave a fiancé.”<\/p>\n
“I’m 22.”<\/p>\n
“Well, that’s your first mistake, son. No one should be
\nthinkin’ about getting married at that age. You haven’t seen the world
\nyet!”<\/p>\n
And what would someone operating a diner in rural Alabama
\nknow about that?<\/i> He voiced a more polite response. “Well, I just knew
\nthat she was the one for me.”<\/p>\n
“Well, I can understand that. Someone’s the right one for you,
\nyou have to reach out and hold on to them. As far as I know, that’s one of
\nonly three ways that a relationship can end.”<\/p>\n
“And what are the other two?”<\/p>\n
“Either she wasn’t right for you…or you weren’t right for
\nher.”<\/p>\n
This seemed a bit simplistic to him, and he decided to take the
\nbait. “I can’t see that. It doesn’t have to be that way at all. Sometimes
\nyou can both see that you’re not right for each other, and leave it at
\nthat.”<\/p>\n
“Maybe that’s what you say. But look back at your own life. Is
\nthat the way it really is?”<\/p>\n
This piqued his curiosity, and so he began to think about his
\npast loves, talking to Mot about them as he drank his coffee. First there was
\nMegan. What was that, sixth grade? But he had moved away before they could
\nreally do anything beyond silly sixth-grade stuff. She didn’t really
\ncount.<\/p>\n
Andrea. Yes, Andrea would have to be the first one. She was in
\nninth grade, and even though they had only gone out for a few times, he counted
\nher as his first girlfriend. How did that one end again? Oh, yeah…she
\nhad wanted to go out with a senior. He wasn’t the right one for her. But he
\nwanted more in a love than someone who’d trade him in for someone cooler. At
\nleast, now he did. So she really wasn’t the right one for him.<\/p>\n
Then there had been Sarah. At the time, he had thought that she
\nwas perfect. He’d basically idolized her from afar, never having the courage
\nto actually say anything to her. It didn’t help that she was a grade older
\nthan him. But later in his high school career, he’d heard things about her.
\nHe didn’t know if they were true or not, but if they were, he knew he didn’t
\nwant that. She wasn’t right for him either.<\/p>\n
He’d gone out with Julie for about a year in his senior year,
\nbut then he’d realized he needed someone more mature than a high school
\nsophomore. Then he’d asked a girl named Jennifer out in college, and they’d
\ngone out for a little while, but she wasn’t intellectual enough for his
\ntastes.<\/p>\n
He managed to go through all of his previous girlfriends in this
\nfashion relatively easily. And every time he came to the same conclusion:
\nshe wasn’t the right one for me.<\/i><\/p>\n
Until Rebecca.<\/p>\n
Rebecca was the first person he truly believed that he had
\nloved. The others before were either the product of an over-imaginative
\nhigh-school student or an over-stimulated college boy. She was just about
\neverything that he believed that he wanted in someone: beautiful physically.
\nAcademically, an overachiever. A woman of the utmost in morals and taste. A
\ngood conversationalist. She had a loving heart. She had the power to take his
\nbreath and his words away every time he saw her, but made him feel like he was
\nher best friend every time she talked to him, even the first.<\/p>\n
When he had asked her out for the first time, she had thought
\nabout it for a little bit and then answered yes. They stayed together after
\nthat for two and a half years in college, until he graduated. Then he had
\nasked her to marry him. She had thought about it a little bit.<\/p>\n
And she had said no.<\/p>\n
I wasn’t the right one for her.<\/i><\/p>\n
The words cut through him like a knife. Why?<\/i> He wasn’t
\nused to the idea that someone else didn’t find him up to their standards, and
\nit bothered him greatly. He struggled to recall why, and in retrospect, he
\nhonestly couldn’t come up with any rationale as to why she had broken his
\nheart. The only thing that he could bring up from the memory was the pain and
\nmisery that he had worked long and hard to overcome. The new job helped some;
\nlong hours and some travel kept him busy, but he still had thought of her from
\ntime to time. Then he had met Lauren, his fiancé, and everything had
\nturned out well to this point, so he thought. But it still nagged in his
\nmind. After telling Mot about her, he had to ask. “What did I do wrong with
\nRebecca?” he asked Mot.<\/p>\n
“Well,” she said, “sometimes these things just happen, and there
\nisn’t a reason at all. But those times are pretty scarce, and I wouldn’t bet
\nthat you’re one of them. The person who can answer that question isn’t
\nme…it’s her.”<\/p>\n
He reached into his pocket, and drew out his cell phone. Call
\nher? “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”<\/p>\n
Mot looked at him straight-faced. “Depends. Can you live with
\nnot knowing the answer?”<\/p>\n
He didn’t really know how to directly get in touch with her, but he knew her
\nparents. That was enough. He dialed the phone, Mot watching with an
\ninterested look on her face.<\/p>\n
Ted Rosenbloom, eyes blinking from being awakened, picked up the
\nphone and answered it. “Hello?”<\/p>\n
“Mr. Rosenbloom, this is Jimmy Kendall. I know that it’s early,
\nbut I just had something on my mind.”<\/p>\n
“Jimmy? Rebecca’s old boyfriend?”<\/p>\n
“Yes. I need to speak to her, if I could. Is there any way
\nthat you could tell me how to get in touch with her? I just need to ask her a
\nquestion.”<\/p>\n
Mr. Rosenbloom wasn’t really in the mood to do anything but go
\nback to sleep, but he figured that it wouldn’t hurt. He had liked Jimmy.
\n“Sure. Do you have something to write with?”<\/p>\n
“Go ahead.”<\/p>\n
“Area code 213, 555-6622.”<\/p>\n
“Thank you, sir.”<\/p>\n
“And, Jimmy? Wait for a little while to call, okay?
\nIt’s…five in the morning out there.”<\/p>\n
“I will. Goodbye.” Jimmy hung up and looked at Mot. “Can’t do
\nanything for a couple of hours…I guess I’ll order now.”<\/p>\n
* * *<\/p>\n
After his meal, Jimmy looked at Mot and sighed. “How in the
\nworld am I going to ask this question?”<\/p>\n
“Why aren’t we together now? I don’t know that there’s a good
\nway to ask it except just to ask it. If you’re worried that you’ll be hurt
\nagain, you may not want to make the call at all and just accept it.”<\/p>\n
He couldn’t do that. This was something that he felt had held
\nhim back for so long unanswered. Knowing why could only help erase the pain.
\nHe took his phone off of the counter and dialed the number Mr. Rosenbloom had
\ngiven him.<\/p>\n
In a Los Angeles apartment, Rebecca Thomason, five-month-old
\nwith a bottle in its mouth in one hand, answered with the other. “Hello?”<\/p>\n
“Rebecca? Hi. It’s Jimmy.”<\/p>\n
“Jimmy…Kendall? How are you doing!?” The tone of her
\nvoice was the same as it had always been when she started a conversation; as if
\nshe hadn’t seen the other person in years. In this case, it was actually
\ntrue.<\/p>\n
“I’m doing okay. Listen, I hate to bother you or freak you out
\nby giving you a call like this, but I had to ask you a question.”<\/p>\n
“Okay…” her voice changed to that of puzzlement, so Jimmy
\nquickly continued. “I have to know. Why did you say no to my proposal?”<\/p>\n
“Oh, Jimmy.”<\/p>\n
“Yeah, I’m sorry to bring it up, but I was just thinking about
\nit, and I realized that I really didn’t know why.”<\/p>\n
“Well…” even from across the country, Jimmy could tell
\nthat she was fidgeting over answering this question. It didn’t help that she
\nhad a squirming child in one arm. “I just wasn’t ready for marriage yet.”<\/p>\n
It was too easy a response, and he called her bluff on it. “No,
\nreally, Rebecca. I have to know. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.
\nWhy?”<\/p>\n
She paused for a couple of seconds, then sighed. “Okay, but
\ncould I put you on hold for a minute, please? I’ve got a baby that I need to
\nput down.” Without waiting on a response, she placed the phone down and took
\nher child to its crib. She came back and picked up the phone again. “Okay.
\nJimmy?”<\/p>\n
“I’m here.”<\/p>\n
She sighed again. “Why I said no. Well, I guess that it pretty
\nmuch boils down to one thing. The night that you proposed to me, I told you
\nthat I had to go home and think about it, remember? I did, and I realized
\nsomething. What I thought that I loved wasn’t a person…it was a set of
\ncharacter traits and facts. I loved that you had dimples. I loved your voice
\nimpressions. I loved that you knew exactly what you wanted out of life. I
\nloved that you were active in church. You were kind and generous and treated
\nme very well, and everything. I knew that you were a great guy.<\/p>\n
“But I thought about it, and I realized that I didn’t know
\nyou<\/i>, I knew of<\/i> you. The first year of our relationship, we
\ntalked, but it wasn’t anything groundbreaking. And after that, there wasn’t
\nany depth of conversation at all. The problem was that by then, I was just too
\ncomfortable around you to think about breaking up. I guess that’s not very
\ngood of me, but I had never imagined that you’d propose, even though you were
\ngoing to graduate.<\/p>\n
“You were a great boyfriend, Jimmy. But that night, I realized
\nthat I didn’t know you the way that a wife should know her husband, or love you
\nlike a wife should love her husband. It’s not your fault..”<\/p>\n
He found himself covering for her. “How could that be only your
\nfault? It had to be my fault, too. I should have tried more to talk to you
\nabout…”<\/p>\n
She stopped him. “No, Jimmy. If it hadn’t been that, it would
\nhave been something else. We just weren’t supposed to be together. If we had,
\nwe’d be together now.” She changed the subject slightly. “Are you married
\nnow?”<\/p>\n
And her question answered his, because when she said that, he
\nstarted to think about Lauren. He remembered the all-night conversations that
\nthey’d had. And while he knew her face by memory, he realized that he knew her
\nheart as well. And that was something that he had never had with Rebecca, or
\nwith anyone else.<\/p>\n
He snapped back to the present. “Uh, no…but I have a
\nfiancé. Her name’s Lauren. We’re getting married in July.”<\/p>\n
“That’s great. Well, I’d love to talk more, but I hear Peter
\ncrying, so I need to go get him. It was great talking to you, Jimmy. Best of
\nluck to you and Lauren.”<\/p>\n
“Thanks. You and Peter too.” He hung up the phone and looked
\nat Mot. “You were wrong…sometimes neither one’s right for the
\nother.”<\/p>\n
She smiled at him and said, “Maybe you’re right. After all, if
\nyou had gotten married, you’d never have met your fiancé, right? And
\nshe wouldn’t have met her husband either. And both of you turned out fine,
\ndidn’t you?”<\/p>\n
“Maybe…if I can get back home quickly enough.” He put
\nhis phone in his pocket and pulled out his wallet.<\/p>\n
“What was the fight that you two had about again?” Mot asked
\nhim.<\/p>\n
He pulled out two twenty-dollar bills and laid them on the
\ncounter. “It doesn’t matter now. Thanks for everything.”<\/p>\n
“No problem, shug. Take care getting back to her, now.”<\/p>\n
“Thank you. I will.”<\/p>\n
“And come back to see me sometime.”<\/p>\n
“If I ever get down here again, I will.” A friendly wave and
\nthe doorbell, and he was gone.<\/p>\n
Mot took the money and went to the register to ring up the
\ntotal. Coffee – fifty-nine cents. Two eggs – $1.18. One biscuit – forty-nine
\ncents. Tax included, it came out to $2.42. She put the money in the cash
\nregister. Thirty-seven dollars and change. Not the biggest tip she’d ever
\nreceived, but a pretty nice one. I think he’ll be back one day…he
\nand that fiancé of his.<\/i><\/p>\n
As he drove northward on the two-lane highway, Jimmy felt freer
\nthan he had in a long time. If I didn’t have to get home right now, it’d be
\na perfect day to get lost.<\/i> He had his cell phone back in his hand and the
\nnumber already dialed. “Lauren? It’s Jimmy. Don’t hang up. I’m a long way
\nfrom home. I don’t remember what we fought about yesterday, and to be honest
\nwith you, it doesn’t really matter to me. All I know is that I love
\nyou…I really love you…and I can’t wait to see you again.” His
\nSUV turned onto the interstate, towards home and his love.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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