When I rounded the corner, I saw that the lights in the gas station were off. Frowning, I tried the door, but it was locked. It seemed surreal for a moment, as if maybe it had never been open at all, as if this were all a dream.
Unease trickled through me, but then I turned and caught site of the sunset. It glowed in a symphony of colors, the purples and oranges and blues all blending together in a gorgeous tableau. There was no beauty like this in the small but smoggy city where I had come from, the skyline barely visible from the tree in our backyard. This sky didn’t even look real, so vibrant, almost blinding, as if I had lived my whole life in black and white and suddenly found color.
I put my hand to my forehead, just staring in awe.
My God, was this what I’d been missing? What else was out there, unimagined?
I considered going back for my camera but for once I didn’t want to capture this on film. Part of my dependence on photography had been because I never knew when I’d get to see something again, didn’t know when I’d get to go outside again. I was a miser with each image, carefully secreting them into my digital pockets. But now I had forever in the outside world. I could breathe in the colors, practically smell the vibrancy in the air.
A sort of exuberant laugh escaped me, relief and excitement at once. Feeling joyful, I glanced toward the neat row of semi-trucks to the side. Their engines were silent, the night air still. The only disturbance: a man leaned against the side of one, the wispy white smoke from his cigarette curling upward. His face was shrouded in darkness.
My smile faded. I couldn’t see his expression, but some warning bell inside me set off. I sensed his alertness despite the casual stance of his body. His gaze felt hot on my skin. While I’d been watching the sunset, he’d been watching me.
When he suddenly straightened, I tensed. Where a second ago I’d felt free, now my mother’s warnings came rushing back, overwhelming me. Would he come for me? Hurt me, attack me? It would only take a few minutes to run back to my room—could I beat him there? But all he did was raise his hand, waving me around the side of the building. I circled hesitantly and found another entrance, this one to a diner.
Hesitantly, I waved my thanks. After a moment, he nodded back.
“Paranoid,” I chastised myself.
The diner was wrapped with metal, a retro look that was probably original. Uneven metal shutters shaded the green windows, where an OPEN sign flickered.
Inside, turquoise booths and brown tables lined the walls. A waitress behind the counter looked up from her magazine. Her hair was a dirty blonde, darker than mine, pulled into a knot. A thick layer of caked powder and red lipstick were still in place, but her eyes were bloodshot, tired.
“I heard we got a boarder,” she said, nodding to me. “First one of the year.”
I blinked. It was a cool April night. If I was the first one of the year, then that was a long time to go without boarders.
“What about all the trucks outside?”
“Oh, they sleep in their cabs. Those fancy new leather seats are probably more comfortable than those old mattresses filled with God-knows-what.” She laughed at her own joke, revealing a straight line of grayish teeth.
I managed a brittle smile then ducked into one of the booths.
She sidled over with a notepad and pen.
“We don’t usually see girls as pretty as you around here. Especially alone. You don’t got nobody to look after you?”
The words were spoken in accusation, turning a compliment into a warning.
“Just passing through,” I said.
She snorted. “Aren’t we all? Okay, darlin’, what’ll it be?”
Under her flat gaze, I turned the sticky pages of the menu, ignoring the stale smells that wafted up from it. Somehow the breakfast food seemed safest. I hoped it would be easier to avoid food poisoning with pancakes than a steak.
After the waitress took my order, I waited, tapping my fingers on the vinyl tabletop to an erratic beat. I was a little nervous—jittery, although there was no reason to be. Everyone had been nice. Not exactly welcoming, but then I was a stranger. Had I expected to make friends with the first people I met?
Yes, I admitted to myself, somewhat sheepishly. I had rejected my mother’s view that everyone was out to get me, but neither was everyone out to help me. I would do well to retain some of the wariness she’d instilled in me. A remote truck stop wasn’t the place to meet people, to make lasting relationships. That would be later, once I had started my job. No, even later than that, when I’d saved up enough to reach Niagara Falls. Then I could relax.
When my food came, I savored the sickly sweet syrup that saturated my pancakes. It would rot my teeth, my mother would have said. Well, she wasn’t here. A small rebellion, but satisfying and delicious.