tom weaver
At about a quarter till five in the morning, my van’s gas light jerked me from my trance. Tranquilized for hours by ceaseless interstate and a cacophonous mix of heater-noise and loud music, the reality of being alone on the side of the road in the dark was a punch in the stomach. No one would know where I was. What if no one came? What if someone did?
I had told him where I was going, but even if he still cared, there were states between us now.
After the two longest miles of the journey so far, my headlights lit up an exit sign with a couple of logos on it: Chevron and Station House Diner. Color returned to my knuckles as I eased my grip on the wheel and stopped at the end of the exit ramp. I could see the diner’s glowing neon sign to the left of the exit and below it, a rustic, squat building, it’s lights out. I couldn’t see anything beyond that so I decided to gamble and turn right to search for the gas station.
Without streetlights, the trees to the left of the road were a single black shape against the blue-black void. To the right, a ditch sloped down and back up into an interminable field. The road ahead curved to the left and beyond it I saw a frame of light cut out of the black. As I got closer, I recognized the chevron on the canopy.
I pulled up to a pump and cut off the van. Silence flooded in. I realized I was holding my breath, let out a long exhale, and stared through my steering wheel for a while. My eyes focused on one of the stickers that littered my steering wheel. Cheap. Solid white circle with a small black circle Sharpied in the middle and “Echo Seeds” scribbled around the edge. It was handed to us after a basement concert and we’d laughed about whether or not it counted as merch. They probably just had a bunch of white circle stickers laying around. He kept joking about how awful they were but I liked them and after a while it stopped being funny.
Everything that had been funny had been slowing down for a while. It became harder to pretend that we liked the same jokes. I had chased off plans and futures with Natty Lights and energy drinks and concerts. He never liked the bands but he went. Sometimes, at the end of long nights with friends, someone would say something about the next time we should all get together and our eyes would meet and dart away and he would say something like “real soon” but never “next Thursday”. I was glad we never had to say it. But eventually our lease renewal deadline came closer and closer and, though we still didn’t say anything, we had both stopped pretending to ourselves at least.
The last month passed and the same usual laughs were dragged out of us with more and more effort until every laugh became to us a game of how much, if any, sincerity remained. We must have looked so obvious to everyone else. I’m sure they thought “just fight already.” But we weren’t angry. An upwelling of feelings would have surprised us both.
A couple of days ago:
Hey, so Jared is looking for a roommate… I figured-
No sweat, I actually found something up in Montana. I’m supposed to be there next week but I was thinking about just heading up there early.
Some tears welling up. Not tears for us.
A long pause. He’s staring at his phone but I doubt he’s looking at it. I clear my throat.
So I’m just going to take some clothes and stuff. You can have the rest of this. I mean — whenever this gig is up I think I’m just gonna keep going up into Canada.
Oh. Yeah… thanks.
Early yesterday morning while he slept, I packed my clothes, my toiletries and a handful of keepsakes into the van and pressed the “Echo Seeds” sticker into the middle of the steering wheel.
I stepped out into the cold, grabbing my phone to pay for gas. I tapped it to the reader and started pumping. It was hardly less quiet outside than it was in the van. Without wind, the still trees loomed above as if watching me and I couldn’t see anything past the island of light under the canopy. Slowly and then all at once, the feeling of being seen by the trees swelled to a panic. I was completely exposed. As soon as the tank was full I hung up the pump and scrambled back into the van then locked the doors.
I felt silly but not silly enough.
I pulled out my phone to continue my route but-
fuck
The route was gone. The app must have reset when I used my phone to pay. I checked hopelessly for a wifi signal but wasn’t surprised to not find one. No 5G either. I briefly thought about getting out and walking around for a signal, but then thought of the trees. Instead, I pulled back onto the road and headed back towards the interstate for the diner.
Some lights now appeared to be on. I pulled the van up to the door and read that they opened at 5 o’clock. The van’s clock showed 4:58. I parked in a spot up front, cracked the door, swung one leg out and lit a cigarette. The feeling of exposure still hovering inside of me, I grabbed some mace from the dash and gripped it tightly in the other hand.
At 5, I tossed my half-finished cigarette down and stomped it out. I stepped the rest of the way out of the van and made my way to the diner, mace still in hand.
Inside, the dining area was very spare, containing only a few tables near the right side wall, and lots of open, stained carpet throughout the rest of the room. A vacuum cleaner was standing alone in the center still plugged into the wall. The wall itself contained a few rectangles of a lighter green than the rest. To my relief the only person who seemed to be here was a woman behind the counter.
“Good morning, welcome in. What can I get started for you?” she said, not looking up from the counter she was wiping.
I felt it would be rude to just ask for wifi without ordering anything so I looked up at the menu above.
“Um, good morning,” I said as I stepped up to the counter. Her name tag read “Evelyn”.
She tossed the rag in a bucket under the counter, and smoothed out her apron and looked up at me.
“We don’t have any of the meats prepped yet but we’ve got some coffee brewing and some bagels, croissants and rolls and stuff.”
“Some coffee would be great actually.” I suddenly realized I was actually pretty hungry. “And I guess a bagel too.”
“What kind?” She grabbed a cup from under the counter while jabbing at the POS screen.
I looked at the menu. “What’s an everything bagel?”
This seemed to snap her out of autopilot, and she looked up at me.
“Really?”
“Well, yeah” I honestly never really spent my time in diners. It’s only circumstance that brought me here.
“Oh it’s just like a garlicky oniony bagel with a bunch of seeds and spices and stuff on it.” She looked a little apologetic.
“OK then I’ll try one of those.”
She told me the total and I noticed there was nowhere to tap.
“Oh, do you take Apple Pay?”
“I’m sorry, we don’t. But between you and me, you can just have this one. This place will be closing down next week anyways.”
“Oh I guess that’s what the empty dining room is about.”
“Yeah, we still have all the other tables and chairs in the back if you don’t like the ones out here though. I don’t mind grabbing one.”
“No, no that’s all right. This one by the window is fine. And thanks, by the way. I really appreciate this.”
(pt 2 coming later)