Setting my four bags of gummies, two bottles of water, and a crossword puzzle book on the counter, I pull out cash. “Forty on pump three, please.”
The kid behind the counter chuckles. “You like gummies, huh?” His attention is on the cash register as he pushes buttons to get my total.
I glance at him, close up, I can see all the oil on his face, and it makes me want to hand him a wet wipe. “I’ve petitioned the Food and Drug Administration to add them as one of the four food groups.”
He stops what he’s doing and looks at me, his head tipping to the side a bit and his eyebrows bunched together in confusion. “Huh?”
We stare at each other for several moments as I wonder if he’s confused about the Food and Drug Administration or the four food groups. The joke is obviously lost on him. Clearing my throat, I shake my head. “Nothing.”
He shrugs his shoulders and goes back to punching keys on the register.
Turning to look out the front windows, I get a little nervous because the sky has darkened even more. I don’t like driving at night on highways, much less on dark, curvy, country roads. “What’s in that direction?” I point to where the road I was on disappears behind another curve.
“Pryor and a few more miles down the road, Claremore. That’ll be sixty-seven-fifty-three.”
“Are there any good hotels?” I set my cash on the counter and give him my full attention. His shaggy brown hair is oily, and as he pushes his fingers through it, I notice his fingernails haven’t been trimmed in a while. Ugh, maybe I should give him my hand sanitizer.
Another burst of cheers erupts in the corner across the store, and he glances in that direction before looking back at me. “Depends on what you consider good. Your best bet would probably be Claremore or Owasso, if you’re going in that direction. If you’re going south, then Tulsa.”
Grabbing a map of Oklahoma, I set it on the counter for him to add to the total, and pay for my bags of fattening candy and water and walk back to my car. As I exit, I glance around the parking lot and scan the surrounding treeline. After the one time Matt found me and snuck up on me, it’s become a habit to look for him.
Pulling onto the rapidly darkening road, I hope I don’t regret driving farther away from the highway, but Claremore is closer than Tulsa. I can get a room for the night and head out in the morning.
About ten miles down the road, the engine light on my dash comes on, glowing red instead of the yellow glow of the temperature light. Red has to be bad, right? Then, my car makes a sound I’ve never heard before. My heart immediately starts knocking against my chest so hard it could crack a rib, and I can hear my pulse in my ears.
My foot instinctively lifts off the gas pedal, but as I look around me, all I see is near darkness in the gray gloaming through the trees. I wonder if I can make it to a place that has lights. Please don’t stop out here in the dark.
In six months, I’ve never wished I had a cell phone more. I got rid of the phone that was on Matt’s cell plan when I left town, but now I think maybe I should have bought a Go-Phone or something. Who would I call?
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.
The curvy road I was on opened up into a small four-lane highway a few miles back, but there are no streetlights. Just dark open road.
On each side of the highway, there is about fifty feet of mowed grass, a barbed wire fence, and more trees. In that order. On both sides. Who makes a highway with no lights?
Shit, shit, shit.
When the SUV jerks, I know the universe has decided this is as far as I go. There will be no making it anywhere, and I steer it onto the shoulder. I don’t even have to turn it off, the universe also makes that decision for me before I come to a complete stop.
Slumping in my seat, I push the lock button on my door even though the doors lock when my speed goes over ten miles an hour. My headlights are still on, but there’s nothing to see. All that’s in front of me is the asphalt of the highway and darkness.
The last tiny bit of dim light in the sky is quickly fading along with any courage I have.
A hissing sound is coming from under my hood, and I know I have to look, but damn it, I don’t want to get out. What if there are wild animals or something?
This has never happened to me before. I don’t know what the protocol is for breaking down on the side of a dark country road at night. I’ve seen dozens of scary movies, which remind me that getting out of my car is bad. However, I’ve seen a dozen more that say staying in my car is bad.
Then there are the true-crime documentaries I like to watch. I shut those thoughts down fast before my imagination has meon the next installment as the woman who disappeared on a dark highway in Oklahoma, never to be seen or heard from again.
Squeezing my eyes closed, I say to myself, “Nothing bad is going to happen, it’s just a little car trouble.” Then, I repeat it before I open my eyes and take a deep breath, but I don’t think the extra oxygen is going to give me any more courage.
Keeping the headlights on, my hands are shaking as I get my flashlight out of the glove box, and I take more deep breaths for bravery as I pull the hood lever and open my door.
I’ve never looked under a car hood in my life. I’ve only ever watched as the professionals do it, but I have to know what the hissing sound is, not that I would know what to do about it.
The tiny voice in the back of my head that I’m trying to ignore is worried something could be on fire.
The cool, damp air wraps around me as I step out, and crickets are chirping around me. There’s something else that is familiar from when I lived with Grams in Kansas, and it’s just a sliver of comfort, tree frogs are loud in every direction.
