BY SUSAN MENDELSOHN
Copyright is held by the author.
SHE WALKED in the dark with her thumb held out tentatively. It had been almost an hour since she’d left the restaurant — and a stone-faced Joe sitting there holding the engagement ring she’d return to him in disbelief. She was beginning to think she might have to walk all the way back to town. In her chunky high heels and sparkly silver dress that would be next to impossible. Angry at herself for not timing things better, she pulled off her shoes and tossed them into a ditch. Gravel dug painfully into her feet and maybe she deserved that.
A tiny pinhole of light appeared in the distance. It grew larger, then brighter, and finally she heard the sound of tires and an engine. Ignoring the fluttering in her stomach, she lifted her chin, tossed back her hair, and pointed her thumb straight up to the sky like an Olympic torch. There was no way whoever was driving would pass her by.
It was a dusty blue pickup with a greasy tarp covering the back. For a moment she wondered if this might be her second mistake of the night. But what choice did she have? She climbed in, struggling a little in her too-tight dress.
The driver glanced dubiously at her messed-up hair, her bare feet.
“I can take you as far as Anderson Road.”
She played it tough and said nothing, staring straight ahead into the night. He shrugged and started driving. Her dress was riding up her legs and she kept trying to smooth it down to cover her bare knees.
The radio was playing an old jazz standard. That settled her a bit. Nobody gets killed to the sounds of Benny Goodman.
“Looks like your night went wrong about 100 ways.”
She almost had to laugh at that. Her night, her engagement. Maybe her whole stupid life.
“I know it’s not my business, but are you OK? I mean, should I take you to the police, or a hospital, or…?”
Something in the way he said that, the genuine concern in his voice, made her want to cry. She looked over at him, taking in his clean plaid shirt, his beard with a hint of grey. Very likely harmless.
“No, no, nothing like that. I’m just… I left my purse back there somewhere. And I may have just completely wrecked my life.”
He nodded like he had once been there himself, or at least like he understood.
“Plus I’m starving.”
Just then her stomach growled, like a Greek chorus proving her point. Keeping his eyes on the road, he reached beneath the seat and handed her an insulated bag.
“My wife never lets me head out on a long drive without sandwiches. Help yourself.”
Now she started to cry for real, and he pulled out a packet of tissues from his shirt pocket. She held the bag of sandwiches in one hand and accepted the tissues with the other and couldn’t decide what to do with either one. So she just sat there letting the tears fall, and he didn’t seem to mind. She couldn’t imagine Joe letting her cry without insisting on an explanation or rolling his eyes in exasperation. Joe was not the kind of person who would send her off to wherever she was going with sandwiches, or keep a pack of tissues handy just in case. But here was a total stranger showing her the simple kindness she craved. She had a strange urge to kiss him on the cheek.
After a while, she reached into the bag and unwrapped a ham sandwich. They split it between them, and for the first time all night, maybe for the first time in weeks, she found it was easy to breathe. Even while cinched into that dress. She had been right to give Joe back the ring.
They rode on, lulled by the radio and the long flat road, until they reached his exit. He pulled over at a gas station.
“Will you be OK if I leave you here?”
She nodded. She would walk across the cool pavement in her bare feet and ask the attendant to use the phone. Her sister would come pick her up. She could figure out her next move tomorrow.
She gave him a smile that was almost as bright as the headlights on his truck. Then she opened the door and stepped out, leaving a trail of silver sparkles behind her.
***
Susan Mendelsohn retired from a long career in healthcare and management, and now writes short fiction, poetry, creative non-fiction and the occasional song. She lives in Ottawa. Her poetry has appeared in Bywords.ca. This is her first published story.
