truckstop breakfast @ 4:30 am on south I-35. 3-D technicolor scrambled eggs and a trucker named Rocky. he's 58 and widowed, 2 grown daughters and 5 grandchildren. he has 2 cats that he takes over the road with him. he's happy to have a breakfast partner in me.
he barely touches his "all american", too busy talking my ear off. i don't mind really, i wasn't in the mood to talk anyway. i listen....he loves the open road. he bought his rig back in 98 after his wife died, he gets tears in his eyes as he talks about her struggle with breast cancer. he's driven through oklahoma a "million" times, he listens to country and western, he has an autographed picture of waylon jennings in the truck, he reminds me of my dad...
6 am, Rocky insists on paying my tab, by this time he is so animated that the sun has to compete for shine. he thanks me for the company, gives me a hug and a business card and tells me if i ever want to "leave it all behind for a minute" to give him a call. he isn't hitting on me, he's offering me his sacred rite. he tells me the cats are the only company he's ever had on the road. i walk to the rig to meet "Lucky" and "Thorn". he really does have 2 grown cats in that rig
. i pet them and he shows me the autographed waylon picture and the snapshots of his daughters and their families. i can sense he'd talk for hours more, i tell him i have to get home and he nods. he needs to be in washington state by monday morning.
i drive away and he waves goodbye, his smile says he's happy to have shared his life with a stranger. i wanted a truckstop breakfast he wanted someone to listen.
we both got what we wanted, a side order of human need.
he barely touches his "all american", too busy talking my ear off. i don't mind really, i wasn't in the mood to talk anyway. i listen....he loves the open road. he bought his rig back in 98 after his wife died, he gets tears in his eyes as he talks about her struggle with breast cancer. he's driven through oklahoma a "million" times, he listens to country and western, he has an autographed picture of waylon jennings in the truck, he reminds me of my dad...
6 am, Rocky insists on paying my tab, by this time he is so animated that the sun has to compete for shine. he thanks me for the company, gives me a hug and a business card and tells me if i ever want to "leave it all behind for a minute" to give him a call. he isn't hitting on me, he's offering me his sacred rite. he tells me the cats are the only company he's ever had on the road. i walk to the rig to meet "Lucky" and "Thorn". he really does have 2 grown cats in that rig
. i pet them and he shows me the autographed waylon picture and the snapshots of his daughters and their families. i can sense he'd talk for hours more, i tell him i have to get home and he nods. he needs to be in washington state by monday morning.
i drive away and he waves goodbye, his smile says he's happy to have shared his life with a stranger. i wanted a truckstop breakfast he wanted someone to listen.
we both got what we wanted, a side order of human need.
VIEW 16 of 16 COMMENTS
I wonder what happens before and after this bubble of experience. This is why I love short stories so much. They seem to go on living after we've finished the last word. Reminds me of how I thought my toys did stuff when I left the room.