The restroom door is heavy and slow to open. There it is, straight ahead, the sign proclaiming “VACANT.” Nervously, I pull it towards me as It opens slowly with a loud groan, proclaiming, “See the pervert, the abomination.” I shuffle in, glancing around, searching for the family/unisex restroom, hoping it’s not occupied.
Scanning furtively around, did anyone notice? Pushing on the door, it refuses to move. Hands shaking and knees wobbly, invisible stares hit me from all directions, piercing my resolve.įorcing a tentative walk across the warm, oily asphalt parking area and crossing the access road, the marble stone curb reaches up and grabs my shoe, almost dragging me down to the ground. Reaching in, out comes a small duffle of treasures. The trunk lid is open like the gaping jaws of a crocodile. Closing the driver’s door slowly and deliberately, trying to keep calm, I walk to the back of my car. Reaching down, a quick pull on the lever opens the trunk, allowing access to what is needed next. Shaking and a little sweaty, a bundle of nervous energy and opening my car door, my left hand is clammy and slippery.
Tucking the car away in a far corner of the parking lot, I hope to be inconspicuous. Signaling a right-hand turn, my car pulls into the Interstate 81 Preble Rest Stop, almost with a mind of its own. It is around 8 AM on a rainy and dreary morning. Written by: Branwen Rhiannon April 2018 – I don’t remember the exact date.
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