I awoke early. As was our morning ritual, Trish and I drank coffee and watched the news together. A couple of days before, I told her I wanted to go on a little road trip. This wasn’t unusual for me. Each year I take at least two or three solitary trips either to the mountains or the seashore to clear my mind. It was okay with her as long as I promised to be careful. She knows that my driving skills aren’t what they used to be.
Be careful. Could I keep such a promise? I wondered. I was suddenly aware that what I was about to do was something both incredibly selfish and stupid. I have a responsibility to her, my wife of thirty years. I have children, grandchildren to think of. Yet, I guess I was just hell-bent determined to be stupid. I kissed her at the door. Nothing dramatic, just one of those “I’ll see you later” type kisses that long married couples exchange like handshakes.
I decided to take my work car, not the truck. The truck is really Trish’s, and taking it didn’t feel right. So I drove my aging Saturn across the Rio Vista Bridge, a half-mile span that crosses the Sacramento River. I made the left turn at the light and followed Highway 160 the twenty miles up river through Isleton and Walnut Grove to the 4 Corners Café.
I pulled into the gravel parking lot. The rusting sign greeted me like an old friend. It was a cold, bright day, a great day for the ultimate road trip. From inside I could hear Patsy Cline singing “Crazy”. I laughed.
The bell above the door rang, though the place was empty. No Irby to wish me a farewell. No going away party for David Teves. The new and improved Betty Jo looked at me from behind the counter. I could see on her face that she knew what I was about to do. I sat silently before her. She poured a cup of coffee and presented me with a healthy piece of apple pie.
“Going away present,” she said. Her face was expressionless.
I drank the coffee, but only nibbled at the pie. Not good for the diabetes. I giggled at the thought. My diabetes, my high blood pressure, my illregular heartbeat, my general state of depression may not be relevant in a few minutes. I decided not to think about it any longer. No use dwelling on things. No use being melodramatic. It is what it is and nothing more.
I slid off the stool, nodded at Betty Jo, and walked toward the rear of the restaurant stopping briefly at the restroom for one last pit stop. When I finished my business, I washed my hands and glanced at myself in the scratched mirror. My hair is still mostly black, though my beard is gray. My face is lined and cracked, the face of an aging man. It was my father’s face staring back at me, though I have my mother’s narrow eyes. I forced a smile and said, “Its show time!” to my reflection. I exited the restroom, turned right, and went to the door. Its handle was ice cold to the touch. I turned it, opened the door, and went in.
At first there was nothing. Along the back wall metal shelving held big restaurant-portion cans of coffee, pie filling, and the various condiments needed for a healthy farmer’s lunch. I stood still and waited for what seemed like an hour, though I knew only a couple of minutes had past. Perhaps this was just a false alarm. I looked back to the safety of door. It was gone. Then I felt myself falling, falling though endless nothingness--
--into a body not my own.
Be careful. Could I keep such a promise? I wondered. I was suddenly aware that what I was about to do was something both incredibly selfish and stupid. I have a responsibility to her, my wife of thirty years. I have children, grandchildren to think of. Yet, I guess I was just hell-bent determined to be stupid. I kissed her at the door. Nothing dramatic, just one of those “I’ll see you later” type kisses that long married couples exchange like handshakes.
I decided to take my work car, not the truck. The truck is really Trish’s, and taking it didn’t feel right. So I drove my aging Saturn across the Rio Vista Bridge, a half-mile span that crosses the Sacramento River. I made the left turn at the light and followed Highway 160 the twenty miles up river through Isleton and Walnut Grove to the 4 Corners Café.
I pulled into the gravel parking lot. The rusting sign greeted me like an old friend. It was a cold, bright day, a great day for the ultimate road trip. From inside I could hear Patsy Cline singing “Crazy”. I laughed.
The bell above the door rang, though the place was empty. No Irby to wish me a farewell. No going away party for David Teves. The new and improved Betty Jo looked at me from behind the counter. I could see on her face that she knew what I was about to do. I sat silently before her. She poured a cup of coffee and presented me with a healthy piece of apple pie.
“Going away present,” she said. Her face was expressionless.
I drank the coffee, but only nibbled at the pie. Not good for the diabetes. I giggled at the thought. My diabetes, my high blood pressure, my illregular heartbeat, my general state of depression may not be relevant in a few minutes. I decided not to think about it any longer. No use dwelling on things. No use being melodramatic. It is what it is and nothing more.
I slid off the stool, nodded at Betty Jo, and walked toward the rear of the restaurant stopping briefly at the restroom for one last pit stop. When I finished my business, I washed my hands and glanced at myself in the scratched mirror. My hair is still mostly black, though my beard is gray. My face is lined and cracked, the face of an aging man. It was my father’s face staring back at me, though I have my mother’s narrow eyes. I forced a smile and said, “Its show time!” to my reflection. I exited the restroom, turned right, and went to the door. Its handle was ice cold to the touch. I turned it, opened the door, and went in.
At first there was nothing. Along the back wall metal shelving held big restaurant-portion cans of coffee, pie filling, and the various condiments needed for a healthy farmer’s lunch. I stood still and waited for what seemed like an hour, though I knew only a couple of minutes had past. Perhaps this was just a false alarm. I looked back to the safety of door. It was gone. Then I felt myself falling, falling though endless nothingness--
--into a body not my own.
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