The Carnival Papers

Far As You Can Go

(From the short story collection The Carnival Papers available on Amazon in Kindle and paperback!)

Amanda Martin brushed aside the last branches dripping with moisture from an earlier storm and scaled the gravel shoulder of the road.  She stopped to shield her eyes as headlights from a tractor-trailer pulling into the truck stop across the street washed over her.  After taking a look back through the dark trees, she stepped onto the asphalt and headed towards the cracked sign for the Fly-Buy Truck Stop.

She froze beneath a fluorescent light surrounded by a halo of mist at the screech of tires followed by a sharp hiss like the call of some enormous serpent.  The headlights of the truck she’d followed into the parking lot snapped off, but she continued to hear a faint rumble from its engine as she moved away from the flickering lamp and started across the lot.  She pressed the purse she carried in one hand and the plastic shopping bag from the Wal-Mart in Athens in the other to her chest as she slunk past the line of semi trucks lurking in a ragged line.

With a glance to the left, she saw another cluster of trucks around the gas pumps, their drivers leaning against the big rigs and chatting in loud, obscenity-laden voices.  Amanda turned away before anyone caught her looking, focusing her gaze straight ahead.  The corrugated sides of the truck stop’s main building reflected the light like the suits of armor in the lobby of the Memphis hotel where she’d spent her honeymoon fifteen years ago.  Her pace slackened at the memory and she took another look over her shoulder at the trees before rounding the corner to the front doors of the Fly-Buy.

After yanking open one glass door, she found herself presented with three choices.  To her left she saw a shop, its shelves containing maps with red and blue highways fanning across Alabama like veins, glossy-covered books with the history of Limestone County in black-and-white photographs, and glass jars of local preserves topped with swatches of checked fabric.  On her right, Amanda saw the gray Formica tables and red vinyl booths of Annabelle’s Kitchen, where truckers nursed cups of coffee, devoured plates of country fried steak or waffles, and read newspapers from New York or Atlanta.  Straight ahead, down an empty corridor of green linoleum, white signs indicated the direction of the restrooms and showers.

“Amanda, I’m surprised to see you here so late,” said a voice from the shop.

She turned to see Minnie Westbrook coming towards her, clad in an orange-and-blue shirt that matched the letters of the sign out by the parking lot.  Minnie’s pudgy face had begun to turn red from the exertion of leaving her perch behind the counter and when she came to a stop, she fanned her sparse brown hair with a map.  Amanda examined the white and red flecks running through the linoleum as she tried to think of a convincing lie.  “I couldn’t sleep, so I thought I’d take a walk,” she said.

“I missed you in church on Sunday.”

“Oh, I just felt a little under the weather.  Did I miss anything?”

“Reverend Simmons did a great sermon on resisting temptation like Jesus did in the desert.  Real fire and brimstone stuff.”

“Sorry I couldn’t make it.”

“I thought about calling you to see if anything was wrong.”

“Everything’s fine.”

“How’s Virgil doing?  I saw him at the bank the other day, but I didn’t get a chance to say hello.”

“He’s real good.”  Amanda raised her head an inch to study Minnie’s gray support hose.  “I better not keep you any longer.”

“It’s no bother.  I’m just filling in for Jim tonight.  His little girl came down with the flu that’s been going around.”  Minnie clamped a hand on Amanda’s shoulder and lowered her voice as she said, “You sure you’re all right?  You look a bit pale.”