never get off the boat

Hungover to the point of the shakes almost 20 hours after the last drink, driving home the six and a half hours in the dark was probably not a good idea. The road flies by underneath the car, the occasional thud of a bad section of road jars one from the coma of nothingness.

The repetitive sound of bugs tapping up against the glass of the windshield is almost soothing. Almost because the horror of the guts and left behind awfulness in front of your eyes makes you realize how easily that could be you.

This road has been traveled by me so many times. Yet, only twice have I ever stopped anywhere on the 102 miles of back roads that have etched itself into my mind. The interstate system in this country has its merits. In Texas or Nebraska or Oklahoma it works out nicely. Maybe it has something to do with football? But in North Carolina and Virginia, not so much. It could be the repetition of it all. I’ve done the drive so many damn times that eventually you seek out a different way. But by now, I’ve done this back roads version that it should feel that way, but it doesn’t.

But, in all those years, only twice have I stopped.

One time was at the Hardee’s in Scotland Neck, NC. Emily and I were driving home for the holidays. It was extremely early in the morning. She wanted some food, and honestly, so did I. But there isn’t much to choose from on this road. A small diner in Hobgood was closed that time of day. Odd, since I would have believed the smaller the town, the earlier the eatin’ place would be open.

In Oak City, I have no idea where the barbeque joint that is advertised on the side of an old barn actually is. The sign read “Smitty’s BBQ. Best in the land!” But no directions. Guess that means if you don’t know, they don’t want ya there.

As we pull into Scotland Neck, a picturesque little town in the god awful middle of nowhere in North Carolina. It has and old Main Street section. All the old buildings look awesome, but three out of four are closed up. You park in the middle of the street still, which makes for some dodgy driving conditions when the weather is bad because people just don’t seem to care. It could be that living in Scotland Neck makes you that way…

We pull into the Hardee’s order some breakfast food. As we pull up to the pay window, a nice in the face looking older woman greets us with a loud “Hiya!” It startles me, but I manage to smile and say “Purty good.” Yeah, my accent comes out sometimes.

She gives us our food after I give her the money. It’s a transaction.

Then she hands us an extra box.

“Here’s some more biscuits,” she smiles. Yes, the sentence came out in a smile. “We made too many, so it’s your lucky day!”

“Thanks,” I say, not really sure how lucky we really are. The box has 10 biscuits in it. What two normal people want that many biscuits, to go along with the biscuit sandwiches we actually ordered.

“She was nice, and that’s pretty cool,” Emily says. I don’t like remembering the banality of our relationship sometimes. Yet, it’s better for me to do so.

The only other time I stopped anywhere on this drive was to get gas once. And only because my old Celica, Carla as it was named by my ex, was running on empty. But not in a Jackson Browne kind of way. No, that’s me as I’m driving tonight.

The E on the gas gauge was mocking me. I didn’t think I’d make it anywhere near a gas station that night. But before the car started putt, putt, puttering in the way a car does when the gas tank is exhausted of it’s fine liquid, I saw a light.

There it was at 1:35 in the morning. An open gas station in the middle of nowhere.

I pulled in, hoping it was still open.

It was. Two people were inside. I got out, pushed my credit card for fuel and filled her up.

I looked inside at the two people. One the cashier, the other dressed in black. They were just standing there, not looking at me, but not looking at each other. Odd.

I finished gassing up. Put the cap back on the gas tank and drove off.

A few minutes later, down the road I was when I saw flashing lights ahead. Three cop cars flew right on past me, going at least 100. Don’t know if they were heading to the gas station, and I never bothered to try and find out.