Population 800

We got into the car after checking out of the hotel. It was cool today, so driving with the windows down was not going to be a problem.

“You hungry?” I asked the girl I still didn’t know a name.

“Not really. Let’s just get out of here.”

“You hiding from someone?” I asked, kind of worried.

“Just the past, guy. Just the past.”

“Fair enough,” I said, starting the car. She purred like a kitten. So glad I paid for the restoration of this car, my dream car – a 1991 Toyota Celica. With a moon roof, of course.

Before pulling out of the parking lot, I touched her hand to get her attention. She looked over at me with wearisome eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I just have a question.”

“Shoot, guy.”

“What’s your name? I need to know at least that if we’re going to be hanging out. Getting kind of tired of this guy, girl thing.”

“Well, I don’t know yours either,” she responded.

I tried to think back into the night. Did I really never tell her my name? Was she just fucking with me? Am I really putting this much thought into it?

“Randy,” I finally decided to tell her.

“And you do know my name,” she said. “Or at least it was said once in front of you. I thought you were a reporter? Aren’t you supposed to be good at that kind of thing? Picking up on facts and names and such?”

“Let me think on it,” I replied, adding “or you could just tell me.”

“Think hard, Mr. Randy. Think hard.”

With that, I turned on the radio. Foghat was on the radio. We both started bobbing our heads. It seemed to be a nice distraction for both of us. Me – from thoughts of a girl gone wrong. Her – no idea.

“Which way should we go?” I asked at the edge of the parking lot.

“West! She yelled. It’s always best.”

“I knew I liked you for some reason.”

“It wasn’t the tits?” she smirked.

I looked her up and down in a false gross way. “Tits help,” I finally said. I didn’t know if she got the joke or not. But we kept bobbing along to “Slow Ride” so I guess all was well in the world.

Funny thing, we didn’t talk again for three hours.

“I’ve got to pee,” I finally broke the silence.

“Me too.”

Soon, we were at a rest area. It looked like all the others.

“Hey, we’re back to where we began,” she said.

“Huh?” I responded in my dumb way.

“You and I met at a rest stop,” she said, putting quotes around “met”.

“Oh yeah. Let’s celebrate with a photo.”

I pulled out my trusty point and shoot that my sister gave me years ago. Not many people still used them. Most had fancy phones with awesome cameras on them. Me, personally? I’d rather have an old disposable camera with film in it. But, it was such a hassle to get it developed nowadays that I don’t even bother any more. Just another example of fossilization.

We used the bathrooms and got back on the road.

“I’m hungry now,” she said.

“Let’s find some hole in the wall joint. There’s got to be something around here.”

“Works for me Mr. Randy.”

“Why you saying it like that? Mr. Randy?”

“Because it annoys you.”

“Just like not knowing your name.”

“Back to that one, huh? Well, OK. Here it is … Tara.”

“Really? Tara? That’s probably my all-time favorite name for a woman.” I almost said girl, but caught myself.

“Why? Don’t tell me ‘Gone With the Wind.”

“Nah, much simpler and much more telling about me,” I said. “I had a huge crush on this girl in college. First girl I ever tried to ask out on a date. We actually had one. Watched “9 ½ Weeks” on a borrowed VCR. That was a couple weeks after I met her at a party in my dorm suite and we battled over following “a dream” vs. following the “corporate dollar.” At that point, she was a bit of a hippie chick. I was a long-haired guy who for some reason wanted to major in accounting. I almost kissed her that first night, and that first date – which ended up being the last date – I never had the guts even though Mickey Rourke and Kim Basinger were making a porn in front of us.

“What ever happened to her?”

“She ended up fucking my roommate, who was the absolute biggest piece of trash on the earth. Just a manwhore.”

“Bitter much?”

“And now she’s a corporate shill. Funny how things work out.”

“Yep, bitter.”

“What can I say? If it weren’t for the freaking internet, I’d not know about the funny ending.”

“Instead, you’d just make something up. Like we all used to.”

“Yeah, the memory and the mystery – to me – were always better than finding out the truth. Because it’s usually so dull, so drab and so sad.”

“Amen to that,” she said.

We passed over the Kentucky state line at that precise moment.

“I’ve never been to Kentucky,” she said. “Maybe this is the start of something beautiful?”

“At the least, it’ll be an adventure,” I replied. “Let’s see what this town has to offer.”

In the distance, a sign read “Welcome to Ryland Heights, Kentucky. Population 799.”

Little did I know that soon I’d be No. 800.