Danger Ahead

"Sam! Thank GOD you're there!" I nearly screamed.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, worried.

"I'm stranded. That's what's wrong," I began to cry. I always cry when I'm frustrated--something I loathe about myself.

"Stranded? What do you mean? Do you need a ride home from work; I'm crossing Third Street, I can be there in two minutes--"

"No! I'm not at work...I'm on the highway. About an hour out of Whiton," I began, "thirty some miles south of Charlie's place."

"An hour out of Whiton? Why?"

Obviously, Sam hadn't been home in a while. "Oh Sami, I've made such a mess of things!" I sobbed.

"No you haven't! What're you talking about? Hold on, I'll be right there, don't move!"

Highway 66 was the only road out of town. You could go north or you could go south but you couldn't get lost. I knew all I could do now was wait.

There was typically no traffic this time of day. Very little traffic at any time of day. Nobody wanted to come to Whiton. The only road with any wear on it was north--a good hundred miles north where the only shopping mall west of the Mississippi and east of the Rockies resides. So I felt safe in lying in the grass and getting some shut-eye.

I don't know how long I lay there when I heard a vehicle approach. It didn't sound like Sami's little rice grinder, it sounded like a truck. A truck I had heard many times before.

"Need a lift?" he hollered, leaning toward the passenger side window.

Charlie. Of course it was Charlie.

"No, I'm okay," I answered, lamely.

"Funny, you don't look okay," he laughed, pulling over and parking.

Great. I was officially a hostage.

"What's up, Beautiful?" he asked, looking more handsome than I remembered.

"Nothing," I couldn't make eye contact, so I began slicing blades of grass open with the edge of my thumbnail.

"Looks like you've got places to go, people to see," he said, pointing to my stuffed Bug.

"Yeah. Looks like it."

"Got radiator problems?" he walked toward the back of the Bug and opened up the hood. "Ooh, this doesn't look good," he announced, taking in a sharp breath.

"Look, Charlie, Sam's on her way, you don't need to help me, I'll be fine," I said irritably. I couldn't help it. I was always defensive when it came to Charlie.

"I can see you'll be fine, of course, who wouldn't be fine...stranded out here in the middle of nowhere, the closest ranch being a good 20 miles in either direction. I'm surprised you got cell service." He looked at me with his eyebrows slightly arched. The way he always looked when he teased me.

"Listen, I'm just going to load up her car and push this over toward the ditch. Whoever wants it can have it. I'm done with it." I dropped the blade of grass I was dissecting and folded my arms over my chest. Still, I couldn't look at him.

"Why're you leaving, anyway? Where are you going?" He looked geniuinely concerned. I couldn't help but feel a little guilty about my earlier sentiments. What if he saw me? And here he was being so nice and so helpful. But that wasn't entirely unlike Charlie. If you didn't need him, he'd be right there.

"Don't worry about it, I don't need any help," I maintained stubbornly, staring south, praying for Sami to get here already.

It only made him intensely interested.

"I can see that," he answered sarcastically. "Well, I'll just wait here with you until Sami comes, then, even though you're so...self-sufficient."

"Suit yourself," I said, blinking back the hot wind that blew my bangs straight back. A look, no doubt, that made him wish he'd never broken up with me.

I had to concentrate here. I couldn't let Charlie in. Not the least bit. I was glad I looked so hideous. Glad I made no effort to look the least bit better. Glad it was no longer important to me what Charlie thought of how I looked.

But I could feel myself slipping.

So I stared harder. Without blinking now. No matter what, Charlie would never have another chance to play me. Even if that wasn't his intention the first time around, I had fallen way too hard. I was never again going to be told, "It's not you, it's me." Whatever that means.