It was hot; Texas-hot, hot like she’d never known. It relieved her to gush forth from the car, to leave the non-air-conditioned enclosure for the open heat, heat that seemed more natural, less oppressive and confining somehow. She looked ruefully down at her body: tank top soaked with great splashes of sweat, denim cutoffs sticking rudely to her skinny thighs. Embarrassing.
Her windshield stood splattered, smashed with insects, unfamiliar enough in their unwrecked form and unrecognizable at all now, their gooey guts of green and yellow speckled and crushed all over everything, everywhere. Resisting the full force of her forearm and the gas-station window-washer, they clung tight to the tempered glass, insistent stowaways for the remainder of her journey.
“Where you headed?” a voice called out.
She glanced up and saw him, an affable-looking man in his late thirties, perhaps early forties, bearing a bit of an accent but no cowboy hat; maybe a local, and maybe not one. There were only two of them there; he had to be speaking to her. She supposed there was no harm in answering.
“California,” she said, bending her elbow again to the window.
“That’s a long way off,” he replied, whistling softly.
“Yes, it is,” she agreed.
He approached her, thumbs tucked into the pockets of his own full-length dungarees, evidently immune to the heat.
“Say, that’s an expensive trip,” he observed. “You, uh — you got enough money to get there?”
Instantly she was on her guard. She circled casually around to the other side of the car, in the direction of the shop and its sleepy attendant. Was he going to rob her? Find out if she had any cash and then knock her down and take it? Instinctively she felt for it with the muscles of her behind, the wallet tucked tightly into her back pocket, crammed into a space too small for its contents, and plastered there now with sweat and fear.
“I think I’ve got enough,” she equivocated, ears burning with the lie.
“You sure?” he prodded encouragingly, penetrating her with moist periwinkle-blue eyes. “Because I, uh, know where you could make some — you know — some extra money. If you needed it.”
So he wasn’t going to rob her; he was offering her a job. The windshield was nearly clean now but she continued scrubbing, pondering the proposal. She wondered what kind of work it would be. Day labor, no doubt. But didn’t people usually want young men for that kind of thing?
He stood smiling kindly, warmly down at her, almost fatherly in aspect. She really could use the money. It had already been two days since she’d eaten. Was saving the rest of it for fuel.
“Thanks,” she said finally, deciding. “But I’m in a hurry; better get going.”
“You’re sure you won’t change your mind?” he replied, a hint of pleading in his voice.
“No,” she asserted. “But thank you for the offer.”
What a nice fellow, she thought as she headed back towards the highway. People sure were friendly down here in Texas. They sure were friendly.
* * *
“Rest Stop” is the true story of something that happened to me when I was seventeen. I had run away from my home in Massachusetts shortly after graduation, and now found myself baking in the scorching heat of July in rural Texas. I was supposed to start school at U.C. Berkeley that fall, but since I was still underage and therefore subject to recall if caught, I was understandably anxious about conserving the little money I had, as I wasn’t sure how easy it would be for a kid with no parents, no home, and no local references to find a job. Being mathematically minded, I quite naturally spent the long miles driving in calculating a fairly precise budget, which, once I’d paid for necessities like gas and oil, had little room in it for luxuries like food. And then I stopped at this gas station and here was this wonderful man asking me earnestly if I had enough money to get where I was going or whether I wanted to earn a little extra to tide me over until I arrived safely at my intended destination.
I’m embarrassed to admit now that I was just as naive as the girl in the story. I spent a lot of time traveling alone in the years that followed, and was propositioned numerous times by other equally friendly fellows seeking the company of a young woman for an afternoon or an hour. But this was the first such occasion, and I was so utterly confounded by this man’s incomprehensible behavior that I spent many miles pondering it in my head. Why had this stranger been so inexplicably nice? Who offers money to a girl he doesn’t even know, in exchange for services he isn’t sure she’s qualified to perform? I’d probably driven a good half hour before comprehension finally came roaring into my addled teenaged brain and I understood that I’d come unbelievably close to becoming an unwitting body for hire. At length amusement over the incident replaced my horror, and at least the next time it happened, I was prepared with a polite, “No, thank you, sir.”
* * *
“Rest Stop” is one of the stories featured in my autobiographical short story and essay collection Stories from My Memory-Shelf: Fiction and Essays from My Past. You can learn more about it by visiting the book’s webpage or by clicking the image below to be taken to the Amazon details page:
Lori Schafer's Short Subjects I Feel Like Writing About 
Gosh Lori! You sure have had a very interesting life! :)
LikeLiked by 1 person
If by “interesting” you mean “weird” then I guess I would have to agree! ;)
LikeLike
Nopes NOT weird! lol. When I said -‘interesting’ – I meant interesting and eventful! Promise, that’s the truth! ;)
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t know – sometimes I think it has been a bit weird, myself! But I’m happy to stick with eventful ;)
LikeLiked by 1 person
My mind kind of took in all sorts of directions after reading this.
http://flashfictionmagazine.com/sarahbrentyn/2014/11/24/dont-wait/
No, it’s not a Charli prompt but, yes, it’s 99 words.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great story, Sarah. What sucks is how easy it is to imagine that it was real – except for the part about the girl being given money and told to go home. I fear that yours is a kinder, gentler, world than ours. Thanks for sharing, too – your page on the site must be quite popular, because my post got quite a few hits off of it :)
LikeLike
I wish my world was a kinder, gentler place. I wish everyone’s world was a kinder, gentler place. That’s the beauty of fiction. I can drop an angel into any scene I want.
Well, about the page… You can tell that? That’s kind of cool, I guess. Technology creeps me out sometimes. O_o
LikeLiked by 1 person
Great re-telling of a horrible story. You are right in telling Geoff that it is everywhere and young women need to deal with it. And not only young women! Pity we have to deal with it!
LikeLike
Quite a story, Lori. Seems like your intuition got you through. I was a bit older, but no wiser, when I did my travelling. My weakness wasn’t so much money but wanting to meet the locals. Fortunately for me, most were genuinely being friendly.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yeah, I think it was experiences like these that kind of turned me off to meeting people on my travels, especially when I’ve been alone. You learn to paste on that “don’t-mess-with-me” face. But I think you’re right, most people are genuinely friendly and have nothing but good intentions – like here on the internet, you just have to watch out for the occasional troll.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yikes. Geoff’s right here. Nightmares. I don’t want to think about it too much so will just say that I’m heartily glad the “No, thank you” worked. Great piece.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh, then I won’t even tell you about the time a truck driver offered me a joint in exchange for you-know-what. Creepy, and insulting! Seriously, though, I never worried much as long as I was in a place with other people, like a rest stop. It’s when you’re parked out on some rural highway with no one else around that it becomes a concern :(
LikeLike
I like the way the story was told in third person. Gave it an interesting perspective. Thank you for sharing.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, LaTanya! I do enjoy “fictionalizing” certain of my memoirs. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t, but it’s always interesting to attempt the transformation :)
LikeLike
Creepy as all hell, that one, Lori. It’s amazing any if us survive, but especially Young women travelling. My daughter is unbelievably well travelled through Notth and South America, Asia and Australia and I’m nervous every time. At least she’s always with someone but this sort of stuff is the stuff of my nightmares.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t want to worry you, Geoff, but this kind of thing isn’t necessarily related to travelling – this is how women – especially young women – live, with creeps. Seriously. I think it’s worse when you’re travelling alone – maybe it gives the impression that you’re more open to that kind of thing – but it’s not uncommon when you’re just walking down your local street, either. It’s something you simply have to accept – or spend the rest of your life indoors. :(
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh don’t I know it. I’m a very Pacific man but out with my daughter or her friends and I’m off after the wolf whistlers and pervs who whistle and comment much to her concern for my welfare. I don’t underestimate how awful it is and how much misogyny passes in the name of ‘compliments’. Have you sen the video made in New York of the woman who didn’t acknowlefpdge anythgn said to her – she was dressed modestly too. In ten hours she was spoken to and often insulted on over 100 occasions. For New York red big city anywhere. Made me seethe.
LikeLiked by 1 person
What I don’t get is do these weirdos think these tactics actually work? I had a guy tweet me today asking “Would you like to do me?” I’ll tell you, I was really tempted to say “Yes!” just to see how he’d react. It’s a very strange cultural phenomenon, and not one that speaks terribly well of our culture.
LikeLiked by 1 person