Halfway to Nowhere

Martha sat next to the young girl and prayed for the right words. Several minutes passed before she next spoke.

"We knew you wouldn't stay. You were never ours to keep. But we knew we could provide you with a safe place for as long as you wanted to be here."

"You did more than give me somewhere to stay, Martha. Thank you for trusting in me. I won't forget you."

"Any thoughts on where you're going from here?"

The young girl shook her head. "I just hope wherever I go, I find someone like you and Harold."

They stood together: a wise old woman and a young girl searching for her identity. Both had the future on their mind. Only one was comfortable with what lay ahead. Harold nodded and waved but didn't speak as Angie put her bags into the car.

"I'll miss you," she said to him. "I'm sorry I can't stay."

Suddenly feeling alone and frightened, Angie turned to the old man and hugged him. He draped his thin arms around her shoulders and held her tight.

"Drive safe, Angie."

Determined to be strong, she slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Then she drove away without a backward glance. Angie wiped the tears from her eyes and knew she wasn't even close to where she needed to be. The irony hit her that she still didn't have any idea where that was.

Traffic was light. Angie obeyed the speed limit even though she thought about going faster. She laughed as she realized driving faster would only get her to nowhere quicker. Near the city limits of a small town, she spotted a hitchhiker. The young man held a sign with a destination that convinced Angie to pull over.

"That's the same place I'm headed."

"Are you serious?" the young boy asked.

He looked at his sign as if checking to be sure no one changed the letters. Convinced it was right, he turned to her.

"You aren't going anywhere? I mean, you don't have a real destination?"

"I'm following the road," she said, repeating the words from his sign.

"I put that on there as a joke, thinking a certain destination might limit the amount of people who would stop."

"Good idea. I'm Angie."

"Jake. Thanks for stopping."

"Everyone needs a helping hand at some point."

The words reminded the young driver of her recent stay with Harold and Martha. The elderly couple needed help to manage their motel. She was able to provide that. Keeping her attention on her driving, Angie understood the couple did the same for her by sharing their knowledge and wisdom.

"Hey, nice car," the young man said, changing stations on the radio as his head bopped to the music. "I need one of these."

"They aren't cheap, even something as old as this one is. After paying for gas and insurance, I barely had anything left out of my paycheck each week."

"You worked? Old people make work sound so boring. They think everyone wants to become the big boss, doing all sorts of crap to get there. You should hang out with my friends. They don't know much. Most people think they're kind of stupid."

Angie knew her brother talked about his friends the same way. She laughed even though she envied the young stranger for having the nerve to leave instead of stagnating at home.

"Where are your friends?"

"They're staying in a deserted hay shed about half an hour or so south of here. I was hoping to be back a day ago but I couldn't find a ride and walking takes forever."

"How far did you walk already? Where did you start?"

Angie didn't ask because she was nosy. The girl hadn't met a hitchhiker before. Learning what drew someone to the road interested her. She had already noticed the worn sneakers he had on and tried to imagine walking on gravel, sand, and asphalt day after day. She couldn't understand the allure.

"I went home to see my grandma. Sunday was her birthday and she's sick. Not that I'm sentimental or any of that crap, but I was thinking what if I didn't go home and she died. I wouldn't admit it to my parents, but they're right when they say I'm good at making excuses. Adjusting to their rules sucked and makes it easier to live somewhere else."

"You discovered that before I did," Angie mumbled, thinking about her family.

"Hey, you really should check this place out my friends found. They wouldn't care if you stayed."

Angie glanced at the young man riding with her. She knew nothing more about him than his first name and that he seemed polite.

"I'll keep that in mind. Which way do I go," Angie asked as they approached a stop sign.

Jake directed her to the right. The road led into a small farming community where a gas station and grocery store were the only businesses in town. Angie wondered what it would be like to grow up in such a secluded area. She couldn't imagine finding enough things to do to keep busy.

"This place is great for hanging out but man, I could never stay here long," Jake said.

"Weird, I was thinking the same thing. I guess you wouldn't know any different though if you were born here, went to whatever school they have, and only knew people from around here. I mean, how would you know what it was like in the big city?"

"My friends talked to the old guy running the grocery store. He said most people had gardens and raised animals to butcher. The women made their clothes like back in the old days."

Angie glanced at her shorts and tank top. She remembered how easy it had been to walk into a store and choose them from the endless racks and shelves. Living without access to at least a few good stores didn't sound appealing.

"Oh, hey, see that fence on the left? There's a gate near the end. Turn there."

Angie nodded at the young man's instructions. She pushed her thoughts into the back of her mind and focused on her driving. The road changed to gravel right before she spotted the gate.

"I'll open the gate. Just drive through enough so I can close it again. No one comes back here but leaving it open would look suspicious in case anyone checked the place out," Jake said.

"Hey, thanks, but I think I'll keep going."

Angie didn't elaborate. When she imagined his friends, she pictured a lethargic group who hadn't showered for days and wore the same clothes for weeks. She suspected they shared more than the marijuana she noticed in Jake's pocket. Their lifestyle held no appeal. Then again, she admitted, her current situation wasn't much better.

"Thanks for the ride. Maybe we'll meet again," he said.

She waved and backed onto the road. Although she didn't have a destination, staying with Jake and his friends wouldn't be a part of her trip. She went back to Route 66 where traffic was light. The small towns seemed to look alike. Each one had an assortment of stores and restaurants for tourists. Angie noticed a building at the south end of a place called Pontiac and pulled into an empty parking space. With the engine off, she hopped out of the car. A sign designated the building—in the shape of a pistol—as the old police headquarters.

"This is so cool. I can't imagine having the talent to create something like this," she said, talking to herself as she walked closer.

"Howdy, ma'am," an elderly man said from his perch on a bench near the entrance. "Quite a sight, ain't she?"

"I love it!"

"Here, have a seat. Anything you want to know 'bout this here building, I kin tell ya."

"Well, I'm not really on a schedule, so I have time. I'm Angie . . ."

She smiled. The man, balding and overweight, slid along the bench to make more room.

"Joe," he said, "and this here po-lice station went up in 1941."

"I was born in 1940."

Angie wasn't sure why she told the man her birth year but he just nodded.

"The 1930s had what they called an Art Mo-derne style of architecture. There were long lines, lin-e-ar. Then they made 'em curved. The people who done built this place used struc-tur-al glass for e-ffect."

Joe emphasized his words in strange ways that made Angie smile. Regardless how the man described the building, it didn't change how intriguing the concept was to her.

"I bet a lot of people stop when they see this place."

"Yep, seen 'em here of all ages. Most jest drivin' through on vacation."

"I'm not on vacation," Angie said.

"Nothin' wrong with takin' time to think, little lady."

"There's more to see than I realized. When I was home, this was just the highway, a road that took people from one place to another. I never thought about the landscape or the buildings along the way."

"Where you headed?"

"Nowhere," Angie said, shrugging her shoulders when he looked her way.

"Don't git lost. Settin' a des-tin-a-tion might be the best way fer ya ta know when ya git there."

She stood and stared at the unique old police station for several more minutes. Joe lit a cigarette and leaned back on the bench.

"I'll know when I get there. Thanks for the bit of history."

Angie waved at the man as she drove away. Her thoughts remained on his comment about setting a destination. At twenty-four, she should be able to manage on her own, she decided. Yet she admitted she couldn't go far without money. Finding a radio station she liked, she sang along with the hot new British sensation, the Beatles. Singing made her troubles seem lighter.

She drove into Cuba, Missouri, just after noon. A sign outside of town directed her to the Midway restaurant where she pulled into the small parking lot marked patrons only. The tantalizing smells in the air made her stomach growl again. The sign over the door wasn't fancy. Angie guessed from the condition of the building the décor wouldn't be either, but she didn't care as long as the food was good. A wood framed screen door banged shut behind her when she walked inside.

"Find a seat, darlin'. I'll be right with you."

She spotted an empty booth near the windows and slid onto the faded vinyl. A menu appeared in front of her seconds before a tall redhead did.

"Special today is a chicken club on your choice of white or wheat and a side," the waitress said.

"That sounds good. What do you recommend for the side?"

"The cooked apples with a sprinkle of cinnamon are popular."

"I'll go with the club on white, the apples, and a root beer."

Angie looked around the busy diner as she waited. People talked to each other across the narrow aisles and from the long counter in the front of the room. She recognized the comfortable exchange between neighbors as well as the friendly chatter aimed at the tourists. The atmosphere suddenly made her homesick.

"Not from around here, are you." The voice belonged to a middle-aged woman sitting at a table across from Angie.

"No, I'm just driving through."

"Where you headed?"

"Nowhere," Angie said, ending the short conversation.

"One special, side of apples, and a root beer," the waitress said as she placed each item in front of Angie. "You enjoy, now."

Thick slices of homemade bread held layers of chicken, tomatoes, bacon, lettuce, and cheese. Cut into neat triangles and arranged on the plate, the sandwich looked too pretty to eat. However, her stomach protested and hunger won. It didn't take her long to finish her meal. The waitress took her empty plate away and left Angie sipping on the root beer. She watched as people left and others took their place. Although busy, the diner wasn't full, and the redhead managed quite well.

"The cook made fresh coconut cream pie this morning. Interested in a slice?"

"I'm stuffed. But thanks," Angie said.

"Hank can ring you up when you're ready. Thanks for comin' in."

Knowing how hard the woman worked because of her own job in a similar setting, Angie left a bigger tip than normal. Hank, she discovered, was the cook. He asked about the meal as he punched in the numbers on the old cash register. She noticed the clean fingernails and the immaculate grooming. The man was nothing like the cook she had worked with back home.

On her way out the door, Angie noticed a small sign announcing the diner was hiring. Without thinking, she turned back, approaching Hank once more.

"Excuse me. Are you still looking for help?"

"We sure are," he said.

"I was a waitress before and . . . well, I don't have references or anything, but I'm interested."

Willow overheard the brief conversation. She didn't know the young girl speaking to Hank but she trusted her instincts. Setting the tray she held on the counter, she faced Hank.

"What if we give her a trial run?"

"I'm a really hard worker. You won't have to tell me twice what to do," Angie said.

"Where are you staying?"

"I don't know yet. Is there somewhere cheap around here?"

Hank trusted Willow. Whatever she decided was fine with him. He stepped back as she spoke to the young girl.

"What about with me? I have an empty guestroom just sitting there—and it would be convenient," Willow said.

Hank nodded and smiled at Angie. "Then I guess it would help if we knew your name, young lady."

Excitement filled Angie as they exchanged names. She hadn't planned on taking a job anywhere when she left home but traveling wasn't cheap and the income was necessary.

Willow smiled. "I'll be done within thirty minutes. You can wait in here or outside. There's a bench by the front door."

Angie tried to hide the tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. Once more, strangers who knew nothing about her were offering to help her, not asking for anything in return other than a few hours of work.

"Hey, we've all needed a hand before. Hank's a great guy. Everyone around here knows they can count on him when times are rough," Willow said.

The diner had a homey feeling. Angie thought about her previous job and was positive she would be comfortable around Hank and Willow. After the shift was over, Willow drove the few blocks to her home. Angie followed, and once there, carried her bag inside and took a deep breath. Similar to when she stayed at the hotel with Martha and Harold, sharing someone's home seemed a bit more personal. The older woman had treated her kindly from the moment she waited on her in the diner. Yet knowing someone for an hour or so wasn't the same as knowing them for months or years.

"The spare room is right here, across from the restroom. Use anything you find in the shower. The refrigerator doesn't usually have much—I eat most of my meals at work. Hank's a great cook," Willow said."I'll put the diner's number by the phone. Just call in the morning whenever you're ready and one of us will come get you."

"Thank you, for everything," Angie said. "I promise I'll work hard."

"I believe you, honey. I'm tired and ready for some sleep. See you tomorrow."

Angie slept the night through and woke up feeling refreshed and ready to begin her new day. She showered and dressed before walking into the kitchen. Thinking back to the short drive the night before, she was sure she could find the diner on her own. If she was going to stay in town a while, then she would have to learn her way around anyway, she decided, going out to her car.

"Angie, I thought you were going to call," Willow said when the young woman walked into the diner.

"I remembered the way from last night. Besides, what if you had been really busy? I couldn't expect you to leave for me."

"We'll go over a schedule later. First let's get you an apron and the all important pad of paper and pencil."

The pair laughed. Angie felt at ease as she went to work. She realized she wasn't as speedy as she had been in her old job but figured it was because she didn't know where everything was. No one complained, though, and the tips were good.

"Time for a break, kid," Hank said later. "You've been going at it non-stop ever since you got here."

"Let's head outside for some fresh air," Willow said.

Angie was ready to sit. She filled a glass with water and followed the redhead.

"You're doing great. Hank and I both saw the way you interacted with the customers and could tell you enjoy what you're doing."

"Waiting tables is the only job I ever had. I started at a little pizza place. When it closed, I went to the diner, the one I was at last. I hated it there but I couldn't afford to just quit. The cook was a horrible man. He would try to . . . he gave me the creeps," Angie said. "I liked talking to the people though."

"I'm sorry you had a bad experience. Hank's the best."

"Yeah, I can tell."

They spent the rest of their break talking about whatever came up. When they went back inside, they were ready to work again. Angie stayed busy most days. The diner was a popular place and people wandered in for anything from a cup of coffee to a full meal. Evenings she walked around the small town before returning to Willow's. The woman was friendly and easy to talk to. The first week passed in a hurry. The second did as well. Before she knew it, Angie had been working over a month.

Life was comfortable yet she couldn't hide the fact that she was ready to move on. It wasn't that she had somewhere to go. In fact, it was just the opposite. She was in search of answers even though she wasn't asking the right people the questions. Angie just didn't understand that yet.

She approached Hank the following morning. He nodded and wished her well. Talking to Willow was harder. The two women spent a lot of time together and she would always consider her a friend. With her bag tucked into the trunk, Angie wiped the tears from her face and drove away, already missing them.

* * * *

The miles passed as they had before. She stopped a few times to get a beverage or snack but her stomach soon reminded her it was time for a full meal. She spotted a sign for a mom and pop store and gas station called the Totem Pole Trading Post. Although she had money from her time working with Willow and Hank, she wanted to be careful with what she spent.

Determined to find a bargain, she went inside, pushing her concerns away until later. The trading post had everything anyone needed and more. She took a small basket from near the entrance and went in search of nourishing snacks and some juice. Then she headed for the checkout wondering how much longer she could survive before she needed to find another job.

The old woman hitting keys on the ancient cash register sighed. "I don't know what's wrong. It worked yesterday."

Angie wasn't sure if the statement required a reply or if the woman was talking to herself. Before she could answer, the woman banged on the side of the machine, grinning when the money drawer opened.

"I knew the darn thing would open. Now then, young lady, your groceries come to three hundred dollars and twelve cents."

"What? That's not right. I don't have anywhere near that much. Do it again," Angie said, shocked at the amount the woman said she owed.

"Well, that does seem a little high. Let me look over the receipt."

The woman compared Angie's groceries to the numbers written on the tiny slip of paper. Soon she only had to check the apples.

"OK, apples . . . that should be twenty-nine cents . . . oh dear, the register made them two-hundred-ninety-nine dollars," the woman said. "Oh, this is terrible. I'm sure there's a way to fix this, but I never had such an error before."

"Ma'am, you just have to . . ."

Angie went through the steps she knew would reverse the error so the woman could enter the correct data. Somehow, the woman managed to skip a step and make the machine worse.

"This new technology confuses me," the woman said.

"It's not that difficult. I've done it many times," Angie said, chuckling at the look of dismay on the woman's face.

The woman hit a sequence of keys on the cash register with great care. She looked up to the heavens a few seconds before gently tapping the total.

"Oh, my, that didn't go the right way either. Now it says five hundred and two dollars . . ."

"Do you want me to fix it for you?"