First Prize
Crossroads
Bob Aldrich
First Prize
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John was twenty-seven miles out of L.A. His VW Camper was parked by the road, overlooking Devil's Canyon. A U.S. Forest Service sign nearby proclaimed the impassability of the terrain far below. The faintly tinkling radio competed with an occasional gust of warm breeze on this sunny, hot day. John pulled his head from the engine compartment, wiping his hands."Well, I'm sorry it broke down. You live around here?" he said to a brown-haired girl standing there.
"Yes. But that's allright. Someone will pick me up." she said, shifting her gaze to an oncoming car. Sudddenly she jumped out, thumb high. The car drove on by. She came back.
Standing up, arching his back, John looked at her. He leaned on the bus.
"To tell the truth," she said, "I feel like I'm playing Russian Roulette when I hitch. But I felt lucky, and a little wreckless today. So I did it anyway."
"I didn't want anything to happen to you, so I stopped." he said.
She smiled a thoughtful smile. "Thank you. I appreciate it. I should say I can take care of myself, but, God! The stories you hear in the media!"
"Yeah. Well, I don't think it's really as bad as they make out. I'm sure you can take care of yourself, too. I thought you were quite attractive, and that's half the reason I stopped. What's your name?"
She smiled a broad smile. "Megan. I live at Chilao."
"Chilao? Is that a city up here? I've seen the signs but couldn't figure out where it was."
"No. My dad's a fireman. It's a small settlement of mostly firemen, road repair people, and forest rangers. What's your name?"
"John. You live with your parents?"
"Barely. I stay around with friends a lot. There isn't much housing you can just go out and rent. I'm twenty-three, and I've kind of worn out my welcome at home."
"I hope you have lots of friends."
"Oh, sure. We all grew up here, went to school together, we're a spread out but tight-knit community. But I've gotta leave." she swayed slightly to a faint stream of guitar lead by Robert Plant.
"All of my Love, All of my Love, to you..." came the words.
John fought to hide a sudden outflowing of emotion for her. To cover this, he said, "Funny how music you know wends its way through the environment, and is instantly recognizeable, no matter how faint."
"Umm-Hmm." she said. "And the parts you can't hear, you fill in from memory."
"Yeah. It becomes a part of you."
She nodded, rocking her heel back and forth in the dry, sandy soil. She was wearing blue jeans, an old T-shirt.
"So why? Why leave?" said John. "This place is beautiful." he motioned to the panoramic view spread out below them.
She dismissed the view with a toss of her head. "Too boring here. Nothing to do. I want to find a place that has four seasons." she turned her clear blue eyes towards the hot asphault road again, not seeing it, seeing her own dreams. Her brown hair looked like a home haircut, but not a bad one. She wore no makeup. But the clean, fresh look about her made up for that. She didn't need it, and maybe never would.
John felt an overpowering urge to protect her, to nurture her dreams with her, help make them a part of the world.
"Do you want a drink? I've got something here. Now that I'm not driving." He grinned sheepishly, dusting his knees off. He walked around towards the sliding door, climbed in, opened the refrigerator.
She followed. "No," she tossed her head to get her hair out of her eyes. "Thanks. But you go ahead." The statement sounded like a dismissal.
John got her meaning. He was a borderline alcoholic, and was sensitive about the subject. "Let me explain. I'm celebrating. I just left town today. I'm on my own, touring the country. Me and Nellie." He patted the countertop of the VW's kitchenette affectionately.
Her eyes softened. She nodded in understanding, admiring the old camperbus. "It looks brand new. What year is it?"
"1976 VW Westfalia Campmobile. Sleeps five, has a stove and refrigerator, running water, cabinet storage space, luggage rack up top, there's nothing on the road that will do all that, and give you a four cylinder air-cooled engine that gets 18-20 miles per gallon."
John fixed himself a gin and tonic. He even had some lime stashed away, and the ice in the icebox was still ice. He didn't use the electric part of the refrigerator much. He chipped off a few chunks and mixed it all in the plastic cup from a thermos.
"That looks good." she said.
"Sure you don't want some?"
"No thanks. So where are you from?" she draped herself against the sliding door, looking interested.
"Alaska. I left there 20 years ago." John, when she wasn't looking, glimpsed a view of her youthful form. She wasn't exceptionally shapely, but she was the essence of woman. And she had that body type that held its shape far into later years. John had no doubt that she would lead a long and happy life.
"Wow! Alaska. What's it like there?"
"Beautiful, like this." He said, with a sweep of his arm at the view. "And boring. Nothing to do. Especially in winter."
"So why are you here? Isn't this boring for you too, then?"
"No. I've mostly lived in L.A. since Alaska. But I've been having a mid-life crisis of late. So I've cut all ties, and I'm on the open road for now."
"You? You don't look old." She had turned away from the road, was ignoring lots of new cars. "How old are you, anyway?"
"I'm thirty-five. I'm starting young."
"So, what IS a mid-life crisis?"
"Thats when you go just so long in one direction, and find out it's either a dead-end or you did what you wanted to do, and never noticed. Or, I suppose, when you can't do what you wanted to because you got too old. Frustrating."
"What did you do for a living?"
"I repaired cars. Auto Body. Now I plan to travel around in this thing, see the states. I've just finished restoring it."
Her grin was mischievious. "Almost. Except for the engine."
"Yes... almost." John smiled a private smile.
"So what are you going to do for a living on the road?"
"I have some money saved up, I hope it will be enough to feed me while I break into a new career."
"What's that?"
"Writing." He reached over, uncovered an old laptop computer that was buried in blankets and clothing to the rear. "I've always wanted to have enough time to really get to write well. The rat-race never allowed for that. I think I'll try travel writing."
"That sounds like fun. Did you ever marry?"
"Yes. But she got the kid." he sighed. "And most of the money."
"Why?"
"Her lawyers knew I had it. They got more than she did. But that's OK."
"Why is it OK?" she said.
His gaze at her was speculative. "Because she didn't really suit me."
She looked away, then then jumped out to an old green pickup truck coming down the road, sticking her thumb out. The wizened old mountain man in it slowed down to look, decided he'd seen enough, then sped up and passed. She came slowly back, studying her feet as she approached.
"And what would she be like?" her eyes caught his briefly, then looked away again.
"I don't know, I may not have met her yet. Maybe I was looking in all the wrong places." He took a big gulp of the drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking out the window at the valley far below. It was shrouded in mist, like the confusion of his past.
She got in, turned the passenger seat to ther rear, and sat down in it, eyes twinkling. "Make me one." She said, indicating the drink.
"Oh! OK." He said, brightening up. He did so, mixing in a little less gin than his own, and handed it to her. When he did, their hands brushed briefly. Her small fingers felt cool against his warm, dry skin. A sort of electic current flashed between them, suprising them both. Neither of them commented on it.
She took a lusty gulp, put it down on the counter top. Another car whizzed by. "Pretty good." She said, letting out a ladylike burp.
"Yeah." He took another sip himself. "So when are you leaving?"
"Soon. I'm just waiting till it feels right."
With a roar and a cloud of dust, a shiny red Chevy pickup truck skidded to a stop beside them. A tall blonde young man got out, walked over to the bus. He looked in at John, and then saw Megan. "Oh! Hi Megan."
"Hi, Mike," she said. Something, some screen or barrier seemed to go up around her.
When Mike looked at Megan, John thought he caught an a brief glint of anger. Mike turned away to John. "Got trouble? I noticed your engine lid open."
"Yes. You a mechanic?"
"Somewhat. VWs are pretty easy."
"This one's fuel injected, and it seems to be a problem with that."
"Uh-oh. I then probably can't help, but let's take a look." Together they looked it over for awhile, but couldn't get the engine to do anything but crank.
"Well, I guess I can't help with it," said Mike. "Need a lift to a phone?"
"No. I think I'll puzzle it out some more. I have the manual here. I hope I can fix it myself."
"OK. Good luck." Said Mike. He smiled, and they shook hands.
John liked Mike. There was an energy between Mike and Megan. They obviously knew each other well. But there was something unresolved also, something driving them apart.
Mike turned to Megan, a mixture of warmth and coolness in his voice. "How about you? Need a ride in?"
Megan looked reluctant. But there was no reason not to. John's pulse was pounding hard. Pulling in on himself, he busied himself with the engine.
She hesitated, looking away from Mike, but smiling. She said, "OK. See you, John." She reached in and put down the nearly-empty glass, and turned to go.
"Nice meeting you, Megan. Mike."
She smiled briefly at him, but there was something else in her eyes, some intensity not revealed. "If you're still in the area, drop by the restaurant up the road, Newcomb's Ranch. I work there Sundays."
John looked at her despondently. "OK." That was three days away. He hadn't been planning on hanging around that long.
She got in Mike's truck, and they roared away.
"I was cruel to him, because he lied, and because he took you for a ride, and because, time was on his side." said John to himself, reciting an old Bob Dylan tune.
Resigned, he closed the engine lid, and got in and closed the sliding door. He looked at her glass for a minute, contemplating. He put it to his lips, and sipped the last of the drink, savoring it. Then he washed them, and sat in the driver's seat.
He frowned out at the road for a while, then reached his left hand down by the seat, flipped off the kill switch. Turning the ignition key, the bus roared into life, and kept on running. He sighed, thinking. He turned off the key. It wouldn't do to drive into this Chilao place after they had just left him. But he didn't want to lose her. Funny how life tended to box one in like this.
Suddenly he felt very exhausted. He locked the doors, lowered the rear bench seat into a bed, pulled the curtains, and laid down for a nap. He went into a dreamless sleep that two hours later was interrupted by the roar of a passing motorcycle. He peeked out. It was nearly dark. He felt terribly alone, empty. He laid back down, trying to drift off. Finally he did.
He dreamed he was with a group of mostly younger people, and Megan was there. He was grasping for her, and she was reaching back, but being pulled away by faceless friends.
Something heavy hit the bus, rocking it a little. He awakened with a start, jerking up, and banged his head on the rear storage compartment above the bed. Pulling aside the curtain, he looked out, holding his forehead.
Megan stood there in the dusk, face alight with a grin. She had a backpack on, and was trying to get a heavy duffel bag up onto the luggage carrier. John got out.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting this bag in the luggage rack. Can you help me?"
"Uh... sure." He climbed up on the front wheel, threw the bag up and secured it, not daring to ask why she was here. "How did you get here?"
"I walked back. It's only a half a mile." she looked over the bus. "Don't these things have bunkbeds or something?"
"Yes, if it's a Poptop. This one is."
"Good. So did you get the engine fixed?" Her face was full of excitement and good humor.
John grinned back. "Yes." Then a thought struck him, and he felt ashamed. "I have something to show you." He got into the driver's seat, started the Bus.
"Great! Sounds good to me!" She said.
"That's not it. Watch." He reached down with his left hand, flipped the kill switch. The engine died. "I faked the engine trouble. I wanted to talk to you more, to get to know you."
She looked at him for a long moment, eyes inscrutable. She said, "I know that. I heard you flip it when it quit. So where are we going first?"
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