Truck Stop

My friggin boss, Martin, made me stay late when I was shooting to sneak out at lunch. If you google the word “asshole,” his picture comes up. I was supposed to be at the festival grounds by now. At least I packed my camping gear last night. If I miss the figgin Wandering Knights because of this, Martin is gonna be in hot shit. I pulled out my tote and changed into some cargo shorts and a tank in the underground parking lot, in my front seat. 

I texted my friend Tamela that my boss was a dick, set my GPS, and hit the highway. Ten minutes later, I heard the string of texts come. Tamela can never respond in one text. It is always three to five short texts that could have been one. I didn’t check those texts while I was driving. I knew I was going to miss it. Wandering Knights. I could still make the headliner, Prodigal Daughter, if I made good time.

At Barstow I needed gas and a restroom plus I was starving. It was dusk by the time I pulled into the truck plaza. I parked around the side of the entrance, since the front was full. The pumps were all in use. There were another set of pumps further to the side, but those were only for the long haulers.  I decided I could hit the pumps on the way out.

The register was just inside the door. I followed the restroom signs. There was a prepared food station. Hot dog, no. Too greasy. Taquito, dry. No. Egg roll looked old. No. Wrapped burgers. No. Screw that. The food was total bullshit.

I walked past the dvds, road gadgets, trade paperbacks and Carhartt jackets, pants and shirts. There was a hallway with the restrooms and showers for truckers. The game show network played an old episode of Match Game in an area modestly removed from everyone else. It was labeled Truckers Rest Area. I couldn’t help but to sneak a peek in there. There were some old school video machines, tables and chairs and couches. One of the men caught my eye. I started just a little and covered by waving and smiling as I backed out toward the restrooms. He smirked at me and eyed me hard from under the bill of his Dodgers cap. 

I checked my phone while I waited in line at the restroom. Tamela had already sent three more texts, the last one letting me know they were going in to see The Wandering Knights. Shit. This was the friggin worst. I tried to call, but there was no answer. I looked up and a stall was open.  

“Hey, you got paper?” a voice said from the next stall.

“Ah.  Yup.  Sure,” I answered, passing a small wad of toilet paper to a very dirty, gnarled hand under the stall.

“Name is Jenny.  Thanks.”

“No problem,” I hoped that would end the exchange.

I washed my hands and stared into the mirror. I looked like hell so I splashed cool water in my face and ran a brush through my hair.

“And your name?” Jenny said appearing behind me in the mirror.

“Kerri,” I smiled in the mirror but did not turn around.

“Nice to meet you,” she smiled through deep lines.

“Thanks,” I said, wiping my hands on a paper towel and opening the door with the same towel.

I filled a sixteen-ounce cup with strong, dark blend coffee and added a few ice cubes from the soda machine. I coveted the Cinnabon for a good fifteen seconds, and then resisted. 

I could see the flat tire from the door of the truck stop.  It was the rear passenger side.  Flat to the blacktop.  

I tried to call Tamela again, but still, no answer. I texted, “flat tire.  on my way again soon.”

The donut tire was buried under my dufflebag, tent and sleeping bag.  I pulled that stuff out and put it on the backseat.  I considered calling road side service but, way out here, in the desert, it would take for friggin ever.  I could change a tire.  It couldn’t be that hard. I examined the jack and crow bar and realized I had no idea how to change a tire. It probably isn’t hard at all if you know how to do it. Crap I should have learned to change a damn tire.

I took a sip of the coffee.  I needed water. I went back inside and bought a 32 ounce bottle of water. I took one short sip and then six big gulps.

I put one of the floor mats from the car on the hot pavement so I could kneel. I pulled my hair back into a pony tail and got down on my knees and looked around, toying with the jack. I went back to the trunk and looked at the instructions, which were just pictures inside the donut tire well. Then I kicked over the water and it spilled all over. I opened the passenger side door, sat sideways, put my head in my hands and cried. I couldn’t help it. It was so hot and getting dark and I was so tired and late.

“Hey, Kerri! Need a hand?” Jenny shouted, walking toward her.

“Naw. I got it. Just a flat is all.”

“You ever change a flat before sweet pea?” she asked, handing me a cold bottle of water.

“I haven’t. But it can’t be that hard. Take the old one off and put the new one on. Right?”

“At’s about the size of it,” Jenny chuckled to herself and took a look at the donut tire.

“You ever use this little guy before?”

“No. Why?”

“Dry rot. Thing has wild dry rot. How far you going with that little shit?”

“Maybe another 90 miles or so.”

“You going to that music festival?

“Yup. Trying to go at least,” I said, blankly examining the dry rot on the tire.

“Listen, you sit there and get some hydration. I’ll change this little bugger for you,” Jenny jacked the car up and I watched and tried to remember how to do it for next time, but I was getting pretty hazy in the head.

She was tightening down the last lug nut when she looked behind me and stood up. I turned to see who she was waving at.

“John John! Come take a look at this donut!” Jenny yelled.

It was the guy with the Dodgers hat. He walked with a slight limp on the left side. 

“She’s going to that festival. Take a look at this donut tire. Think she can make it in this heat?”

“Way I sees it, that little critter won’t make it through the Cajon Pass,” he moved the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other.

“Think maybe I could make it to Palm Springs? I could get the tire replaced before I head back home?”

John John stared at the tire. He gave it a squeeze and a kick. He looked at Jenny. Jenny shrugged and put her eyebrows up so high I thought they would launch off the top of her head.

“Listen, we are heading that way. If you wanna pay Russian Roulette, that’s on you, but if you wanna get there safe and sometime tonight, we can drop you.”

I could feel my phone exploding in my pocket with texts from Tamela. I had never been in an eighteen wheeler before. 

“Anywhere close by I could buy a tire?”

“If you can wait until morning.”

“Aw man. This sucks. Thanks so much for offering, but I really don’t want to impose.”

“Come on. You can still make the headliner I bet,” Jenny held my forearm gently. “I’ll share my Cinnabon with you,” she smiled.

“You sure John John?”

“Aw’yah. I wouldn’t have offered it if I didn’t means it. Get on in. Time is wasting.”

“Ok. Yeah. What the heck?” I said, walking between them to the eighteen wheeler. It was beautiful with a bright blue cab with leopard stripes.

“Listen, sweetie,” Jenny said. “If traffic is good, you still have over an hour. I can see you are exhausted. There are some snacks and sodas in the sleeper. Sheets on the bed are clean. Pretty clean. Get a nap. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

The danger faded into the background and snacks and naps sounded even better than music festivals to me.”

I drank a Diet Coke and ate some Doritos. I watched some reality show on the tv and kicked back in the bed. Before I knew it, I was out.

I abruptly woke up to jolt. There were no windows and  I had no idea where I was or how long I had been asleep.

The eighteen wheeler. Right. The flat tire.

I looked around for my phone. I found it in my duffel. Ten fifteen. Ten messages from Tamela. That was two strings of five. She was getting worried. I didn’t want to tell her I took a ride with a trucker. I asked myself why I didn’t want to tell her. It was because, if I was her, I would think that was the dumbest thing I had ever heard. I texted, “be there soon. Sorry.”

I tried to relax. I had another soda. I had to pee again. We could be anywhere. The sleeper was separated from the cab so I couldn’t get the attention of Jenny or John John. I tried to chill and watch tv and I got to thinking though. John John was pretty sketch. Jenny was nice and friendly, but, isn’t that just how the story always goes: Jenny will be sweet as hell until she isn’t, until she cuts off my leg for dinner or sells me to a protitution ring. I mean, I’m only 25, so I’m probably marketable. I guess. They could just as easily have gone to LA as to Palm Springs. Or down to San Diego. Or maybe Palm Springs has a trafficking ring. Holy shit. Poor move Kerri. Dumb shit Kerri.

I took another soda and a candy bar I found in the fridge. I was thinking it was the least they could do if they were going to sell me. It was bigger in there than I thought. I thought about John John’s shifty eyes under his Dodgers hat. I thought about him on top of me and cringed. Oh please, don’t let him rape me, I thought. Yuck. He stunk and had bad breath that smelled like mold.

I found a bottle of whisky and had a little to calm my nerves. When it hit, I broke into a sweat and melted back into the pillows. The bed was so comfortable that I wanted to just chill and wait it out.

Now that I had missed the headliner for the night, and now that my friends were super pissed at me and likely to be more pissed when they find out I walked right into a trafficking trap, I knew I had just walked into a horror movie.  Maybe a Rob Zombie movie. I started searching for a door. I couldn't tell how fast we were going but, jumping was probably a poor option. 

The light was dim, but I felt around and used my phone light to see what else I could find in there that could shed light on where they might be taking me or for what nefarious purpose.

Aha! A stack of porn magazines! That must mean something. I texted Tamela, “I might be in trouble.” Then I found a bottle of beer in the fridge. I twisted the top off and took a good long pull of the Bud in a long neck bottle. As I drank it, I realized a long neck bottle might make a good weapon if needed. I drained the beer and practiced with the bottle like it was a sabre.

I checked the texts from Tamela:

“WTF R U nuts?”

“R U serious?”

“Where R U?”

“What should I do?”

“Tell me you are messing with me.”

I snatched another beer from the fridge.

“I’m in the sleeper thingy. Guy is creepy. Call cops.”

Now I pulled the alarm. Cops. The last thing I wanted was to involve the police.

“U still ok?” Temela texted.

“Yeah.”

“Got the plates?”

“No.”

“Description???”

“Dark blue cab. Nice rig. Stripes. ”

“You MORON”

“I kno”

“Hold on.”

I was feeling a little nauseous. Maybe from the whisky or the beer or maybe because all I ate was Doritos and half of Jenny’s Cinnabon.

“Cops have description. Hang on.”

I was relieved to know someone was coming to get me, but the more I thought about it, and the more time that passed, the more I wondered where we were and doubted the police. There are so many trucks out here. There were dozens at the truck plaza in Barstow alone. What were the chances I got a fat there?

Maybe it was a set-up.  Maybe John John slashed my tire so I would need this ride. I could be headed straight to Mexico right now. I practiced using the beer bottle as a sabre again.

I looked around to see if I could find a knife or a gun or something but all I found was a box of condoms. That was not comforting.

Then, the truck stopped. I was ready. No way was I getting sold as a prostitute. Not me. I  was ready with my Bud long neck.

The door swung open and the light flicked on. 

“Time to wake up sweet pea!”

I swung and hit Jenny as hard as I could across the head. She fell in front of me. I froze a minute and jumped out. I made it. I was safe. I saw Tamela and she was staring at me with her mouth hanging open.

John John ran around the front of the rig.

“What have you done?” he looked so distraught, so not creepy.

“I thought.”

“What did you think?”

John John got down on the ground and checked Jenny’s pulse. He started CPR. 

I looked at Tamela. She ran over and put her arms around me.

“Did they hurt you?”

“No.”

I looked around and I was at the entrance of the festival. I realized they did exactly what they said they would, help me. I heard sirens coming. They were coming for Jenny. And they were coming for me.