by Shay Lynam
As soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out like a light. As I slept, I dreamed I was running down a deserted freeway. Even though it was pitch dark, I could just barely make out a blonde head in the distance, staying still but never growing closer to me. It started to rain, and as it did, lightning cracked the sky and thunder bellowed through the clouds. After a couple seconds, the thunder started erupting rhythmically until I realized a heavy metal song was resonating across the sky.
The next morning, I woke up feeling like utter crap. The sky was cloudy but still too bright so I staggered to my car, half blind and turned the engine over. The sound echoed throughout the parking lot as I pulled out and back onto the freeway.
I had been right about Ohio only being a few miles away. In fact, not twenty minutes in, I passed the “Welcome to Ohio” sign. Of course nothing was really different here than on the other side of the line. The sky was still gray, the clouds heavy with rain. The passing landscape was still the same. But as soon as I crossed over, as soon as I had gotten to the other side of that “Welcome to Ohio” sign, I felt a little more nervous. One state down, nine to go.
I didn't even know what I was going to do once I got to Portland. I mean, I still didn't know where I was going to stay, where I was going to start looking. What if Paul had been right? What if I got there and she had already been found? What was I going to do then? I could just picture it. I would get there, go to the coffee shop she always went to to talk to me and she would be sitting there, typing away on her laptop.
“Emily?”
She would look up from her screen and stare at me for a second wondering why this stranger knew her name. Her eyes would narrow a bit and she would cock her head to the side, trying to place my face with a memory. She had never even seen me before. Why would she know what I look like? “Who are you?” She would finally ask.
“It's me, Tyler,” I would reply, standing there awkwardly, not sure if I should sit down with her.
Again, Emily would stare at me trying to match my name to a face she might have come across in the past.
“I'm... I'm the one you've been talking to online for the past six months,” I would say.
Finally, I would see something click in her mind. Her eyes would flick to mine and she would say “Oh, Tyler!” Then the excitement would fade, she would slump back, her eyes now filled with disappointment. “Oh... Tyler. I thought... I thought I had made myself clear.”
I would take a step back and look down at the floor. “I just thought-”
“You didn't need to come here,” she would interrupt me.
With my eyes still glued to the floor, I would back my way toward the door. “I thought you wanted me to come looking for you.”
“No, Tyler,” she would say, and then as I back out the door, Emily would shake her head at me and look back down at laptop as if I had never come in the first place.
A horn honk jostled me from my daydream and I swerved off the road, slamming the brakes and finally stopping on the gravel shoulder. As the dust settled around me, I waited for my heart to stop hammering in my chest. I laid my head down on the steering wheel and tried to calm my breathing. Looking around, I realized that I must have been daydreaming for a while. I didn't remember driving through a city yet there were buildings in the distance behind me. What are you doing, Tyler? I reached into the backseat and grabbed my laptop out from under a pile of clothes and bags. The screen came to life and I brought up the picture of Emily. My lip twitched as I looked at her smile and remembered the conversation we had had when she sent it to me.
Emily says: Ya know, I think I may have walked through a portal on my way home from work. People do seem a bit snobbier all of a sudden.
Tyler says: Ha-ha. No, those are the hipsters. They sit in coffee shops, drinking their black coffee writing their screenplays and wishing they were New Yorkers.
Emily says: Ah, that must be it.
Tyler says: Just tell me that you aren't one of those people.
Emily says: I don't know, you tell me.
Emily sent you a picture. Click to view.
Tyler says: You are teetering dangerously on the edge.
Emily says: Were you ever taught how to compliment girls? You kinda suck at it.
Tyler says: I never said you looked bad
Emily says: You basically just called me a hipster.
Tyler says: Maybe I like hipsters.
Emily says: You're sending me mixed signals here, Tyler.
I wished I could have told her that I thought she was beautiful and that I wished I could be there to protect her from whatever crazy person had been out to get her. Minimizing her picture, I went and opened my email and brought up a blank message.
Emily,
I hope you get the chance to read this, though I guess I don't really know how you can what with being missing and all. Maybe you have your laptop or internet access or whatever. Now I'm just rambling. Anyway, I would love to go out to dinner some night. Once all this insanity is over. I know you said when we were talking that you don't really believe in love and... well I guess I said that I don't either but... I don't know, I just want to see what happens. You know? I really want to see where this could go. I just really want to take you out on a proper date. Once I find you and everything. I hope you're okay. Don't worry, Emily. I'm on my way.
-Tyler
I hit send then shut my laptop and tossed it onto the seat beside me. What time was it? Digging my phone out of my pocket and unlocking the screen, I read ten o' clock and realized I was starving. I guess I hadn't noticed that my stomach was growling at me, threatening to start eating itself if I didn't get some food in it as soon as possible. As soon as possible came just ten miles down the road when I turned off the freeway and followed signs to the nearest diner.
Being the middle of the week, the place wasn't very busy. Mostly semi trucks littered the parking lot and I parked between two of them, feeling like I was in a huge canyon just waiting for the walls to crash down on top of me. Once inside, I took a seat at the bar between two more big canyon walls and grabbed a menu.
“What can I get for you, honey?”
I suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore. Everything looked gray and tasteless, including the tired old waitress waiting to take my order. “Uh...” I skimmed over the menu items trying to find anything that looked at least a bit edible. “Is the french toast any good?” I asked looking up at her.
She stared back at me and I swear her eye twitched. The mole just above her upper lip looked like it had its own little face and I imagined it saying “The best french toast you will find for miles.”
I shook my head trying to clear that image out of my mind. “Uh...” I looked back at the menu again. “I'll just have a cheese omelet,” I muttered.
“Coffee?” the mole asked me as the waitress held her hand out to take the menu from me.
I let her take it from my hands. “Sure,” I replied keeping my eyes glued to the counter top. Only when the waitress and her talking mole were gone did I look up. The trucker on my left was sipping liquid that resembled motor oil out of a chipped mug while the guy on my other side was wiping a slice of bread all over his plate to get every last bit of cold gravy before stuffing the whole thing into his mouth. Why exactly had I chosen to sit right here in this spot?
When the waitress and her mole brought my food to me and set it down on the counter in front of me, I stared down at it and pondered whether it would even be worth it to put any salt on it. Then it would probably only taste like salt. Trying not to think too much about it, I began shoveling the food into my mouth. It's only fuel, I told myself. Just eat it so your stomach will stop grumbling at you. I eyed the coffee sitting in front of me. I would most definitely regret drinking that. “Could I just have some water?” I asked mole face.
“Sure, honey,” she rasped and set a glass down in front of me filling it to the brim.
I guzzled that down trying not to think too hard about how it se
emed to have more flavor than the omelet. After laying a ten down on the counter, I got up and headed out the door. As I started for my car, I dug into my pocket for a cigarette and my lighter, lighting it quickly and breathing in the smoke, trying to get that taste out of my mouth as quickly as possible.
“Hey, son.”
I turned away from my car to find the motor oil drinking trucker headed my way. He had my wallet in his big, meaty paw. “You forgot this,” he grumbled holding it out to me.
“Thanks,” I muttered and stuffed it in my pocket.
“I'm Pete.”
“Tyler.”
“Where you headed, Tyler?” he asked me.
“Portland.”
“Oregon? That's a long way from here.” I offered him a cigarette and he took one, nodding his head in thanks.
“Yeah, I know,” I replied chuckling.
Pete had taken a lighter from his pocket and lit his cigarette. “Any particular reason why?” he asked me, smoke coming out with his words. Again I just smiled. “Can I guess?” he asked.
I looked up again at the man. His eyes were tired like he had been driving all night and his clothes looked like they hadn't been washed in a while. The hairs on his chin were short but scraggly like he hadn't had the chance to shave. I don't think this guy was prying, just feeling alone and in need of some human interaction. “Sure, go ahead,” I replied, the smile still on my face.
“I think you're going after a girl,” Pete said, holding his cigarette between his two fingers.
I nodded. “You caught me.”
Pete let out a chuckle like he'd just been told some great news. “I did that once back when I was your age.”
“How did that turn out for you, Pete?” I asked.
I glanced at the cigarette between his fingers and noticed a gold band squeezing his ring finger. “Been married for twenty years now,” he replied giving me a proud smile.
“That's good to hear.”
After a few moments of silence as the two of us finished our cigarettes, Pete dropped his and put his hands in his pockets. “I better get going,” he said pulling out his keys.
“It was really good meeting you, Pete,” I said holding my hand out to him.
“Good luck to you, kid,” he replied with a shake. “I hope you find her and hold onto her.”
“Thanks,” I nodded. “Take care.”
I watched as Pete climbed up into the cab of his semi and fired up the engine. It was loud enough to make my teeth rattle. I got into my own car and turned the key. The engine sputtered for a second before pathetically turning over. As Pete headed out of the parking lot, his truck let out a goodbye honk. I hit the horn on my own wheel but nothing happened. The kid had neglected to tell me my horn didn't work. Oh well. I flashed my headlights once then pulled out after him and got back on the freeway. I guess that diner hadn't been so bad after all.
After driving in complete silence for over three hours and just having crossed over into Indiana, I decided to give another one of that kid's CDs a chance. I opened the glove box and pulled out one that looked a little more reasonable.
This one I was able to stand and even play through a few times as I drove through miles and miles of farm land. By the third time through, I found myself singing along almost word for word to every song.
As I drove, I glanced in my rear view mirror and saw the big bag of cash sitting in my backseat. It was weird having this much money in my possession. Though at the same time, knowing it was my mom's money, I couldn't help but feel like she was sitting there beside it, her arm resting protectively on the bag.
“Get your hand off my money,” I said to her, my eyes meeting hers through the rear view mirror.
“Your money?” she smiled. “Do you know how greedy you sound right now? I thought I taught you better than that.”
I sighed. “Right, right,” I muttered. “It's just that you're dead. You left me that money. I didn't really want it in the first place but I kind of need it to find Emily.”
“I'm glad I could help,” my mom said looking out her window at the fields flying past us.
I slammed my hands down on the wheel. “You have no part in this,” I yelled at her. “I would have found one way or another to get there. Don't think you have anything over me.”
Mom let out a chuckle, not taking her eyes from the passing landscape. “Oh, Tyler. You have always tried to be so independent.”
“It's not like you would let me anyway.”
“I remember when you were really young, you tried to build your own tree house in the backyard and told me you were going to live there so you could do whatever you wanted.”
I rolled my eyes. “I know, I broke my arm and my leg. I was there, Mom, you don't have to remind me.”
“I'm just saying, Tyler.”
“Yeah, I know what you're just saying,” I said cutting her off. “But I'm doing this on my own. I plan on paying everything back into your account and then I will be done with you. I'll never touch that stupid money again. But I will not just let Emily stay missing. I'm not so stubborn.” I looked back at my mom again. “Not like some people I know.”
This time she met my eyes, staring coldly sideways at me. “That is the only way to make it in this world,” she finally said turning her attention back to the world outside.
“Is that how you made it, Mom?” I asked. “Oh wait, you died before you hit forty five. How did that work out for you?”
Again my mom didn't say anything but just glared out the window. “I worked hard to give you everything you deserved,” she finally said.
“No you didn't, Mom,” I replied calmly. “You worked hard to give yourself what you thought you deserved. After being left alone, your parents telling you that you would never amount to anything. You just had to show them up.”
“And I did.”
“No, you just showed them that you had no idea what you were doing. And that you were scared.” I looked at her again in the mirror. “And now I'm trying to give Emily what she deserves, to be rescued. And if I have to use your money to do it, I will.”
I took my eyes away from her for a second and changed lanes. When I looked in the mirror again, she was gone. I turned up the volume on the stereo to drain out any resonating thoughts I might have had about her. My ears and head were filled with music.
By the time I had hit the Iowa border, the sun was long gone, my eyelids were drooping and my stomach was growling, threatening to jump out and find its own food. I had already gone through all my bags of jerky and a whole bottle of ibuprofen and now I was just looking for a sign. Anything to tell me where I could find something to eat.
Not five miles down the road, a bright neon light cut through the darkness like a shining beacon. Like a lighthouse to a ship that had been searching days for land. I was hungry. I pulled off the freeway, following the sign like it was the north star.
When I pulled into the parking lot, I found it was another truck stop, another diner with motor oil coffee and moley waitresses. I didn't care though. Tasteless, blobby food sounded like the best thing in the world at that moment.
I walked in the door and was hit immediately with the smell of cigarettes and unwashed bodies. The smells mixed in with the scent of coffee and fried food. I took a seat at a booth in a far corner and rested my elbows on the table with my palms pressed against my eyes. The conversation I had had with my mom flooded back into my mind. Had she really thought she was doing me a favor by being the person she was? Did she really think that a good mother would ignore her child and force him to be one way when he wanted to be another? I thought about Paul and his family again. I remembered meeting them once when we were in college.
They came to visit from Portland just to see how he was doing. As Paul and I stood on the grounds, he told me about how his dad had always been a bit strict with him, always pushing him to succeed in school and sports even though all he wanted was to become a writer. Which was what he was now going to school fo
r, though his father had never been too happy about it. So when his parents climbed out of their car in front of us, I was surprised to find a charming looking couple, his dad smiling, crinkling the skin around his eyes, his hair graying.
“Hello, Son,” he had said putting his arms around Paul in a hug.
Paul hugged back. “Hey Dad, Mom.” His mother put her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. “This is Tyler,” he said gesturing to me.
His dad put his hand out and I shook it. “Good to meet you, Tyler,” he had said. “I'm Alex, this is my wife, Judy. We've heard a lot about you.”
“Have you?” I asked looking at Paul. “Good things, I hope.”
The man's eyes crinkled again as he smiled. “Of course.”
“Paul's told us about how close the two of you have gotten.”
I looked to Paul. He was standing with his hands in his pockets looking down at the ground. Oh yeah, Paul, I had thought to myself, these people are absolutely terrible.
“So Dad,” Paul started. “Why don't the two of us show you guys around?”
We had spent the rest of the morning giving this parents a tour. His mom had her arm linked with Paul's and his dad followed close behind with his hands clasped behind his back. I trailed behind them watching these parents show excitement for their child. I couldn't help but feel jealous and a little angry at Paul for talking about them as if they were the meanest people in the world. It made me wish I knew my dad. Actually, it made me wish my mom wasn't so “independent” and “didn't need a man in her life”. As we were leaving Paul's creative writing class, Judy turned to me. “So, Tyler, what are you here for?” she asked. “Are you getting your English degree as well?”