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Roadside Rest: a Creative Nonfiction Cameo

From the cabin of my Freelander, I watched as the F-150 pulled its silver bullet through the gas station parking lot and onto the dirt-paved lot beside it. A tall woman in a basic blue shell and floral skirt suitable for travel emerged from the passenger side of the argon-blue truck. She was physically able but moved with the care of an octogenarian; my guess at her age was confirmed in my mind by the white of her long, straight hair. She moved with ageless grace, royalty on a road trip.

Carrying an insulated water bottle by its handle, the woman stepped carefully to the back entrance of the Airstream. She opened the door and leaned in to set the bottle on the top step, freeing her hands to grasp the grab bars on either side and pull herself up into the vehicle. She took her time climbing three steps, placing both feet firmly on each before moving on up. At the top, she carefully removed one sturdy shoe and then the other, tucking both neatly out of the way but still accessible for departure. She turned to pick up her water bottle, then advanced into the RV and out of my sight.

But as she negotiated the transfer from one vehicle to another, a stocky gentleman with a fringe of hair as white as hers emerged from the driver’s side of the F-150, coolly rounded the front of the truck, and followed her to the back entrance of the Airstream. He held the door as his wife, I presumed, climbed into the trailer. He waited with patience, his eyes measuring her every move. Octogenarian or not, she wasn’t likely to fall. Still, he was there just in case.

Once she moved out of my sight into her little home on wheels, the man entered behind her. I imagined they planned to enjoy a roadside lunch. However, as the man turned to pull the door closed, he looked straight at me—and winked.

* * *

Photo by Mario Scheibl on Unsplash

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