He pulls into the station, something he wasn’t so quick to do back then. The dial’s been teetering on E since he left school, and he doesn’t yet have a sense for how serious that is with this truck. He’s sat in some driver’s seats where it was more flirtation than warning, and others where it really meant business. Best not to test it. He knows more than he used to about what’s good for him.
He swipes his card and leans back against the door, letting it run. Another step out of that time when he’d walk inside and hand the attendant just a few loose bills, enough to get him there and back between now and when the light comes on again in a day or two. Life, and his outlook on life—it’s both, and that’s important—are different now.
A woman walks out of the glass doors, coffee in hand, and gets into a red sedan parked in front of the store. Another leaves her SUV with the pump running while she walks around the side of the building, toward the bathroom. County workers climb out of a big truck. They wear blue work pants with neon rings on the cuffs, and they empty out the dumpster on the periphery. Lives sharing edges, just for a moment.
Now they’re closing doors, turning keys, shifting gears, merging, accelerating. Disappearing.
He wonders about their gods.
What do they worship? Where are their temples? What do they take on faith, day in and day out?
What forces carry them to and from?
He thinks of stars, and how he’s been told that the ones he sees in the sky at night are not actually there anymore. Just holograms of old explosions. To look up is to see something that already happened, something that’s gone now.
He asks himself: when is that not true?
Who can he possibly look at with fresh eyes? Where is the place not shaped by traveler’s logs already written, pictures already taken? What on earth is not known by a version of itself that used to be there?
The pump handle clicks, and the meter stops running. He gives it one more squeeze. It’s a good feeling, to roll away especially full.
He looks around before he climbs back in, and for an instant, nobody here has a past. It’s as close as they’ll ever get to being blank slates.
If you enjoy my writing, please consider signing up for a paid subscription or dropping a tip via Venmo (@Jonathan-Neeley-2) or PayPal (neeley87@gmail.com). In more ways than one, your support helps make this whole thing happen.
I’ve also got new writing groups starting in May. If you’re into creativity and connecting with other humans, you’ll enjoy this.
Happy Friday,
Jonathan
Filling up
I only hope to write as well as you someday, Jonathan. Your words flow so beautifully.
The physicist in me can't help this, but the stars we see are mostly all still stars. Sure their light is old, but their lifetimes are much older. Some of them are blown up, but most of the stars we see are still there. Its amazing to think about the fact that we can see these things and figure out so much information about them. We can predict based on the light we observe the age of the star, the type of star, when it will die, how it will die. So cool, yet, we can't figure out how to move on from that damn gas station. Stupid humans and our tiny lifetimes. We're like the hottest biggest stars. We use up all our fuel really quickly and leave destruction in our wake. Sorry that turned. Happy Friday!