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di's Insite
A True Story on the Road
He was coming out of the post office door as I hurried in to get out of the heat.
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The jeans and short sleeve shirt he wore seemed ordinary enough, but I really wasn't paying much attention. I was thinking that finally the nagging thought that had been chasing me for days would be put to rest-- I would get these letters out of my purse at last. His voice stopped me and I had to redirect my thoughts, at first not sure he was talking to me.
"How do you like your van?" a deep voice cut through the sunshine and my reluctance to slow down.
"Uh, just fine." I reached for the door with my foot to keep it open. He was tall, that is all I remember, though my thought was why was he asking me this?
"That a '92?"
"No, it is not." Irritation seeped into my thoughts. A man wanting to talk to a woman he just saw hurrying past him? It seemed kinda strange. I had run past many at times who seemed drugged or at least mentally ill. Perhaps he was one too.
"I got me a '92 van recently. They are nice and roomy."
I did not respond. Why was this guy talking to me? With a bright lime green t-shirt, shocking pink cotton pants, purple canvas shoes, hair long and needing a cut, I did not feel attractive.
If he had talked to me sitting at a cafe counter or even standing near a rest area's entrance, I might have looked at him differently. Talking to strangers has never deterred me. I like finding out where others are headed when driving around the country.
My sigh of resignation as I entered the cool indoors was more of regret than any fear. Where was this guy when I had time or needed to just rest and talk the other day? Why was it the timing was always off for meeting anyone? I did not glance back at him so figured he had hurried on to his van.
Letters on their way to Australia, my eyes scanned the parking lot as I walked out the door. No one waiting. Darn! Now the nagging thought entered my mind that I had passed up an opportunity to discover a fellow traveler or at least another outgoing person. He probably was safe. My Mom's words entered my mind, "Now don't talk to strangers." I had never listened much when growing up; I was too busy thinking of the next question I wanted to ask as I impatiently waited for her to be through talking to me. Polite southern children did not interrupt adults talking. I knew she meant dangers lurked out there---somewhere. I never knew just where. All the people I talked to had such interesting days---they were doing or going. I could not talk back to her so I just listened and nodded my head in agreement.
Unlocking my van door, I wondered why my van caught his eye. It was dusty from the road, in need of a new paint job and a ragged edged flag still hung on the back door from the Memorial Holiday attempt at recognition for road travelers. I made a mental check to remove it when arriving at my next destination.
Promising myself that I would remember next time to slow down and listen to someone talking, I slid up on the seat. Turning the motor and air on, I sat for a minute and reflected how maybe that man just might have been lonely. Was I his attempt at finally getting his courage up to talk to a woman? After all, the sun was shining, it was a public place and lots of people were around. What was I afraid of? Aww, nothing I decided as I put the van in gear. I just was caught off guard.
I backed out of the parking slot and sighed again. I knew Mom's word's had not stopped me before. Driving onto the highway, I made a mental note to slow down next time and smile. Maybe he needed just that....only that.
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© 1999 di
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