The Exit

There is nothing quite like the moment when your exhaustion turns to slumber. Twenty-four hours of being awake have turned my eyelids to lead. Closing them to sleep is almost euphoric. Brrrrrrrrrt, brrrrrrrrt, brrrrrrrrrrrrrt!

I wake up and turn the steering wheel to the left to avoid the ditch along the road. My car jerks too far and crosses the left lane and over the center line. Pulling the wheel right, the car swings back into my lane. A swift straightening of the wheel keeps me safely on the road. I need to get off the road before I kill someone. I thought a consistent intake of energy drinks would keep me awake, but I don’t think they’re meant to keep someone awake for this long. A car passes me on the left. They are riding the center line, keeping as far away as possible from me. I peek over and see a young couple staring at me. They have a “what the fuck” look in their eyes. They must have seen my chaotic maneuvers and probably assume I’m drunk. That’s all the more reason to find somewhere to stop. I can’t have them calling the police on me. I can’t afford to be pulled over.

Fortunately, I see a sign for a rest area ahead. It’s only a few miles. I can stay awake for a few more minutes, especially now that a jolt of adrenaline has hit me. The passing car calmly changes lanes and is now in front of me. Shit, I do not want them to stop at that rest area. I’m not in the mood to deal with their judgment. For the next two minutes, I debate what to do if they stop at the rest area. I could try for the next exit, but I have no idea if there will be any place to actually rest. There hasn’t been much on this road for the last couple of hours. As the car approaches the entrance, it seems to drift to the right toward the rest area. I decide to keep going, but their car speeds past the rest-area exit, so I slide into the exit lane and enter the rest area.

A long, winding road leads into the parking lot. I pull into a spot that is close to the building. The lights and the haze create an orange glow that permeates the area. Stepping out of the car, the bite of the crisp air jolts my weary eyes awake. I lift my arms into the air and arch my back to stretch out my muscles. A large expanse of trees squeezes the rest area on all sides, hiding the highway from which I just came. I head toward the building to pee and check out the vending machine situation. The small brick building sits in the haze looking as if it has a halo. Dirt islands with picnic tables dot the surrounding lawn.  

Walking inside, I’m assaulted by the white fluorescents. If half the lights weren’t faded or flickering, the entryway would be blinding. Instead the dim lights cast soft shadows throughout. Behind a glass case hangs an old faded map of the state on the wall. I check the map to see where I am, but the obligatory “you are here” dot is not there. I check my phone. I don’t have a signal. Even the GPS is not connected. My notifications show the dozens of calls I’ve missed. Regardless, I can’t be more than two or three hours from my destination. I’ll text her when I get there. All the energy drinks I’ve consumed are eager for release, so I head to the restroom. The urinals are floor mounted with rounded bowls that resemble an upside-down tear drop. I’ve driven this road dozens of times and have never visited this rest area. These unique urinals are nowhere in my memory. The heavy porcelain sink hangs on the wall. Its weight is supported by two thin chrome legs, one at each front corner. Turning the hot water faucet, I wash my hands and return to the lobby.  

One lone vending machine rests in a corner of the small lobby. Each selection has its own pull handle to dispense the candy. I’ve only ever seen this type of machine in old movies. My heart was set on a honeybun or other processed baked goods, but my nine options include a Twin Bing, Salted Nut Roll, 5th Avenue bar and other unappealing choices. I couldn’t even buy something if I wanted; I’d actually need coins to purchase something. It lacks both a credit card reader and a slot for bills. I rest my forearm and head on the machine and sigh. I’ve been driving for hours. I left my dorm just after 3 pm. If I had planned better, I would have left earlier. After weeks of debate, I finally made the decision to take this trip. From behind me a squeak, squeak, squeak echoes through the empty lobby. Startled, I turn around to see an old man, the janitor, pushing a cart toward the restroom. “Good evening or good morning, depending on your point of view.”

“Yes, sir. It certainly is” he responds. He moves so slowly and deliberately. The cart seems to be as much a walker for him as it is a way to carry his cleaning supplies. His dark skin is plowed over with deep wrinkles. Despite his age, broad shoulders support his short frame. He shuffles into the restroom. Squeak, squeak, squeak.

Leaving the building empty-handed, I go to my car and open the trunk. A cooler holds a few remaining energy drinks. As I grab two, I see my backpack. My chest drops into my stomach with the reminder. I need to head out if I want to get there by sunrise, so I close the trunk. “WHAT THE FUCK!” Standing at the side of the car is the janitor. “What are you doing? You fuck’n scared the shit out of me.” I don’t even know how he got out here so fast.  

“Sorry sir. I just thought I might help you out. I was thinking that you might want to get rid of some trash. A road trip has a way of creating an awful mess.” He holds out a garbage bag.  

“No, I don’t have any garbage,” I say rudely. “I have to leave.” I get in the car and start the engine. The janitor just stands there. He barely steps away as I back up my car and pull away. The road leaving the rest area is just as long and windy if not more so. At most, I can only see about twenty feet ahead at any given time. After turning what I assume is the last corner that leads back to the highway, I arrive back at the rest area. Stopping the car in the middle of the lot, I wonder how in the hell I got back here. I must have missed a turnoff and taken a road that loops back. The road out was so dark, I’m sure I missed something. Now with the brights on, I head toward the exit again. Moving slowly, I look for the turnoff I missed. The windy road snakes through the dense woods. Rounding a corner, I end up back at the rest area. I sit there in silence for several moments, my head resting on the steering wheel. I punch the gas. The car veers left, then right, speeding around each corner. The tires squeal as I reach a straight stretch of road. Finally, the exit. I stomp on the brakes as I come up to the rest area again. “FUUUUUUUCK!”

I grab a flashlight out of the glove box and head to the woods toward the highway. The road has to be this way. The light peers into the dark, dense trees. My angry steps crunch the leaves and twigs as I weave around the trees. It should only take a few minutes, but I’ve been walking for ten. I feel so lost. Luckily, when I turn around I can see the orange haze of the rest area. I trudge back toward the light. When I clear the tree line, I see my car, running with the lights still on. I check my phone again. I still don’t have any type of connection.

I’ll just drive out the entrance. I turn the car around and drive toward the way I came in. A “wrong way” sign marks the road into the woods. Again, I drive slowly and deliberately. There are no hidden turn offs. There is just a single road. I’ll have to be careful when I reach the highway, but I need to be on the road. It can’t be. An orange glow looms ahead. My car pulls into the rest area again. I’m facing the same way I originally entered with the building to the right. Rage manifests itself. A scream is lost in the woods.  

After popping the trunk, I step out of the car slowly. I hold onto the roof and stagger to the back, my backpack. Leaning with both hands on the frame, I stare down. My heart slows, yet I feel each beat as if it will burst through my chest. THUMP . . . . . . THUMP . . . . . . THUMP! It will have to happen here. Grabbing the pack, I sling it over my shoulder and head into the building. I just need some water, then I’ll go into the woods. My walk inside is silent except for my heart. The stooped janitor is swinging a mop back and forth. His broad shoulders are clearly visible under his pale blue shirt. “Hey!” I yell. “How in the hell do you get out of this place!”

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t quite know what you mean?”

“How do I get back to the highway?” 

His eyebrows rise, and he turns his head to the side as he looks at the ceiling. “Why, sir, you just take the ramp. The exit is clearly marked.”

The heat builds in my stomach, rises through my chest, and creates a pulsing in my temples. “That’s bullshit! I’ve tried leaving. I took the ramp, I drove slowly, I turned on my brights, I walked through the woods, I went out the entry ramp, I keep ending up back here.” He just looks back at me like I’m crazy. “I just wanted to get there, be at that spot, it was our spot . . . now I’m here . . . nowhere . . . I wanted it to be there . . . I can’t do this another day.”

The janitor’s once squinty, aged eyes have changed. They widen as they look down at my hand. I look down. The gun that was in my backpack is now in my hand. I expect fear, but his eyes look deep into mine, drawing me into his. Speaking softly, “Sir, are you okay?”

“I need to leave,” I whisper. Bending my elbow, the gun starts to slowly rise.  

Taking a small step forward, the janitor reaches out, “Son, you don’t need to do this.”

The barrel reaches my chin.  

Taking another step closer. “Hand that to me, please son.”

I close my eyes . . . “BRRRRRRP, BRRRRRRP, BRRRRRRP.” The moment is broken by the sound of my phone. “BRRRRRRP, BRRRRRRP, BRRRRRRP.” The soft ring might as well be an explosion in the silence of the rest area.  

The janitor takes another step closer, just out of arm’s reach. “BRRRRRRP, BRRRRRRP, BRRRRRRP.” He asks, “Don’t you want to answer that? It must be important if you’re getting called so early in the morning.” With my free hand, I take it out of my pocket and look. It’s my mom. “BRRRRRRP, BRRRRRRP, BRRRRRRP.” I hesitate. Silence.  

“Mom?” . . . “I’m sorry” . . . “I turned off my location so you couldn’t track me” . . . “How did you know?” . . . “Dad and I went there every summer” . . . “No, there’s no other way” . . . “Mom, I’m so lost without him” . . . “I miss him so much” . . . “I love you too” . . . “I can’t” . . . “I don’t want to talk to him” . . . “Hey, bro” . . . “I love you too” . . . “I’d like to see you too” . . . “Where?” . . . ”OK.”

Standing right next to me is the janitor. My hand, now lowered, is covered by his two hands. His left hand is under my wrist, while the right rests on top of the gun. I squeeze the handle, tightening my grip. His hold on me is strong. “Go see your family, son.” My grip loosens. He takes the gun out of my hands. With his arms hugging me, he whispers “go.”

“I can’t find my way out,” I tell him, looking for an excuse.

“The sun is coming up. You shouldn’t have any trouble now,” he says reassuringly.

“But I don’t even know where I am. How far is New Haven?” 

“You’re in luck. It’s the next exit once you’re back on the road. You can’t miss it.”

As I turn to leave, he throws the gun into the trash bin on his cart. He says, “Good luck, son,” as he shuffles down the lobby with his cart, “squeak, squeak, squeak.” Once in my car, I stare at the exit sign. After a brief hesitation, I press the gas. Again, the road winds through the woods. The rising sun lights the way. After a moment, I merge back onto the highway.