The Rest Stop in the Center of the Universe

With half a cup of a two-hour old latte and the windows cracked to let the frigid midnight air in, I pulled into the rest stop at Mile 81.

The rundown brick walled building was about the size of a shipping container, and was tucked into an opening in the lush forest that bordered the highway. I backed into one of the six open parking spots, the formerly white lines faded into the asphalt. From the lot, I could smell the salt of the ocean just over the cliffside. If I stood really still and held my breath, I could almost hear the waves crashing against onto the shore.

The rest stop at Mile 81 had an opening on either side with rusty metal doors marked by wordless signs indicating restrooms reserved by gender. The warm yellow light behind the door flickered twice with an incessant buzzing that I would not have noticed had it not been amplified by the stark quiet of the night.

I stepped out of Dad's old Toyota, letting the door slam behind me. I didn't bother to lock the car. There was nothing to steal inside. That, and I was the only resident of the Mile 81 rest stop by the looks of it.

Headlights flashed by from the road, illuminating the rest stop. For just a moment, I could make out the bleached graffiti scattered over the sand colored brick. To anyone else, the Mile 81 rest stop looked like an average highway facility, one that you'd really only pull into in the case of a 7/11 Big Gulp emergency, or piss-poor planning from your kids who promised they didn't have to go back at the Taco Bell fifty miles North.

To anyone else, the Mile 81 rest stop was insignificant.

I leaned against the hood of the Camry, the heat from the engine warming the back of my legs as I held my gaze on the rest stop. Waiting. Watching.

As I brushed the thirteenth mosquito off of my thighs, cursing myself internally for wearing denim shorts on the drive, the rest stop was flooded by light once more. Instead of flying by, the beater with squeaky brakes pulled into the parking lot, bathing the asphalt in dim red as it turned into the last parking spot at the end of the row. The brake lights stayed on for another moment before the car turned off, leaving us in the dark once more.

From the corner of my eye, I followed as the driver's door swung open, and a man stepped out. He tipped his head back, finishing off the last few drops from a bottle with a label I couldn't make out, and promptly tossed the glass back into his car.

Another car passed from the highway, and for one second, I was able to make out his face as he stepped around his car. His greasy dark hair was plastered to his forehead which glistened with sweat. He had piercing blue eyes that flashed back at me in the passing headlights. His thin face was framed with an unkempt shadow blurring the line between stubble and bristles.

I didn't like the way I could feel his gaze on me.

He rested his back on the trunk of his car, and pulled something shiny out of his pocket. With a click, a small flame erupted from his lighter, and he quickly held it to a cigarette before balancing it between his lips. He held out the box of Marlboros toward me, and I finally turned to face him, giving him a curt smile and a short shake of my head. I didn't smoke. That was Halley's thing.

Dad never liked that Halley smoked. He complained about the lingering smell in his car that she borrowed every weekend, and grumbled about the stomped out cigarette butts in the driveway. Now on weeknights, I sat out in the driveway and stared at the dark spots in the concrete, dreading the day that they would fade.

"From around here?" The man called out, tucking the box back into his jeans.

"Yeah," I lied, silently begging for the man to just get back into his car and leave. "I just needed some air."

The man hummed in response, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Interesting spot for some air."

I nodded toward the restrooms. "After using those, you kinda need to let things air out."

The man snorted, shaking his head. "Funny," he commented. "Guess I'll hold it until the next town over."

I crossed my arms over my chest, goosebumps running down my spine. I wasn't sure if it was from the cold coastal breeze, or from the indication that the man hadn't really stopped to use the restroom.

I debated leaving. But after making it to my destination following the six hour drive, I didn't feel ready to get back on the road. Especially knowing how significant this stop was.

"Why'd you stop here?" He suddenly asked. The question caught me off guard, enough to short circuit my brain which was unfortunately running off of three hours of sleep, a gas station Slim Jim, and half a latte.

"A lot of people stop here."

"A lot of people pass through here," he corrected, "but you stopped. Why did you stop here?"

I watched the ashes drop from his cigarette. In a strange way, possibly fueled by the tranquility of the woods around us, and the beaming full moon above, I wanted to be honest with the rest stop stranger. I wanted to tell him everything. About how Dad and Halley had started fighting more over the last year. About how Halley started taking long weekend trips up North to see friends that I never really knew the names of. About how Halley saved up $3000 for a crappy used car because Dad stopped giving her the keys to the Camry.

About how the Mile 81 rest stop was the last place she was seen alive.

"I'm... looking for someone." The words fell out before I could bundle them into my arms and choke them back down like I'd trained myself to do. Dad didn't know I was taking this trip. Dad didn't know that I was tracking Halley from the moment I left the driveway. Each calculated stop being one that she had taken four months ago.

The man was quiet as he took another drag. The silence stretched long enough that I thought maybe he wouldn't respond at all. But then he slowly nodded.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "You and me both."

I turned fully toward him after that. "My sister," I watched him carefully. "This was the last place she was seen alive before she disappeared."

The light from his cigarette illuminated the deep bags under his eyes as he glanced toward me. As he met my gaze, I recognized the look in his eyes. The sadness that crawled over his shoulders, and the grief that weighed him down. I recognized the way his eyebrows scrunched in the center, plastered in an upward angle. I knew the dullness in his stare. I knew it all.

It was all I saw in the mirror when I looked at myself.

"A lot of people go missing here." He whispered, almost too low for my ears to catch.

"So I've heard." I gave him a small shrug. "Still offering?"

Confusion washed over his face for a moment before he realized what I'd asked for, and he pulled out the pack of cigarettes again. I crossed over to him, taking the wrapped tobacco between my fingers like I'd seen Halley do all those times before, and let the man light the other end. He watched as I pressed the dry paper to my lips, inhaling deeply.

The smoke funneled into my airway, wrapping around my lungs, and in a pinch, pulling tight. I sputtered a cough, my ears burning in embarrassment as I attempted to hold it in.

The man laughed, a raspy sound like he hadn't laughed in ages. "First time, I see."

I nodded, my eyes watering as I coughed out as much as I could before coming to rest beside him. "Thanks."

"No problem, highway stranger." He smiled. This time, it actually reached his eyes. "You know, I was a little nervous when I pulled in here. I thought you might be some midnight murderer or something."

I scoffed, my lips pulling into a shocked grin. "Me?!" I gestured to myself in all my half-planned glory. My denim shorts were almost covered by my oversized brown and gold flannel borrowed from Halley's closet. My battered Crocs, not even set in sport mode. "I thought you were some midnight murderer!"

He chuckled. "We should have known," a sad smile crossed his face. "Who else would be sitting here at 3am?"

He had a point. Even Halley was spotted walking back to her car unharmed, past the chipped wooden information board plastered in posters of missing people, and pulling out of the rest stop to get back on the highway. Disappearing into the curtain of trees beyond the view of the rest stop camera.

She wasn't seen after that. Not on the highway cams. Not on security cameras of passing businesses. Somewhere between Mile 81 marker and the next town over, she was gone. Thirty miles of unknown.

But here, at the Mile 81 rest stop in the center of the universe, I could feel parts of her. I knew she would have stopped to listen to the ocean waves. I knew she would have had one last smoke before getting back on the road. I knew she would have scowled at the overfilled public trash cans before throwing her fast food bags in the backseat of the car.

My eyes burned again. But this time, it wasn't from the cigarette smoke or the pinching of my airway. Hot tears blurred my vision, and dripped onto the apples of my cheeks, numbed by the icy breeze.

The man didn't even look my way as his voice cracked. "I know," he mumbled, looking back at the rest stop. "I know."