Rest Stop

Awarded First Place in Scribbler’s 2021 Flash Fiction Contest

Featured in Scribbler’s Blog

The car emits a steady growl as it idles in front of the rest stop. Bugs dance in the spotlight of the lampposts; you and the conifers their only audience. You think about turning up the radio or scrolling through his texts from her one more time, but you don’t want him to know you weren’t actually sleeping. Then you might have to talk about the weekend and even though the back seat, filled with camping gear, is evidence of time well spent, you and him know differently. So, you sit and wait and listen to a muffler he promised to fix weeks ago. You think about making an online appointment with a mechanic on your phone right now, but you’re as eager to fix things as he is.

The car door opens and you go back to sleeping, praying the dome light doesn’t give you away. He backs the car out of the parking space. You don’t need to open your eyes to see him rest his hand behind your headrest, twisting his torso to look out the back window. You have a rear-view camera but he never uses it. He’s used to doing it this way, so he’s going to keep doing it this way. It’s fine. You’re done asking him to change. The car accelerates and the radio disappears under the muffler’s announcement of departure from the rest stop, forcing you to listen to what’s broken for the rest of the ride home. You turn your head and open your eyes just wide enough to see his face illuminated by a passing headlight. His jaw is clenched as he looks out at the dark, lonely highway. You wonder what he’s thinking about. You wonder if it’s you or her. You decide you don’t care.