By: J. Elizabeth Lawrence
Day One
The first post-it read:
Dearly beloved I have dearly departed.
She pushed the bright yellow square against his door and wandered out of the house. The sun was glowing orange on the horizon, announcing the new day. It had been a year and 2,000 miles since they had braved this particular trip but the reasons for going were vastly different this time. She wasn’t running away she was returning home.
The speed limit sign read 55 as her car took the curves at 70. Her car swung around another bend as it climbed altitude. She was quickly racing around the mountain side, trying to outrun a setting sun. Where is this darkness coming from? The clouds rolled across the winter sky and the sun was already past its peak. In the distance she saw a sign that stated something about being “scenic.” Wasn’t everything scenic out here?
She pulled into a gravely lot that sat in front of the mountain side. Scenic. There were partial caves visible and a spectrum of red and browns shooting across the stone face. This was the scenic view; a young girl in a bright white hello kitty beanie taking pictures of a mountain with an archaic film device. The camera hummed and pushed out a rectangle of white and grey. She pulled out her pad of yellow post-it notes and scrawled the same message in black ink. She peeled off a piece of yellow paper and carefully pressed the sticky side down on to the back of the sign. She smiled.
The back road seemed to blur and then eventually melted into a highway. There were speed limits to adhere to now. There were traffic laws to follow, state troopers to respect, and other cars on the highway. Adin could no longer be as liberal with her speed.
Adin was becoming a weary traveler fast and one way she combated the tired, road eyes was to stop periodically at gas stations and rest stops. The pumps were full as she pulled into the awkwardly shaped lot. She considered her options of getting gas or peeing first, she decided to go for a quick jaunt inside the building before waiting in line for precious gasoline.
She turned around in a circle trying to locate the bathrooms. What would be in store this time? Would there be toilet paper? Would there be a dirty diaper? Maybe a tampon flung in the corner of a stall. The disgusting scenarios were endless when you were on a road trip.
She located a sign that pointed to the back of the building. She followed the arrows and came across a lounge designated for “Experienced Drivers.” Was she inexperienced? The men that sat around the tables in mismatched chairs were older truckers. “Experienced Drivers” was just a euphemism for truck driver. As she sat in the stall she pulled out her pack of post-it notes and scrawled across the middle “Don’t drop the soap—experienced drivers.” She smiled; even if it didn’t make sense, it amused her.
An hour later she saw signs for a rest stop and thought it would be more appropriate to call it a stretch stop. There was a star pattern along the floor in the tile. The lone star state kept with its star theme to the very end. Adin had scribbled down her forth post-it note for the day “What is a lone star?” and stuck it on a vending machine near the parking lot.
The sun was quickly setting into the winter horizon. Everything seemed to be getting colder by the minute and Adin was now on the lookout for a hotel. $29.99 could be spotted from the highway. She pulled off.
Adin was tired and looked around the lot. It was packed with cars and minivans in transit. Inside the motel lobby a thin man covered in prison tattoos smiled at her. He looked like he could have been in his early thirties, but years of drinking and chain smoking had left his skin and lips ragged and aged.
After he checked her in, he handed a key to room 250 and showed her on the map where it was located. She pulled the car around the side of the building and began unloading luggage and the dog. Adin slipped the key card through the slot. She pushed through using her knee and shoulder as she dropped the bags to the floor, tossing the small dog onto a king sized bed. The dog bounced and skidded across the slippery, green bedspread. Adin had let the door shut and latch behind her before she could hit a light.
She reached behind her and fumbled her hand along the wall searching for a switch. The room was dingy. The mirror was streaked from smoke and poor cleaning. The carpet had faded spots, but overall this room looked like any motel you’d stay in for under thirty dollars a night, a step up from hourly rentals. At least there wasn’t a smell.
Adin turned on the television. The channel was rapidly telling the audience about the birth of Jesus Christos and the impending holiday spirit. There were children laughing and rapid footsteps moving up and down the corridors of the motel. Time for sleep.
Day Two
Interstate 40 would never end. Texas would never end. Up ahead she saw a sign for the world’s largest cross which was amusing since the world’s largest cross is also in another state further North. Adin pulled off of the interstate onto an unpaved and bumpy road to the church and cross. “You’d think with all the donation money they get they’d pave their fucking driveway.” The dog gave no comment.
She rolled into the parking lot and stopped a few feet from the curb. There was another family there running around what appeared to be a garden of praying statues. The cross rose into the cloudless, blue sky. She stepped out into the chill air.
She wasn’t sure if heyzues creasetows, as the Spanish channel told her his name was, would approve of something so obscenely large in his honor. As she drove away, one of the children saw a yellow square flapping in the wind near one of the praying statues. It read “Heyzues didn’t die on a cross this big.”
The hours melted into one another. It was two or three a.m. when Adin stopped at a station again. It was small and dingy looking. There was a car parked in the far corner of the lot with frost creeping at the edges of the windshield.
Warm air rushed over her as she wandered through the front doors into the convenience section of the station. To the left were two old women playing automated slot machines. They didn’t notice Adin. The pictures spun in front of them as they fed the machines quarter after quarter. They probably would never notice the yellow post-it on the bathroom wall that said; “Lady Luck was here, too bad she didn’t flush.”
Her heart rose when she saw the sign that announced her entry into Ohio. She was almost there. She had been chugging liters of caffeinated beverages and felt the urge to make one more stop before arriving at her final destination. There was a sign for a rest stop ahead and she pulled off of the exit.
When she came to the lot it was empty and several of the lights were burnt out. She quickly ran into the women’s side of the square hovel. The room was frigid and dirty. Ohio did not have the best public facilities in the country.
As Adin left the bathroom she paused by the pillars in front of the building. She stuck her final post-it note outside of the men’s restroom. Snow was gently falling and a slight breeze rustled the loose bits of hair around her face. She pulled her hood over her Hello Kitty beanie. Adin took a step forward but never made it off the curb. A hand wrapped around her mouth. The barren trees swayed in the strengthening wind with snow beginning to stick to the branches.
Day 3
The next morning a minivan pulled into a nearly empty lot of a rest stop. There was a small car with a tiny dog standing in the driver’s side seat. The next hour became only flashes of memories in those that had unfortunately stopped there that day. They would remember the small dog that wanted out of a locked car. They would remember the way the sun lit the drying blood that was streaked across the pavement. They would always remember the pad of yellow post-it notes in the girl’s pocket.
