Of all places, they’d met at a truck stop,
Both heading west through central Missouri
On a bare stretch of Interstate 44
Two small hours shy of midnight
Gassing up, she, her Lexus, he, his
aging (but still reliable) Hyundai, Hank
glanced, gawked, nodded, looked away.
It was Eden that started the conversation, offered
to buy him a cup of coffee. They parked their cars, braved
the truck stop coffee, surprisingly tolerable. Midnight came
and went and they were still talking. They hated
all the same things: Obamacare, gun control, bicycle helmets,
the flurry of new diseases invented each year. They loved
many of the same things too. Decent coffee, fishing, a good book,
American beer. Hank would never have wished for a woman
like Eden. Professional, smart, confident, and so tall.
Out of his league.
But clear and light blue eyes told him otherwise.
They shared a room in the cheap motel next door.
Gene’s. Open All Night. Free Cable. Vacancies.
Hank was headed for Amarillo. A new job. A fresh start.
Eden though, lived in New York City. She preferred
driving to flying. So coffee and a motel room were
all they shared, before a quick kiss goodbye. And a wave.