Freedom

  She was single, by choice, and 28 years old.  She was the manager of a thriving music store.  She worked long hours at the cost of a social life, but she loved the job and was well paid.  She was incredibly beautiful, with long brunette hair, and she was smart.  She could have anything she put her mind to.

  This is why people who did not know her very well could not understand why.  Why did she work extensive hours that did not let her go out and party on Friday night?  Why did she work six days a week for, what seemed to most, every week of the year?

  There were a select few friends who knew her well enough.  There were a select few who knew why she worked constantly; even more than anyone else who loved their job would.  It was for her two weeks of freedom.

  Every year, from April to February, she saved as much money as she could.  She was a down-to-earth person, so she didn't want for many things.  High fashion, to her, was freshly washed, new jeans.  For 11 months out of the year, she worked like a dog, albeit a happy one, and saved her money.  Then, when March rolled around, with emergency cash and her bank card in hand, she took two weeks off, jumped into her convertible, and just drove.

  This was her freedom.  She never had a destination.  She just picked a general direction at random, and drove.  She just went wherever fate and mostly random decisions took her.

  She liked to go during the spring.  The air was cool, there were pleasant breezes, and occasionally it showered, and she loved it all.  As she found herself in the desert of Nevada, she found the season particularly nice.  The sky was a solid light gray, so it was not too bright and not hot at all.  It was not sprinkling, and the road was relatively straight and empty.  She cranked up the radio, shouted to the sky, and put the gas to the floor.

  She was exhilarated by the speed, the wind, the music, the lack of obligations.  It was like she was the only person in the world  She laughed and shouted her joy again.  It was heaven.

  But she wasn't an idiot.  After about three minutes, she began to pass by dirt turn off roads, so she thought it would be wise to slow it back down.  She was still enjoying everything, though.  The landscape was still free of other people.  She was still the only person in the world.

  At least that was the feeling for about another minute.  She came out of her mild trance when a piece of paper hit her windshield then blew over the car.  She slowed and looked ahead more intently.

  She saw a few more leaves of paper blowing lightly down and across the blacktop.  She drove curiously on at about 10 miles per hour until she saw an open brief case in the oncoming lane of the road.  She looked behind her for other cars, and seeing none, she stopped the car in the road next to the case.  She got out, stepped to it, and knelt down to inspect it.

  There were forms and letters and folders and it all looked quite official.  There was even a cell phone.  The papers even had a letterhead of a business she never heard of, and she couldn't guess what it was by the name.

  She thought a moment about putting it all in her car, but she figured it would be best to leave it.  Who ever lost it might backtrack to find it.  She gathered the loose papers in her general vicinity, put them in the case, closed it, then set in on the side of the road.  The least she could do was help make sure it didn't get crushed by some vehicle.

  She got back into her car and drove on at normal speed.

  About a minute more down the road, she came upon a dark object in the middle of the road.  Stopping the car again, she got out to get a closer look.  It was a dark blue suit jacket that she picked up.  She held it open, turning it, then checked the pockets.  She found nothing.  It seemed a reasonable assumption that the owner of the suit was also the owner of the briefcase, but why were they in the road?

  Had they somehow blown out of a vehicle.  The jacket, perhaps, but it seemed unlikely that a briefcase would be able to be blown out of an automobile.  She supposed that it was possible the person had to stop for some reason that would cause them to place the briefcase on their trunk, then forgot to secure it in the car before taking off again.

  It seemed rather unlikely that a business person would forget such a thing, but you never know.  It was a curious situation, indeed.

  She set the jacket at the side of the road, returned to her car and drove on, carefully scanning the immediate landscape as she went.  Not a minute down the road, she came upon what she recognized to be a necktie on the edge of her side of the road.  It seemed out of danger, so she did not stop.

  Another two minutes down, she saw that a white dress shirt had been lost as well, though she was beginning to suspect that deposited might be the more appropriate term.  That maybe being the case, though the shirt was in her lane, she drove around it without stopping.

  After about five minutes, she came across a diner gas station at an intersection.  She checked her fuel gauge.  It read low, so she decided to pull in for some gas and a bite to eat.

  She put the put hose in the tank and set the latch on the handle for automatic feed, then walked towards the diner.  She passed by a belt, a pair of dark blue slacks, and a pair of dress shoes on her way to the door.  It seemed that someone might be driving around in their underwear.

  She entered and was greeted by a woman employee who looked like she might be in her fifties.  She might have been younger, but just having been aged by the desert heat and sun.  The name on her tag read Marge.

  "What can I do for you," Marge asked strongly but pleasantly.  She had a firm but friendly tone.

  "Hi," she said to Marge.  "Was there a man in here recently?  Possibly one not wearing a shirt... or pants?"

  "A man came in about an hour and a half ago.  He wasn't wearing a shirt, but he had pants on.  Why?  Do you know him?"

  "No.  I just found a briefcase and some clothes spread a distance along the road here.  I thought maybe they were lost, but judging by the pants and shoes, it seems he tossed them on purpose."

  Marge looked at her curiously.  "What pants and shoes," she asked.

  Still looking at Marge, she turned her torso and pointed towards the door.  "Out there in the dirt between the door and the pumps.  There's a pair of pants and shoes and a belt."

  Marge took a couple of steps to her right to see out the door.  "Huh," she blinked.  "Don't that beat all.  He must've taken 'em off while I was cleaning up his dishes."   She didn't seem all too astonished.  "You want anything to eat?"

  Sitting down, "Yeah.  I'll just have a burger." She paused and thought a brief moment about what to drink.  "Do you serve chocolate milk shakes?"

  "Sure thing, sweetie."

  "Great.  I haven't have a chocolate milk shake in a long time."

  "That all," Marge asked.

  "Yeah, thanks."

  Marge turned to the grill behind her and began her work.  "Yeah," Marge began to speak after slapping a patty on the heat..  "That young man came in and sat down.  He seemed pretty pleased at something.

  She stepped over to the milk shake dispenser and started filling a cup while the patty cooked.  "He wasn't wearing a shirt.  Well, he was wearing a white T-shirt when he pulled up, but he took it off and threw it in the trash out there by the pumps.  A lot of places won't serve you if you're not wearing a shirt,  but there's never enough people in here to bother worrying about that.

  Marge turned, setting the full cup in front of her customer, then turned back to the burger patty.  "Most of my regulars aren't the type to go around shirtless as it is.  They're my own age and older, and no one wants to see that.  Didn't complain about that young man, though, if you catch my drift," she looked over her shoulder a moment and smiled.  "Looked about your age, too", then she winked.  She got a slightly embarrassed grin in return.

  Marge continued, "He ordered a double cheeseburger and seemed to take a lot of pleasure in eatin' it.  When he finished it, he took one of those lawn chairs their," waving her spatula over her right shoulder, "and then he paid me with a fifty dollar bill, keep the change."  Marge looked over her shoulder again.  "That's a tip you don't argue with."

  "Did he say anything in particular?  Did he talk about anything?  Where he was going?"

  Marge replied, "Not really.  Normally I'll chat with a customer.  You know, just bein' friendly... like we are now."

  "Yeah."

  "But this fella seemed to be really enjoying his cheeseburger.  I decided that anyone enjoying a cheeseburger that much would probably prefer to not be disturbed.  Of course, he might have already been disturbed, by the sound of it.  But he was a nice enough fella," Marge added as she turned a set a plate of burger and fries on the counter.

  "Thanks," she said to Marge as she worked her thumbs underneath the bread to pick it up.  She took a bite and then remembered the gas hose was still in the tank.  "Mm," she sounded to keep Marge's attention.  "Actually, " she said around the food in her mouth, "can I get this to go?"  She put the burger down and stood up, wiping her fingers on a napkin.

  "Sure thing, hon."

  "I'll be right back."  She ran out to the pump.  After coaxing enough gas into the tank to even out the price, she put the hose back in its place on the side of the pump.  She ran back inside to find Marge waiting at the register with a white sack.

  "Is that going to be everything for you?"

  Looking around and not seeing anything she really wanted, she replied, "Umm, yeah.  I guess so."

  Marge calculated the total on the register and told her what it was.

  Paying with her bank card, she thanked Marge with a smile, grabbed her food and left.  She picked up the clothes on her way back to the car.  She looked in the garbage can by the pump, and there was indeed a white T-shirt inside.

  She tossed the clothes in the back seat, opened the driver's door and got in, setting her food on the passenger's seat.  She started the car and drove away.

  About three minutes down the road, she came across a red Porsche convertible parked, with the top down, on the side of the road.  She pulled up behind it, stopped and got out.  She looked over the landscape as she walked up to the driver's door.  She saw no one in the desert.

  She put her hands on the door and leaned over to look further into the car.  The keys were still in the ignition.  She thought it was not very smart to leave the keys in a Porsche, but then she quickly reminded herself that she had seen no other cars since she got on this road.  Leaving the keys in wasn't quite the risk one might initially imagine.

  She looked back out to the landscape, scanning for any possible sign of where this man might have gone.  Did he continue walking down the road, or did he walk into the desert?

  She walked around to front of the car to get a better look at the dirt on the side of the road.  She figured there might be some footprints if he went that way.  Instead, upon passing the front corner, she found a black sock on the road in front of the car.  She walked to it and looked ahead.  About ten feet away was another sock.  It seemed he kept walking down the road.

  She looked, but saw nothing in the distance.  Leaving the socks, she got back in the car and drove on.

  About a half a mile down, she saw what appeared to be a pair of white boxers just off the side of the road.  She drove on.  It seemed the man was now nude, unless he was one of those guys who wear briefs under their boxers.

  About another half a mile down, she saw something in the distance.  She slowed as she got closer.  It was a man lounging in a long lawn chair off the right side of the road.  She could see an elbow extending out from the side at head level.  Apparently he had his hands behind his head.

  She saw bare feet and legs, crossed at the ankles.  She slowed to a crawl as she pulled up further.  Yes, he was indeed nude.  And not bad looking at all, she thought briefly.  She stopped right beside him and turned off the engine.

  She waited for him to do something, but he was either ignoring her presence, or he was genuinely oblivious to it.   His eyes were closed.   She was uncertain how to judge his smile.  She pushed herself up, put her feet in the seat and sat on the head rest.  "Hi, there," she said.

  "Hi ya," he replied in a friendly tone, but otherwise remained motionless.

  She waited, but he said nothing further.  "Nice day, huh?"

  "A very beautiful day," he said, still otherwise motionless.

  She waited a moment, again.  Nothing.  "So...  whatcha doin'?"

  "Absolutely nothing."

  She waited again.  "Did you drive out here just to sit and do nothing?"

  "No."  There was a pause.  "I was on my way to a convention in Las Vegas."

  "Had a change of plans then?  Or something?"

  "Yeah.  I've been working on the road for about a month.  It seems they forgot to let me know they changed the location of the convention while I was away."  He was still smiling.

  "That sounds pretty crappy."  She paused briefly.  "Where is it now?"

  "Manhattan."

  "I guess that's a bit out of the way, huh?"

  "Yeah," he replied.

  She couldn't think of anything else to say at the moment.  It seemed to her that this man was a bit upset with his company.  Was he having a nervous breakdown?  He seemed a bit too calm and happy, but then, a nervous breakdown does not always have to be a frantic event.  Still, it seemed like it was something else.  She needed to know more.

  "So.  What does your company do," she asked.

  "Nothing that anyone really needs it to."

  Okay, she thought.  "I heard you enjoyed your cheeseburger."  Let's see how he reacts to that, she thought.

  "Yeah.  It was great.  Been too long."  He paused.  "Marge is nice, huh?"

  It was not quite the response she was expecting, not that she was expecting any particular response.  "Yeah.  She's pretty cool."  There was another silence, then she thought she'd try a little humor.  "How long you gonna hang out... so to speak?"

  After about two seconds, his smile grew and he began to laugh.  "Oh, that's a good one."  His laughter dying down.  "Yeah, that was good.  Thank you," he said sincerely.  "I haven't had a genuine laugh in few days.  Very refreshing."

  "Well.  You're welcome."  She was thinking of something else to say, but he spoke up first.

  "Do you have a job," he asked, still lounging with his eyes closed.

  "I manage a record store."

  "Do you enjoy your job?"

  "Yeah.  Quite a bit, actually."

  "That must be nice," he said.

  "What are you doing out in the middle of nowhere," he asked.

  "I'm on vacation," she replied.  "Every March I take two weeks off and just drive somewhere.  I don't plan anything.  I just drive."

  "Sounds pretty sweet."

  "It is."

  "You got any job openings at that music store?"

  "I could squeeze in another employee," she answered.

  "Nice," he commented.

  "But there is a dress code, you know."

  He laughed again.