The Road Leads Somewhere

Lacey was a wild child, to say the least. Being a young female who had no sense of direction in life was not uncommon for the times. Knowing that she had a one-way bus ticket to get out of Summersville, Virginia, was going to be a fresh start to her new beginning.

Lacey wondered why she would protest time in and time out that she had met the love of her life. It was almost as if nobody could talk her out of a marriage that lasted five years too long. She knew she would always regret losing the most important five years of her life. All down the drain and for what? All for a forty-year-old bastard who lured her in at a young and tender age. He began beating her on a daily basis soon after the short-lived honeymoon. Maybe having a stern father but not a close father figure her entire childhood made her desire that in a man? Funny how girls oftentimes look for a man with a splitting mirror image of their father.

It was going to be the summer of ’79 and Lacey was wanting a fresh start and a time to regain her strength as a young and newly single female. Now it was time for a new beginning in life with this turning of the page. Approaching age twenty-eight and with no kids, it wasn’t going to be a bad start. I mean really, Lacey could find a man—and any man, that is. She was a fox and a lot of people told her she looked just like Catherine Bach from the hit TV show that year, Daisy Duke. She always missed the aspect of mingling with men and especially the dating scene. Actually, there was nothing really to miss about dating and men when she quit her senior year in high school and jumped into her first relationship with her now ex, but that was something she would learn from. She didn’t know it in that moment but her life was about to take a turn for the best. Picking up where she left off would be by making clear and level-headed choices. Her twenties were over and her maturity was growing her into a woman who wanted something more out of life.

It was a hard choice to put one foot forward and purchase that bus ticket out of there but Lacey finally had enough of being screwed over in life.

Pulling out a joint from her fringed hobo bag, Lacey leaned back on the bus bench and crossed her belled jeans. Taking a few deep tokes, she stared up at the sky. Pondering her thoughts was hard but there was time to think. Shutting her eyes, she could feel a high come on. Jumping out of her skin at the feel of a tap on her left shoulder pissed her off to high heaven.

“God, Frankie! What’s the matter with you?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Lacey ... where you headed?” “None of your business.”

He was an old bum Lacey always mingled with. Notorious for being the town drunk, he would oftentimes be spotted picking up cans on the side of the road for beer money.

One couldn’t help but take notice what a beautiful morning it was. Sitting on a bench in front of the bus depot, it was quite the wait.

“You want to share a puff?”

“What the hell, Frankie?! Why? Did your Social Security check run dry this month? Get your own shit.”

“Just a single hit, come on! I’m having a jones.”

“You’re such a chump ... Well, alright one single hit. That’s all, this shit’s expensive and it’s my last pinch.”

She gestured with her hand at Frankie as if she was giving him a toke. Lacey flicked the butt of the blunt at the dirty depot ground. “Fuck ... that is a bitchy thing to do, Lacey.”

“God. What do you think I’m, the toke fairy, for Christ’s sakes?” The Greyhound Bus arrived that minute. Looking downward she could see the door entrance to the bus unfold like an accordion. The tall figure-full woman got up and grabbed her duffel bag from beside the bench. Looking back, she shook her head at Frankie.

“Bye, sweet cheeks. You still have a great ass.”

“Fuck off.” (Flipping the bird back at him.)

She looked down the rows of seating. Nobody was riding on transit that morning. Sharply she looked forward at the over mid- dle-aged man in the captain’s chair and gave him her ticket.

“Why, hello there and good morning, lovely young lady. Looks like it’s just the two of us till the next few stops. Have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

As Lacey took her seat in the very back, a song came up on the radio speaker up above her head, by the band Hall and Oats.

♪“You’re a rich girl ... and you’ve gone too far ... ’cause you know it don’t matter any way ... you can rely on your old man’s money ...”♪

“Isn’t that fucking ironic?” (Hahaha)

That’s the only reason she ever stayed with her now ex. He was full of money and assets. Never was it about looks. He was a “charmer,” so he portrayed at one point in time.

“You can rely on your old man’s money!” (She sang aloud.)

The old driver cranked up the radio and smiled back at her through the rearview bus mirror. Giving a thumbs-up, Lacey just laughed.

The heater kicked on beneath her feet. As she felt around for her hobo fringed bag she could feel the warmth. She cuffed her hand over the heat source. As she rubbed both palms together, she snug- gled up in her long suede cloth-patchwork coat. It was going to be quite the trip but she knew where she was headed. Lacey was going home. The home that she knew ... the home that she grew up in ... the hometown where everybody knew everybody ... it was time. It was time for her to see Mom, to see her friends, to hug her father she hadn’t seen in what seemed like ages. It only felt like ages because these were the people she loved, her family.

Control takes many forms and shapes. It can be in the form of mind control, physical control, and social control. You name the control and her ex-husband used it. Everything was so black and white with him. She’d say white he’d say black. She’d say black he’d say white. Where was the parallel universe? She always thought, “in another realm or universe?” Maybe in another lifetime he loved her ... but it was not this one. It was the matter of failing to understand that there is a difference between loving and lonely. She was just desperate those well past spent years of a far from solid relationship.

Lacey held on to the fact that there were vows to be kept and abided by. That she had to make the marriage work. The marriage certificate ... yes, it was of paper and physically there but the love wasn’t.

Pulling on her cord of thread she began to work on her mac- ramé. Lacey was working on a pretty cool pattern she found at the local craft store. It was a planter pattern. All it needed was the bottom of a hallowed gourd and her mother, the plant biologist, was going to hang it up to adorn it.

As she weaved the rough rope she knotted the ends and started a new braid. Her large turquoise rings were getting hung up as she daydreamed about her youth. Her mom used to always say the silliest clichés. Never were they phrases that were overused. It was like she wanted to embarrass Lacey around her friends. “When shit hits the fan you’re in trouble, little girl!” (Her mom shouted a few too many times.) Her mom was always a neurotic one but she knew how to make a fun moment out of a nothing moment.

Taking a break from the excessive braiding, she lit up a Marlboro Light. Looking down at the soft pack she glanced at the hot cowboy on the back of the packet.

“A gorgeous man in a tight pair of Wrangler jeans ... it doesn’t get any better than that.”

Lacey threw the empty cigarette pack down below under the left row’s bench.

“Excuse me, miss. Could you make an escape route for that cigarette smoke?”

Lacey pinched the cigarette between her puckered glossy lips and reached both arms up at the window. While maneuvering the window down a crack she lost her glowing cherry in her lap.

“Damn it!”

“I’d just like to keep this bus till I retire. It’s one of the original makes. From way back when I was a kiddo. Had the speaker system put in a few years back but all original interior, ay?”

“I can tell.”

The older bus driver just frowned at her. A few moments later he talked up at the sarcastic young woman.

“You like music?”

“Yah music ...? Sure, music ... I dig music alright. Why?” “Just making conversation with you.”

“Is there any way you can book it to my stop?”

“I take each destination by route and I go the speed limit, dear.” He cranked up the radio as she dabbed her cigarette out in the ashtray of the armrest.

“She’s a Lady” by Tom Jones came on ... Lacey hated that song, let alone the singer. Her mother loved him to pieces. The bus driver sang along with his annoyingly brash voice. Lacey just blew out the cigarette smoke she held in for a minute while her face made a cringe to the bus driver’s off tamed and most certainly off toned and well ... an off tune voice, to say the very least.

♪“She’s a lady. Whoa whoa whoa, She’s a lady.”♪

The bus driver sent a wink at her through the bus mirror as he annoyingly hummed along to the radio. Lacey just looked to and directly out the window as if she didn’t take any notice of the old fart.

“I hear Tom Jones has got a wang that coils down his leg like an anaconda.”

“Is that so, young lady?”

“Yah, my mom seen him in concert back in the day. He was wearing snug white pants when he was performing ... I hate to state the unmentionable but it was big and very imaginable.”

“Your mother ay?”

“Front row, I swear. She took a picture.”

“Is that right? I bet that was a sight to see? Your mother now ... she a looker like yourself?”

“Yah, my mom she had me late in life. I was an accident.” “Every child is a miracle.”

“My mothers’ a bit up there in age. I miss her, that’s who I’m going to see. I’ve missed out. I always say one depressing day when I’m watching her black casket lower beneath cold ... dark ... hard ... dirt, I’ll regret the fact that I missed out on a relationship with her. So I’m going to see her.”

“Better happy and safe than mournful and sorry.”

“Yah, better now than never ...”

“Can’t say I couldn’t agree with you more than that, pretty girl.” Lacey was annoyed with how the man talked at her through the side of his mouth like he was holding back his old, perverted thoughts.

“You’re probably a lot older than my mother but she’s got a couple of good years left in her.”

The bus driver shot a long frown when his hunched back moved up as he huffed in and down as he sighed out. Lacey burst his bubble but she was immune to flirtatious comments. Even if the old bastard was flirting harmlessly at her, it was still giving her the heebie-jeebies.

Thinking to herself, she was a little lost. Maybe it was not so bad having a sense of direction? I mean she could think about the fact that she was going to need to call a taxi in a bit. The bus was routed to drop her off at the nearest town’s Jiffy Lube Center but it was going to be closed in an hour or so. She would have to use the payphone out front but not if the good old trusted family friend was closing shop. Mikey, who was the co-business owner, was a good guy who would do anything for her. Time died slowly but surely; an hour rolled around when waking to a nudge of her left shoulder.

“The bus stops here, young lady.”

“Yah, Yah ... cool. I’m awake ...”

“I’ll show you out, miss.”

Lacey got up and slowly stretched and threw her bunched-up coat over her arm and grabbed for her luggage. She hugged at her belongings to show him she didn’t need a hand.

“After you, young lady.”

“Cool beans. You take care.”

The Greyhound Bus driver frowned after gazing down at the scrunched cigarette pack she had tossed away on his meticulously clean bus floor. Scowling, he walked her out while slowly leading her from behind the aisle to exit the bus. She stopped to talk back at him without impossibly turning around with both her luggage in hand.

“If we don’t get a chance to tango again ... well, sir, I wish you luck with retirement. You look like you need it soon.”

There was no puzzlement at her double backhanded compli- ments. He just looked down and shook his head as he chuckled and cracked his mouth open to speak while simultaneously sighing.

“Another earned day, another earned dollar.”

“Another day, another time. See you around.”

The old fart just winked out of timing with her sharp head turn.

Lacey stepped down as the old bus driver drew the door open with the long-angled door shifter. It shut sharp as the bus loudly revved up to start. She took a pivot and looked back at the dirty dust trail that tailed bigger with the speed of the bus. She could taste the dirt that lightly coated her mouth. As the dust settled she gathered her things and marched up to the town’s local Jiffy Lube. Slowly approaching the tiny dotted neon sign, she could see it flicker and then switch off in the darkened building.

“Fuck!”

She shuffled in her platforms toward the door. She was breath- ing like a dog would pant in the heat. Although it was a warmer spring night, she was having a perspiration attack. The pit of her arm was sweating under her wadded up suede coat. Dropping her things carelessly, she shook the glass door’s curved handle that was jimmy rigged on with duct tape after losing a twin bolt.

“Shit!”

Knowing that she couldn’t get Mikey’s attention she just sat down on the curb and pulled out a gunmetal Marlboro lighter but realized she hadn’t a single cigarette to light up after smoking the last one on the bus ride there. Not very prepared for the trip, she not only had no cigarettes but also no hard change for the telephone booth. She just figured she’d undress her top layer to reveal her lacy cami- sole. She didn’t really care if she hadn’t a bra on, to her it was what felt most comfortable. She looked down her top at her perky tits. Yes, she was out of a ride but she figured she’d get up and try at the door one more time for Mikey. As she got up and turned around, an extremely tall and strikingly hunky man halted.

“Oh god!”

She panicked while staring into the man’s grease stained beater shirt.

“Wow, I am so sorry, miss ...,” as he stared down-up and then up-down three times, she was unaware why.

“It’s okay, man.”

“Really? Call me Ethen.”

He spelled out the letters on his widely unbuttoned short-sleeved work shirt. She just mumbled like the situation was peculiar to her.

“Forgive me while I button up my shirt. I need to probably be more professional.” He laughed aloud.

“Ha-ha, I’m cool. You can be as casual as you want. I can tell you just got off work.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just noticed a young gal was sitting out front with a bunch of luggage. Did your car break down? I’m a mechanic if you’d need some help getting unstranded.”

Tongue-tied, she just agreed with the hot, tan Ken doll that looked to have taken a dip in a pool of motor oil.

“I can tell it’s a bit nippy out ...” (He laughed again.)

She stuck out a sideways hand to offer a shake toward the hunk of a man.

“Yah ... Lacey ...”

“Sure is, Lacey ... and very see-through, I might add ... ha-ha!” She sharply looked down and noticed her hard nipples through her thin camisole. Madly parting her hair in the back and flicking both sides forward, she felt at her sweaty forehead while trying to feather her bangs in place.

“Oh god, funny! Fuck you, asshole!”

Shortly she turned away and bent down to grab at her crum- pled up blue and white flannelled peasant top. It flung over her every which way. Pulling it on, Lacey turned around and shot a scornful look as she tightened her upper lip. Pulling at the bullet darts of her blousy top, she tried to make it unobvious she just gave a free tit show.

“Hey, I was kidding around ... ha-ha!”

She just pulled on her shoulder sleeves to lower the elastic brim to her cleavage line. Still having a short attention span, she was clearly distracted by his tan muscles. She turned back around with the flinging of her long brunette hair. As she bent down with her head turned toward him, she clumsily knocked over the stiff caramel leather luggage suitcase. Not noticing both clasps came undone on the case, she began to pick it up sharply while scorning the gorgeous stallion of a man.

“Oops ... you’re losing ...”

“Fuck off, I don’t need your help.”

“No, I mean ... you’ve lost your undergarments and things ...

um ...?”

Relieving the look of sternness from her face, Lacey looked back and down at the ground. Her undergarments were actually escaping in a pile on the dirty parking lot.

“Fuck!”

“I take it fuck is your favorite word ... ha-ha!”

“You know ...”

“No, I don’t know ... what?”

Not saying a word, she picked up all of her personals and tossed them in the widely open train case. His ice-blue eyes glowed at her as she squatted down next to her travel bags. Lacey couldn’t help but feel her pulse beating through her throat. Lightening up, he thought he’d get back in her good graces.

“On a lighter note ... at least they aren’t long old granny panties!”

He knew he let go of his gentlemanly mannerisms and messed up yet again and dug himself a deeper hole to get buried in. He kind of just messed at his wavy light sandy brown hair as if he was thun- derstruck at what he just said to the gal. His face would have shown beet red if it weren’t for the dark motor oil coating his face from star- ing up at the undercarriages of broken-down rigs all day in the shop. He couldn’t fathom why he just blurted that out.

She snapped the clasps together simultaneously as they loudly buckled slyly at once. She knew she got something right. Quickly, without saying a word, she gathered everything at once and took off in the direction to her childhood home. He stood there and just watched as she strutted off. Actually, he couldn’t help but look at her ass. It was a bubble butt to say the least and she was rocking a high-waisted pair of ash-wash bells with high back pockets. Her shiny long hair just swayed while the tips of each pretty strand brushed at the top of her leather pucka-shell braided belt. It was her first macramé project that she was successful at. That morning she loosely tied the braided belt around her hips without hesitation. It was her absolute most favorite thing to wear. He just stared in a coma as she walked off in the setting sun.

You think that she would still be hung up on the situation that just occurred but she was madder that her feet were blistering and sore from walking in the impossible cork platforms she just had to wear that particular day. She well knew that he must be watching her, or at least he could be watching her modeling the roadway. She wouldn’t dare turn around to look, would she?

“What are you looking at?!” she yelled aloud at the man.

“Your ass!”

With an attitude in her stance, he just laughed as she stormed off. Lacey was acting pissed but kind of feeling him. All right, more than feeling him.

Once on the newly paved pavement she kicked her impossibly tall slip-on sandals off. She quickly threw them in her loosely packed duffel bag that hung with a long white strap over her small shoulder. Pulling out the caught-up hair between the riveted strap and her skin, she then situated her top and took both luggage hand in hand. Her bare feet were relieved but she could’ve lain backside down on the road. At that moment she was more than overwhelmed.

Pretty soon a loud pinstriped brick red ’79 Chevrolet 4x4 came tooting alongside her.

“Hey, Lacey!”

It was so obnoxious, almost as if he preposed himself as he rolled on up alongside her.

“Listen, buddy ... I don’t need your help.”

“Just tell me where you’re broke down. I’ll go get started.”

He hung out the small truck’s window while very out of place

like a monkey pedal-riding a toy car. He was obscenely hot as he kept flexing his tan, buff arm at her.

“No!”

“No? Please ... come on ... You want me to stop following you?”

She didn’t say anything. She just looked straight ahead at the long road. He stopped or at least disappeared out of her side view. When the muffled sound of the truck disappeared, her heart sank.

Walking farther on she began to slow down and look back. Lacey couldn’t believe he left her. So she stuck out her thumb, and sure enough, there he was. As he sped up behind her he rolled down the window one more time and stuck his head out as he slowed down.

“Looking for a ride there, pretty woman?”

She stood there with her one leg mounted on her hard travel- ing case. She just held her arm out with her stuck-up thumb. Not wanting him to know she really wanted his help, she just looked away while hitching for a ride elsewhere. Pretty soon she mumbled softly at him. “I don’t know where I want to go yet.”

“Wait, are you lost? I can help you find your car. I will fix it, I’m a mechanic. Look ... I’ll fix it free of charge ... no cost. Let me make it up to you.”

“I don’t have a car.” “Okay truck ...?” “No.”

“No ...?”

“I meant ...”

“You meant van? I should’ve guessed you’re one of those free-spirited girls that live in a shagged-out van?!”

“No! Ugh!”

He just laughed at her. Lacey didn’t know what to say, so he just paused while she stood there pretending to catch a ride at nothing. There was not a single ride on the road. It was just the two of them. Finally she cocked her head toward his way with an attitude.

He revved up his engine at her. As it fell into a stall he began to move his bushy eyebrows up and down at her. This time she could see his features and his grinning smile was worth noting. He washed his face free of motor oil back at the shop before tailing behind her. The hunk dabbed on a bit of Brando Splash aftershave five minutes prior. It was all the best he could do for he oftentimes cleaned up at work.

Lacey broke the form of her long leg and stepped her left bare arched foot off the luggage case. He flung open the door and got out to assist her. As he approached closer she checked him out from his boots to the top of his thick hairline. His folded-brim straw pinch- front creased cowboy hat was sexy. It was the icing on the cake. His dirty form-fitting Wranglers were notable too.

“Allow me, Ms. Lacey.”

She obviously hadn’t a wedding ring mixed in with all her silver and turquoise rings laid upon each finger.

“Mister ...?” she questioned him.

“Hey, again my name is Ethen. I prefer Ethen, not mister.”

His pointer finger underlined his name tag as he spoke humor-

ously at her. He then grabbed her bags swiftly and tossed them in the back bed of the truck. She walked over and got in once Ethen got in and reached over and pushed upward on the lock. Lacey noticed he was wearing a really dark tan when he reached for the gearshift. He turned up the cassette player he had playing softly while his truck idled. Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “That Smell” promptly came on.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“Where are we headed?”

“Lund Lane”

“Okay, you got it.”

She could smell his yummy cologne but couldn’t and wouldn’t dare tell him he smelled delicious. He just kind of stared off down the road as she crossed her arms over her lap. Quietly staring at his masculine side profile, she kept track of his right eye, which kept roll- ing in her direction. Eyeing up her bare feet, he noticed her red-pol- ished toes.

“What size shoe do you wear?”

“Seven ... Why?”

“Awful petite but their pretty.”

“Oh, my feet ... my feet are pretty? Thank you.”

“You had quite a ways to go down this long road. Figured you’d be headed to Lund Lane because the opposite direction points to the freeway. Nothing much more out here other than a dairy farm. Who you going to see?”

“My mother Karen.”

Ethen understood who she was. He didn’t dare tell the gorgeous young lady how he knew of Karen. Just knowing he might be so coincidently connected to Lacey herself gave his stomach butterflies. He was nervously toying with his cowboy hat as he thought about telling the beautiful woman his little secret. She would find out her- self soon.

“You mean you’re Mr. and Mrs. Larson’s daughter?”

“Yah. What about it? You know them or something?”

“Well I’ll be damned ... Yes, I know of them and no. Just ... I quickly learned everybody gets to where everybody knows everyone in this little town.”

As he turned a sharp right into the lane, she thanked him for the ride and flung the door open to get out. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a five-dollar bill to help with what little gas and his time.

“No, I’m good.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m positive ... I offered you a ride. No biggie, Ms. Lacey.” “Okay, see you around.”

“I’m sure you will.” (He grinned big.)