By Alex Treuber
When I finally gave up and pulled off the highway it was snowing so hard that my wipers had given up. The lines on the road had long since disappeared, so I used the blue glow from an overhead billboard to navigate the exit ramp. Big piles of snow had been plowed to the shoulder to form a wall, narrowing the road. I turned down the radio to better focus. Up ahead, the lights of the travel center looked like a string of pearls submerged in dishwater.
After the last doctor’s visit I’d sat down at my dinner table with a pot of coffee and run the numbers. Another bonus like last year’s and I’d be able to afford the medicine, but one more late delivery would disqualify me. According to the man on the radio, the blizzard was expected to peak overnight and fade to flurries by early morning, but temperatures would remain sub-zero for a few more days. I’d felt a buzzing in my chest when I heard that, and soon fell into a coughing fit that left my green handkerchief spotted with red. The storm had already left me behind schedule, and I hadn’t planned to turn in for another two hundred miles. I would need to leave before dawn if I had any chance of making it on time.
The lot was nearly full, so I parked at the far end. The twirling snow through the windshield made me feel like I was still moving. I grabbed my overnight bag and pulled on my wool jacket and switched to boots. Wind whistled into the cab when I opened the door, throwing white flakes onto the dashboard like vanilla sprinkles. I slammed the door shut and made my way to the travel center.
Inside I found a locker, setting the combination as my daughter’s birthday. I took a long hot shower, letting the water beat my sore muscles into submission. The grill was closing up for the night, but I convinced the kid at the counter to make me two cheeseburgers in exchange for a hefty tip. While they cooked I visited the convenience store where I bought a pack of smokes and a cup of coffee. I ate the burgers and sipped the coffee at a long yellow formica table, looking at the handful of other truckers, their beards the color of asphalt under the pale light.
A voice announced the cafeteria would close in thirty minutes, so I refilled my coffee and stepped outside for a cigarette under the covered area. I coughed in between every other drag, the smoke irritating something deep inside of me. The snow seemed to spiral around the floodlights, similar to how I imagined whirlpools in the ocean. I’d never seen the ocean, and as the smoke tumbled out of my lungs into the wild night air I wondered if I ever would.
Back in the truck, I flipped the latch behind the seat and slid the door to the side and reached around the corner for the switch. Christmas lights jumped to life around the edges of a twin bed. I was removing my boots and sweater when I heard a knock on the door.
I redressed and looked through the driver’s side window, eyes adjusting to the dark. Outside was a woman, arms wrapped around herself. She was wearing an oversized canvas jacket and a miniskirt and boots. I saw her see me and she stamped her feet and waved. I looked around the cabin as if trying to find something and then opened the door.
“Can I help you?” I yelled over the wind.
“Do you need any company tonight?”
From the light from the cabin I could tell she was young. She had bangs and shoulder-length hair that looked black against the howling blizzard. Her mascara was smeared in the corners and her smile spoke of desperation.
“What are you doing out there on a night like this? You’re going to freeze to death.”
She ran her hands over her arms and looked out into the lot. “I’m just trying to find someone to keep me warm.”
I sighed and chewed the inside of my cheek. Eventually I told her to come around the passenger’s side and opened the door for her.
I turned the heat on and put the radio on low. She shivered next to me in silence. I reached back and handed her a blanket from behind the seat. She wrapped it around her shoulders. When she turned to me she looked like a little girl.
“So,” she said, “what are you into?”
“Cut that out,” I told her. “I’m not interested in what you’re selling.”
“But you let me in. You must want something.”
I ran a hand over my mouth and down my neck, resting it over my Adam’s apple. The dashboard clock said 10:27pm. Drifts of snow in the parking lot outside gathered and curled in waves.
“You can sleep in the bed,” I said. I felt a sharp pain rattle along one of my ribs and failed to stifle a coughing fit.
“You sick or something?” she said, brows knitted.
I shook my head, settling myself. “I’ll take the front cab.”
She hesitated, and from her eyes I could tell she was wary of a catch. “Why are you doing this?”
I took a long breath, feeling the warm dry air fill my lungs, letting it swirl around the shriveled alveoli which in six month’s time would leave me suffocating on the cement floor of a gas station restroom.
“You take the bed,” I said, and turned out the light.
*
When I woke the next day she was gone. I blinked hard and ran a hand through my hair. The sun was high in the sky, peaking between wispy clouds that rushed together and apart like children at play. I coughed twice, pulled my coat over my head and dreamed of the ocean.
* * *
Originally from Portland, Oregon, Alex now lives in Brooklyn, New York. His work has been featured in literary journals such as The Los Angeles Review and The Raven Review and he has been nominated for the PEN America/Robert J. Dau Literary Award for Emerging Writers. He spends his free time writing, traveling, and fending off surprise attacks from his cat, Napoleon.