Scene:  Late on a dark night, a blue minivan hauling a closed, rented trailer pulls in to get gas, coffee, and snacks under the bright lights of a truck stop just off the interstate highway in mountainous western Virginia.

Cleo (turning off the car, unsnapping her seat belt, opening the door):  Thank goodness.  Time to stop and stretch.  Hard to believe we’ve driven from Indiana today.  Cold out here.

Joe (looking around):  Pretty run down.  Pavement crumbling.  Store lights extend just to the truck stop edge.  Inky blackness swallows everything beyond that.

C:  You’re still my favorite husband with your graying hair and cute smile.  Want to fill up the tank or wash the windows?

J:  Don’t care, you choose.  And, I’m your only husband for the last 43 years.  We both look the same as we did when we met:  tall, athletic, happy.  Though you’ve acquired more hobbies. 

C:  You trained all of us when our boys were little.  Whoever’s driving fills up the car.  The others get window and oil duty.  And “yes” to the hobbies, most notably, writing.

J:  I’ll wash windows.  …There, front one’s done.

C (putting the gas nozzle in the tank):  Good to reaffirm the duty roster.  I’ll fill up the car.

J:  Good to know you’ve got a car plan.  Oil needs to be checked.  We’re dragging a heavy load, physical and emotional, in that trailer.  Speaking of which, that writing hobby is a drag on our time when we’re home.

C:  Regarding the trailer, yes, a heavy load.  We brought back too many of dead Janet’s things.  I quit making so many hard donation decisions when we rented the trailer.  I thought I could eventually give stuff away to her friends.

J:  I can’t believe she’s gone and that we’re bringing back an old-lady-scented bed to remember her by. 

C:  You wanted it.  Make your bed and lie in it.  But only after I sanitize it.

J:  Just finished the back windshield.  I’ll check the oil next.

C:  “Oil” right.  Onward to the restroom.

*

C:  It’s bright inside this truck stop. 

J:  Cinnamon rolls smell enticing.  I got that and my drink.

C:  I got decaf coffee for the road.  Ready?

J:  Let’s get in the check-out line.

C:  Look at the counter attendant.  Shhh…

J:  Stocky woman.  Nose ring.  Gender neutral look.

C:  Black hair, shaved in a buzz cut on one side, bright pink chin-length sweep on the other.

J:  Nametag says … Tammy.

Tammy (speaking loudly):  Welcome to Dark Nights Top of the World Truck Stop!

C (looking around):  There are other customers ahead of us.  Were you talking to me?

T:  Yes.  The good lighting in here helps me see better.  The aura shines in a different color.

J:  The aura?

T (nodding in Cleo’s direction):  Coming out of her.

J (blankly):  Her…Who?

J (pointing at Cleo):  Her.  Your female companion.  Tall, light, happy lines. 

C:  … Me?  I’m Cleo.

T:  I’m Tammy.

J:  Pleased to meet you.

T:  I’ll bet you do something in the Arts, Cleo.  Do you paint?  Sketch?  Draw?

C:  No.

T: But you do something in the Arts.  Let’s see … writer?

C:  Yes.  How do you know?

T:  Besides your aura?  It’s how you look.  Your style.

C:  Flannel shirt and sweat pants?

T:  Not the clothes.  It’s what you project.

C:  You know this how?

T:  I’m an empath.  I look into people.  See their light.

C:  Their light?

T:  Your aura.  I see it.  You wrap him in it:  The guy who’s with you … and others.

C:  I do? 

T:  People read what you write.  You wrap them in it.  They feel better.

C:  Who are you, again?

T:  Name tag says Tammy, but you can call me anything except Done.

C:  “Done?”

T:  Now, why did I say “Done?”  … Wait.  That’s on your mind.  You have a good aura.  You’re not done.  Don’t think you’re done.

C:  Not done?

T:  You’re not done.  Don’t stop.  Keep going.

C:  …What?

T:  You have more to do.  The customers ahead of you are parting like a zipper.  Unzipping what’s next.  That doesn’t happen often.  Come to the counter.

C:  Uh …

T:  That’ll be $11.54.  The reading is free.

J:  Reading?

T:  Should’ve said, the reading is on the Dark Nights Top of the World Truck Stop.  See?  Nice things can happen in the dark.

*

J:  Since we’re now outside, I have to ask.  What was that?

C (shrugging):  No idea.  Can’t make this stuff up.  But whatever it was, I don’t think I’m giving up writing.  Not yet.

J:  Nope.  Not after witnessing that.  Wouldn’t ask it for the world.