The Texaco Station
Mark looked over at Jeanne as they came to the bottom of Rt. 190 out of Death Valley. They had been driving for two hours since leaving their motel at Stovepipe Wells, which was the cheapest place they could find. They were told not to miss having breakfast at the Alabama Hills Cafe in Lone Pine. “You still want breakfast?” Mark asked? Jeanne nodded with a smile. Mark would have passed because he was feeling a bit queasy, but he knew how much Jeanne liked her breakfast.
They were seated in the small dining room but were then asked to move when a loud, old group of motorcyclists came in looking for a table for thirteen. It was mildly annoying, but Mark let it pass. It was clear that this group was no harm to anyone except themselves. Jeanne ordered a scramble and Mark ordered sourdough toast and crisp bacon. He knew he needed something, he just didn’t want the full eggs and potatoes breakfast that the Alabama Hills Cafe was famous for.
When they had finished, Mark and Jeanne went out to their old Toyota Corolla. It was old but reliable and it was just fine according to Mark. Before getting in but after opening Jeanne’s door for her, Mark opened the trunk and reached in for something. Jeanne couldn’t see what he had grabbed, but saw him stuff it in his back pocket. It concerned her.
Mark adjusted himself in the driver seat and pulled out heading south towards Los Angeles on Rt. 395. They were only a couple hours away, but Mark knew they had to make a stop first. He glanced over at Jeanne and said to her, “You know I have to stop, right?”
“Why didn’t you just get it over with at the Cafe?” She asked.
“What? You know I don’t like involving places we might want to go again,” he said with an annoyed tone. “Even though I didn’t eat much this morning, I love that place, and I’m sure I will want to go back some time.”
“OK, OK, I was just trying to make a suggestion. You get so touchy when you have to do this,” Jeanne said defensively.
As he drove south he passed several convenience marts and slowed down, but just kept driving when each one had more than three or four cars parked in front. He did not want too many people around because that made things much more complicated.
As he drove, Mark started to fidget in his seat. He was a cat on a hot tin roof. Jeanne decided not to say anything because she had seen this before and she knew it was better to just let him be. His face distorted into a strange and almost other-worldly expression that was a mix of pain and anger. Jeanne hated all of this and wished they could just settle down to a simple life with three meals a day and regular jobs. Driving Mark to LAX every couple of weeks and going through this was torture to her. She just wished things were different. For his part, Mark just wanted to get it over with.
Finally, Mark spotted an old Texaco Station. You hardly see Texaco as a brand any more, but they do still exist. This one had seen its day and only had two pumps, so it was pretty much dead quiet. That would be perfect. He didn’t need much. He just needed to be able to get to LAX. He turned to Jeanne and said, “I’m going to stop at that Texaco Station. When I get out I want you to slide over into the driver’s seat and keep the motor running. We don’t need gas, so I’ll just pull up to the side of the building, OK?”
Jeanne said, “Do I really need to drive, you know I don’t like this and driving just makes me feel worse?”
“Yes.” He said, leaving no room for debate.
Mark pulled up to the Texaco building, took one last glance at Jeanne and got out of the car. Jeanne immediately slid over to where he had been sitting and nervously adjusted the seat for her shorter legs. She glanced over to make sure her passenger door was unlocked. Now THAT would have been a disaster. She then watched Mark walk into the office of the station with his hand over his back pocket.
Time passed very slowly in the Toyota. Jeanne began wondering what was taking him so long. She started to sweat and she never sweated. She thought she could hear the clock in the dash ticking. Out of nervousness she started revving the car engine just to be sure she would be ready to go. She then took it out of Park and put it into Drive so she would be especially ready.
Just then she saw Mark walking briskly (he always said, never run) out of the station. He jumped in the car and just said, “Go, go!”
Jeanne stepped on the gas and pealed out on the gravel in a far too noticeable way, sending gravel flying in every direction. Mark just put his head in his hands and shook it slowly back and forth. “So much for a smooth getaway,” he said to no one in particular.
After they were about five miles south on Rt. 395, Jeanne decided it might be safe to talk. She was driving at exactly three miles over the speed limit like Mark had taught her. “So, how did everything go?” she asked.
“Not good,” he said solemnly.
“What do you mean, Mark?” she didn’t like the sound of that and the last thing she wanted was to make another stop like that this morning.
“The damn toilet wouldn’t flush!” he said with a serious tone.
“You mean you just left it there?” she giggled.
“It’s not funny, Jeanne, if you had IBS you wouldn’t be laughing. It’s just lucky I had my own TP.”
All Jeanne could do was apologize and drive on to drop him at the airport. She reminded herself to call Mark’s doctor for another appointment next week.