Short: Left on Maple Ridge
The sun was fading when Jake stopped to pick up Oscar. They planned to drive up to the damn to have a beer, catch up on life, and watch the sun set. And when they arrived, the small park beside the damn was mostly empty, the lone exception being a solitary person sitting at a concrete picnic table under two pines. The figure sported a gray hoodie and appeared to be traveling with several plastic shopping bags. Jake thought it strange to see a homeless person so far from town, then concluded the traveler wasn’t homeless and managed to hitchhike up to the damn.
The pair strolled from the parking lot to the other side of the park near the water and settled into a wooden blue bench facing the lake. With the sun drooping lower, they began to catch up on their summer exploits. Oscar had visited Mexico in hopes of wooing a young lady, which didn’t go well. Whatever window existed for the romance died when she told him she had boyfriend. And Oscar admitted he took too long to make his move. His divorce had made him shy but he resolved not to repeat his mistake in the future. After leaving Mexico, he flew to Miami and spent the rest of the summer working remote and caring for his aging aunt.
Jake had visited Montreal and Boston and found both cities to be underwhelming. He explained his opinion and Oscar nodded along. During the course of the conversation with Jake discovered he’d lost his appreciation for big cities, that after a few days, they all seemed to run together, one indistinguishable from the next. The thought stunned him but seemed more true the longer he dwelled on it.
“You gotta leave the US,“ laughed Oscar. “Maybe you are tired of European cities.”
“Yeah, maybe that’s it,” Jake agreed. “I should come to Monterrey with you next year.”
“Yes, you should.”
“I like tacos,” Jake said with a smile.
“And the women…hmm. You can’t imagine.”
After a while longer, the friends took a short walk up the path toward the damn then decided to head to Oscar’s for dinner. The sun was just below the ridge, the clouds above it reflecting pink and orange hues, a perfect photo opportunity. And as the pair started toward the parking lot, a voice from the picnic table interrupted their conversation.
“Can I get a ride?” called the previously silent person.
“Huh?” asked Jake.
“Can I get a ride back into town? It’s not far. Just by the bottling plant,” inquired a female voice.
The friends turned to look at the woman, her baggie gray hoodie cinched tight around her face, her long dark hair pouring out each side. Her face was obscured. Jake paused and glanced over at Oscar. Oscar shrugged. Had Jake been alone, he would’ve declined the request.
“Sure. Just near the bottling plant.”
The shrouded woman quickly scooped up her belongings and walked toward the car. In the fading light, Jake noticed clothes, makeup, and charging cords poking out of the bags.
“You’re going to have to tell me where to go,” he said.
“Just head down Lake Boulevard and make a left by the Qwik Mart,” snapped the lady as she took a seat behind Oscar.
For the next five minutes the car was filled with awkward silence. They could hear her breathing heavily and anxiety washed over them from the back seat. Both men remained quiet. After the left at the gas station, Jake asked for the next turn. Right at the bottling plant, she replied. And after a right at the bottling plant, Jake suddenly recognized the neighborhood where they were, which calmed his nerves. Again he had to ask for directions. Right on Redwood. And after a right on Redwood, he asked once more. This pattern repeated itself until she asked Jake to slow down on Oakmont. In the dim twilight, Jake checked his mirror and watched the woman gaze out the back seat window at a gray and white single wide trailer. Then he shot a look over to Oscar who glanced back and shook his head side to side.
“Where to now?” Jake asked.
“Left on Maplecrest,” whispered the woman.
And from Maplecrest she told him to make a right on Redwood. And Jake knew if he did as instructed the road would take him back out of the neighborhood and away from the bottling plant. At the stop sign, Jake put the car in park.
“I’m not going to drive you around all night,” he told the back seat. “Tell me where you want to go and I’ll take you there but you need to give me an address.”
The woman let out a low sigh and mumbled “take me back to Oakmont” her hair still surrounding her face, bags clutched tight to her chest.
Jake looked to Oscar. Then Oscar raised his right hand, palm out, as if telling Jake to stop. Then he spoke up for the first time since they left the damn.
“Or” he offered in a high voice,“We could take you to the battered women’s shelter down town. I know the director. She’ll give you room for the night and help you get on your feet.” Jake nodded in affirmation. And both men turned to watch for any sign of agreement. And then, without a word, the back passenger door swung open and the hooded lady stepped out into the night, headed back down Maplecrest toward Oakmont.
