Through The Pane, Selena Kyle [best ebook reader for pc TXT] 📗

Chapter 1

I remember the first time I saw her. I was at a rest stop off I-80 somewhere in Iowa. Mac, having already urinated, was waiting impatiently for me in the truck. I don’t remember Mac’s real name, although I am sure he told me more than once. I have a rule about real names: Never use them. It’s always Mac, and this Mac was tough as nails. I didn’t think it would be good for me to make him wait very long. He may decide to leave without me, which wouldn’t be the end of the world, but who knew how long it would take me to hitch another ride. So I ran. My bladder ached intensely with every jarring stride.
When I reached door to the ladies restroom I took a huge gulp of fresh air and ducked inside. All rest stop restrooms smell the same. Like a mixture of pine trees and brown sugar. It reminded me of the way the showers at summer camp had smelled. I thought it must be a combination of the heat and the chemicals used to clean the restroom that made it smell that way. The tiles on the walls and floor were cracked and crumbling and for a fleeting moment I had a vision of the whole structure giving way and coming down on top of me in a heap. I flinched slightly at the thought and quickened my step even more just in case.
I walked into a stall, choosing one at random. A plethora of curse words, phone numbers and perverted graffiti surrounded me and I was not at all surprised to find that the lock on the door was broken. I took down my pants and held my arm straight out in front of me, my hand pressed flat against the shiny, puke-green enamel of the door to hold it closed. I hovered over the toilet, repulsed by the idea of any part of my body touching it. I was trying my best to hurry, but I’d had to piss so badly that I didn’t think I would ever stop.
Having finally emptied my bladder, I quickly emerged from the stall with the broken lock and was attempting to wash my hands in one of the three disgusting sinks that were splayed out before me. All of them were devoid of soap and I made a mental note to pocket one of the travel sized hand sanitizers next time we stopped for gas. I turned the faucet on and cranked it all the way to the left. The water sprayed out in all directions, soaking the front of my shirt, and ever so slowly went from frigid to scalding. It was then, with my beet-red hands emerged in the too hot water, that I saw her for the first time.
The sight of her took me off guard. I had not heard anyone else in the restroom. Like me, she was washing her hands as best she could in one of the sinks, the front of her shirt slowly soaking up the water spraying from the tap. The woman stared at me with lifeless, grey eyes bloodshot and sunken. I looked quickly away. There was something about her. Something familiar. I stole another glance only to find her once again glaring at me through her cold, blank eyes. I didn’t look away as quickly this time, instead I studied her face, digging into my memory as to where I may have seen this strange woman before.
Her cheek bones were high and protruding. It would have been the face of a model had the skin that was stretched across it not been so splotchy and weathered with age and too much sun. The wrinkles about her face and around her eyes were like the lines on a roadmap. You could almost see in them where she had been and what she had done to earn them. Her mousy brown hair was stringy with grease and dirt and her smell betrayed how long it had been since she had bathed or used deodorant. The image was haunting.
The seconds spent at the sink in the restroom seemed like hours. I pried my eyes away from the ghastly figure and groped for a paper towel with which to dry my hands. There were none. I hastily wiped my dripping hands on the back side of my jeans, swung the door wide open letting in a welcome gust of fresh air and walked through. I felt better once I was outside in the midst of all the semi-trucks, station wagons and cornfields, picnicking families and barking dogs.
I knew that the woman had emerged from the restroom with me but I had to look back to be sure. I craned my neck and scanned the facility. She was nowhere to be seen. I sensed her presence. Her smell was lingering in my nostrils, the image of her all too familiar face was burned into my eyes. I couldn’t see her now, but somehow I knew that I would see her again. I had to.
I found Mac’s truck among the others idling in the lot and hurried toward it when I saw the look of anger and impatience on his face. I passed a small red car on the way and glanced into the window looking longingly at the half full pack of Marlboro reds thrown haphazardly on the dashboard. The thought crossed my mind to check the door to see if it was unlocked. I was just about to lift the handle when I saw her glaring at me again through the window of the car. That’s when it came to me. I knew who she reminded me so much of. The woman I had seen in the restroom and who now was inside this tiny red car was the spitting image of my mother. Forgetting the smokes, I turned and hightailed it toward Mac’s truck. I didn’t look back until I had slammed the heavy door behind me and locked it. When I did, she was gone.

Publication Date: 10-03-2009

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