Well, here she was, only four hours from her destination of New Orleans. She was on her way to a family reunion and although she was excited about seeing everyone again, she was in a terrible mood. It wasn't the trip that put her in this frame of mind; it was the places they had previously stopped. She was glad to finally be in Slidell. This was her favorite stop on the way to New Orleans, and they were now pulling into the parking lot of a very familiar truck stop. They got out of the car and headed for the front door.
She entered the brick structure and looked around the lobby. She spotted some travel brochures and walked over to them. Picking one up, she traced the edge of the stiff paper and looked at the picture. It showed a group of girls in antebellum dresses standing in front of a plantation house. She remembered that the rest stop in Alabama had some of these types of pamphlets, of different houses, of course. That was the place where her bad mood had originated, not that it was peachy to start with.
It had been about six hours since they had first pulled onto the highway, and even though she left home with a great attitude, six hours of nothing but trees had depressed her. She felt the car slow down, and she glanced up to see the sign for the Alabama Welcome Center right in front of them. She got out of the car and went to the main building. Her mother and grandfather were already inside.
Stepping inside, she walked over to the nearest wall and stared blankly at the brochures in the wooden display racks. The colors were so loud and numerous it almost made her sick. Everything was represented from churches to nightclubs, amusement parks to reptile farms. "Real party places," she sighed sarcastically.
Turning, she sauntered over to where her mother was. She was writing in something at the font desk. Looking up, her mother smiled, handed her the pencil, and strolled off. Lisa looked down at the brown leather book and tried to figure out what it was. She ran her finger down the firm white paper and, after careful examination, finally realized her mother was signing in the visitor's register.
"HI! Welcome to Alabama." She looked up to find a set of big white teeth with red hair smiling at her.
"Thanks," she managed with a false grin.
"Are you enjoying your trip?" the teeth questioned.
"No," she stated, backing up a few paces.
She looked back down at the book and found her mother's name. She quickly scrawled "and family" underneath it and laid the pencil down. She glanced up just in time to see that the teeth had swooped down on their next victim. She turned around and headed for the door. She was almost safely outside when she heard Chatty Patty scream, "Come see us again real soon."
"Not likely," she returned, letting the door slam behind her.
She now laughed about it as she returned the plantation brochure back to its holder. She walked across the navy rug and into the gift shop. She looked through the bins of rose quartz, tiger's eye, and amethyst stones. She picked one up and ran her finger over the smooth, sleek sides. After returning the rock to its container, she went over to the display of porcelain masks.
She picked up a baby blue and green clown's face and watched the pink ribbons fall in the air. The masks were very cheerful and pretty, each one hand painted and distinctly original. Orange tigers, crimson birds, tan monkeys, and gray kittens roamed the jungle of the display case. She put the mask back and looked around again. She was glad to be left alone to explore and discover. In the shop at the beach in Biloxi, she was tailed from the minute she stepped foot inside. As soon as the door closed behind her, she could feel eyes watching her every move.
She had walked up and down the aisles of the beach store, examining the trinkets, knickknacks, and other treasures. Books, glasses, jewelry, pins, keychains and more found shelter in this place. Not that it was small--in fact it was huge. The items for sale were packed from wall to wall, each one competing for the buyer's attention and extremely overpriced. She turned and walked past the "Biloxi" souvenirs and the condom lollipops to the other side of the store.
She moved in the direction of the T-shirts and bathing suits which filled their half of the room with every color imaginable. She passed by the shirts with their funny sayings, tropical prints, and beer logos and stopped in front of one that snagged her attention.
The side of it had been ripped out and was encircled with red paint. An illustration of a shark with bloody teeth adorned the front of it and the words "I SURVIVED A SHARK ATTACK" were scratched in blood-red ink on the back. She decided to go look at the bathing suits and was cut off by a salesgirl who couldn't have been any older than seventeen.
The girl started in on the pitch immediately. Welcome to the store, my name's Gidget, and if you need help just let me know, the usual rehearsed script all stores used for the customers. The girl turned and bounced off, leaving Lisa standing there to wonder just how much Daddy had spent to make that girl look like that. She now turned and started looking through a rack of swimsuits. She lifted out a bright floral print suit and found Gidget by her side in seconds.
"These are really cool suits," the girl said enthusiastically while tossing back her hair, the color of which was obviously determined by a bottle of Clorox. "They don't leave a tan line. Bitchin', huh?"
Lisa couldn't take much more of this. "I'm just looking," she stated quite matter-of-factly, returned the suit to the rack and walked off. Gidget and her bikini-clad body followed closely behind.
"Now, these are some totally great shorts sets." The girl was obviously trying to make a sale. "They're, like, made of a thin cotton that breathes."
"Great," Lisa thought. "Just what I need, clothes with lungs."
She had had enough of the Coppertone Girl. She headed for the door and left the girl to pick someone else's pockets.
Lisa looked up and realized she was still in the gift shop. She heard her stomach rumble and thought to herself," Okay, okay. I get the point. We'll eat, but first I have to take care of something."
She crossed the blue rug again and went to the bathroom. Business taken care of, she reached in her purse and pulled out a Marlboro and lit it up. She perched herself on the cold marble countertop and looked around. The whole bathroom was sparkling white, and it reflected the flourecent lights unmercifully. She took one last drag from her cigarette and stuck it under the pale yellow water that was filling the sink. She turned off the faucet and jumped down, instantly regretting it. The impact sent a shock wave from her toes to her head.
"God, that hurt," she winced. She left the bathroom in search of her traveling companions.
She found them right outside the bathroom, and they went into the restaurant. They walked across the just waxed floor, and Lisa stepped alternately in the black and white squares of the checkerboard design. Passing by the section marked off for the truckers, they soon found a table and sat down.
Lisa gazed at the rows of stools and studied the men who were seated on them. They looked tired and sad and in need of a good night's sleep. One in particular, in a beige shirt, was almost completely asleep. A waitress brought over a cup of coffee for the man and watched as he straightened himself up on the green Naugahyde stool. They soon began a conversation that lasted until the trucker was awake again.
A different waitress came over to the table where they were seated and placed menus and glasses of cloudy water in front of each of them. The water smelled of sulfur and tasted like boiled eggs, and the menus were somewhat greasy. While her mother and grandfather placed their orders off the menu, she went over to the buffet.
Shrimp, hamburgers, roast beef, chicken, and over a dozen variety of vegetables and rolls fill the trays. While Lisa made her selection, she couldn't help but overhear the conversations between some of the drivers and waitresses. They talked about life, their wives and kids, politics, their hauls, and God. The waitresses all smiled and seemed to know each man by his first name. "Hey Larry. How's it goin'?" a waitress inquired as she fixed a pot of coffee.
"Pretty good, but I miss my kids," answered the man, straightened his red plaid shirt. "Timmy's birthday's Sunday and I won't be home for it, but he understands."
"You got ya some great kids, ya know that? How old's he goin' be, six," she asked, sticking a pencil into her frazzled brown ponytail.
"Yeah, and Sally'll be two in July. She's walkin' and chatterin' up a storm. Drives her momma crazy," the driver chuckled. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, scratched his blond hair, and then began to eat.
"Hey, don't worry about it. You'll be home soon, in what, four days?"
"Yeah, but it seems like forever," Larry said with a heavy sigh.
"Seemin' and bein' are two different things."
"You're right. Thanks Betty. How much I owe ya?"
The waitress handed him a check which he took to the cashier. Lisa watched the man pay the tab and then head off for his truck. She noticed he now had a smile on his face and thought to herself that something as simple as a kind word and a pleasant face could change a person's outlook.
That's what Lisa liked about this place, the friendly atmosphere. She now found herself in a much better mood. She didn't know if it were the fact that they were almost in New Orleans or the feeling at the rest stop. Whichever it was, she liked it. She returned to her seat, smiling and saying "Hello" to the truckers she passed by. After sitting down, she fished a quarter from her jeans and inserted it into the tabletop jukebox. She pressed E6 and sat back. When the song came on and Garth Brooks started to sing "Friends in Low Places," she looked out the window and smiled.