Naïveté

"Just passing through?"

Tom was caught off guard. He had been perusing the chocolate bar aisle in hopes of discovering something to comfort him. As he looked over at the counter he saw a broad man with a grin that could make someone either uncomfortable or too comfortable. "I'm sorry?" Tom said unapologetically.

"Are you just passing through? You don't look much like someone from around here." Steve, the man behind the counter, said without any intentional hostility.

"I'll take that as a compliment." Tom was never very good at making friends. Since childhood he had always questioned the apparent need for them. When every other child was out playing soccer, or tag, or any other of the numerous games that kids play in a group; Steve was at home reading, or writing, or any other of the numerous activities that can only be done alone. It was this that prompted him into travelling alone. He thought maybe, just maybe, somewhere out there was a person that he could justify calling a friend.

Tom paid for his bag of Skittles that he didn't really want and he left the convenience store, indignant as always. As he stepped into his 1969 Buick Skylark he tossed the skittles on the dashboard realizing he was hungry, but not for sugar-laced sugar, but rather for a real meal. A small diner neighboured the gas station which in all Tom's travels he had certainly seen worse.

The waitress was homely and quiet. She greeted Tom with a moderately friendly smile as he sat down. Tom ordered a monte cristo and a chocolate milkshake, again hoping to enjoy some form of comfort in the favourite foods of his youth. The sandwich was underdone and the milkshake was poorly mixed. Tom left an adequate tip and took his leave.

Tom left the diner feeling unsatisfied and underwhelmed, typical really. His attitude did shift, however, when he laid eyes on his car. In one of his four once immaculate tires there was now a tear across the sides. Not a hole that might cause a slow leak, but a six inch rip that clearly was designed to send a message. He examined the tire closer, cursing, screaming at anyone who was close enough to listen, but most people either snickered or kept to themselves. Tom turned his head and looked back at the gas station, through the window he made eye-contact with Steve, what a prick. If Tom had been a different man, maybe he'd confront him, maybe he'd go over there and kick his teeth in, but he was Tom, so he cursed a bit more and called a tow truck.

The truck came and towed his car to the garage, as most tow trucks will do. A new tire with installation cost Tom nearly $300, plus another $200 for the loose bearing that may or not have been threatening his car's very existence. The mechanic was very kind to notice and fix this without Tom's knowledge.

Leaving the garage, Tom was frustrated, annoyed, losing even more faith in humanity, but mostly he was exhausted. The sun had long since set and Tom hated driving at night. He pulled into a shady motel, under normal circumstances Tom avoided these at all costs, but between his fatigue and the rather costly car bill he couldn't be bothered to find somewhere nicer. He approached the front desk with the trepidation of a bird with a broken wing. Any trace of a swagger he once had was now replaced by a gleam of self-pity and hurt-feelings. It only became worse when the elderly woman at the front desk told him they were full-up.

"Terribly sorry, hun." The woman yelled as Tom retreated from the lobby and out the front door. Those words rang in Tom's head as he slumped into the driver's seat of his car. Once a source of pride for Tom, this car had now become his only comfort. He spent the night in that car, it wasn't the first time and it certainly wouldn't be the last. His legs were stretched out along the dash. His arms folded across his chest. And his head was pressed awkwardly against the window. As uncomfortable of a night it was, it was exactly what Tom needed.

As the sun rose upon Tom and his battered pride, he couldn't help but wish he was home with his family. Never before had he felt so alone. It was this realization, that maybe he never experienced true loneliness until now, that forced him to plot out a new route, a route that would lead him back home.  Maybe he had had friends all along.