The Road That Found Me

Coffee cooling by the county line, Another town I’d circled twice. My good shirt hung from the passenger seat, Still had the tag tucked under the sleeve.

Pulled off where the diner sign Had lost its D but kept its light. The screen door scraped a half-moon in the floor. She caught it with her shoe, “Been meaning to fix that door.”

Dad’s old screwdriver under the spare, I hadn’t touched it in a year. I said, “I’ve got a minute.” She pulled an empty chair.

I took the long way out of town, Wore every good intention down. Kept looking for a sign Big enough to turn my life around.

She held the frame, These hands felt useful again. I came looking for an exit, On the road that found me.

Two stripped screws in a saucer dish, She held the frame while I reset the hinge. Said her husband used to handle things like this, Then watched my hands And left it there.

My phone lit up beside the till. Same polite no. Same hollow chill. I turned it over, eased the handle down. For once that door Was the quietest thing around.

She asked me where I headed next. I named a town, then let it hang. Then the door swung shut behind a stranger. No scrape. No catch.

She smiled before she turned.

“Back step’s loose, too. If you’re around.”

I looked out at the highway. “Tomorrow work for you?”

I took the long way out of town, Wore every good intention down. Kept looking for a sign Big enough to turn my life around.

Now there’s a back step, And coffee waiting after that. I set my good shirt in the backseat, Said I’d be there after eight.

I don’t know where this goes. I know where I’ll be. I’m coming back tomorrow Down the road that found me.

Screwdriver on the passenger seat. A little daylight left.