I’d been a month at my new job in the city, and I was done. I wanted to go home. So as soon as I clocked out Friday, I threw some clothes in a bag and started driving. It was a five-hour drive, a bit less if you took the shortcut along country roads, and I wanted to sleep in my old bed.
My phone ran out of battery an hour in, and somehow the car charger was back in my apartment. It didn’t matter. I’d driven the back way once or twice and I figured I could do it without GPS.
The problem was, I got stupid tired, tired enough that if I’d had a twenty dollar bill on me, I’d have held it out the window to keep me awake. But I hardly ever had cash in my wallet. I opened the window anyway. The bitter wind jolted me at first, but I got used to it.
I drove bleary-eyed along empty stretches of farmland and country homes, the occasional headlight staring me down and blurring past. Nothing looked familiar. For a long time there were no houses and no cars and no lights but my own.
Finally, the lights of a town appeared in the distance, a glimmer on the horizon. I drove into a quaint downtown with two-story buildings that made you think of Disney’s Main Street, with windows lit up by lamps and the theater sign glowing with rows of incandescent bulbs. I parked near a little park nestled between buildings, with a gazebo at its center, lit by small solar charged lights at its base. I got out of the car to stretch. I was starting to wake a bit.
A figure walked out of the dimly lit path of the park and stopped a moment. I ignored it and gazed around, trying to find some indication of what town I was in.
“Excuse me.” The voice was a woman’s. “Are you lost?”
I turned to her. In the light of the street lamp, I could see she was around my age, wearing a black winter cap and a red scarf. “I guess so.”
“You look cold.”
“I’m fine.” My cheeks were burning from the miles I’d driven with the wind in my face.
“There’s a cafe on the corner. Come on, I’ll buy you a cup.”
I nodded. She smiled and started forward, motioning for me to catch up.
“I was trying to get home, but I missed my turn,” I said, trying to explain myself.
She laughed and turned into the corner shop. Inside, it was dim, with only a few lights dangling from the high ceiling. Large windows ran along two walls and looked out into the night and street lamps. Three men in the back corner were playing jazz. Most of the small tables were occupied by men in hats and suits and well-dressed women. A metal monstrosity rumbled behind the counter, steaming milk and making espresso.
I ordered in a daze. I brought my wallet out to pay, but the woman waved it away. “Not tonight,” she said, smiling.
We sat against the far wall. I felt warm again, and the latte toasted my insides.
“You haven’t said much,” the woman said.
“I don’t know what to say.” The piano danced above the murmur of conversation.
A gentleman came up, sharp-looking and smooth-cheeked. “Melinda, who’s the fresh face?”
I stood awkwardly. “Andrew. I’m here by accident.”
“George.” He gripped my hand firmly. “Nice to meet you. Dancing’s starting soon. Melinda’s a fine teacher, if you don’t know how. Ain’t you, sweetheart?”
“I do all right,” she purred. “Tell your brother ma misses his visits.”
“Next I see him.” George tipped his hat. “Glad you stumbled in, Andrew.”
Suddenly, there was a scraping as people pushed their tables against the walls. The band started up again, but there seemed to more players now, with more brass. Melinda, still seated, glanced at me. “Do you have to go, or can you stay a bit?”
“I can stay.”
“Good. I’m glad.” She stood and extended her hand to me.
We danced. Everyone danced. The music was an enveloping, like water or air or sunlight, and we swam and soared in it. We all smiled and we laughed. It was a romance—not me and her, but all of us: George and Stanley, making faces and prancing about; Melinda’s friends, who each took their turn with me; the mustached men hovering on the edges, glasses of something stronger than coffee in their hands. I was sweating, we all were sweating, and we were out of breath and our cheeks were tired from smiling, and we laughed anyway at some wild remark. I didn’t care about being the stranger, because we were all friends—because it didn’t matter that Francis had a lazy eye or Henry had two left feet. We were delighted with each other, surprised and perplexed and astonished with one another.
And sometime in the early morning I skipped to my car after a million goodbyes and farewells, and when I shook my head in the gray morning, somewhere along an endless country road, I wondered at it all.
I never did find the town again, not on a map, not as I drove the long endless roads between the corn fields and soybeans. I never again met those friends of mine, or heard the music play as I did that night.
I’m back in the big city, and I want to go home, but it’s hidden, and I cannot find it.