January 4, 2012

Rebecca Gaffron


It’s midnight. What’s stopping me from jumping in the car and driving three and a half hours to pick up a book of short stories written by some guy I’ve never met?


No one to miss me, no job to be late for, no pets requiring attention. Even the house plants are long dead. And he’s fun online.

I exchange hot-pink tights for my best ass-hugging jeans and grab the car keys.

I’m almost on the highway before it occurs to me that Chris might stop by. See, someone would notice. I ease my foot off the gas. Then reality checks in. Chris won’t show. The Chris thing is over.

The road’s empty. I use my phone to post on his FB page.  Tell him I’m on my way and leave my number. A few miles later I feel vibrating in my pocket.

“Are you fucking serious?” His voice is strange. Not odd, but unknown. It makes me think the whole idea is crazy. Then I notice his enthusiasm.

“You’re really driving here? Tonight?”

“Yeah.” I sound breathless.


“You offered.” I turn breathless to confident.

“I know but….” The pause is long. “I never thought you would.”

“I don’t have a clue where I’m headed.” He misses the broader implications and gives me directions.

We meet at a diner around 3:45am. Conversation in person isn’t as playful. But he insists on buying me breakfast. We finish as the sun peeks over the eastern horizon.

“You could come back to my place…”

It’s what I’ve been waiting for. Going home with a stranger, in a strange city. Gravity pulls. The force makes me shiver.


Rebecca Gaffron is fascinated by sea-green spaces, words, and men who behave like cats. She is a sometimes writer and can be found at her virtual home, rebeccawriting.wordpress.com.

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