Nervous Nomad

Adventures of a Worrier

“Shit!”

I knew my nomadic existence would result in my eventual demise.

A large, burly man in a red plaid flannel jacket was approaching the driver’s side window. Jessie watched the side mirror as he strode toward her. He had a big, bushy beard. It looked like it was packed full of secrets trying to escape. She felt sick.

The man knocked on the window. Jessie jumped. Her head involuntarily tucked itself into her shoulders as she cracked the window ever so slightly.

“Do you need help?” The man seemed genuine, but Jessie knew all too well the human ability to disguise true intentions.

This is the part of the movie where the weary traveler gets murdered by the seemingly helpful passerby. Why do I always do that? Every time I envision something horrific happening, it never comes true, so why do I keep imagining these things?!

Jessie shook her head, maybe a little too violently. Her eyes darted to her feet. A typical reaction to uncomfortable human interaction. For her, every human interaction was uncomfortable, so she spent a lot of time staring at her shoes. She had chosen a pair of white canvas high tops to give her a useful outlet for her drawings. She started getting lost in the swirling vortex design inhabiting her ankles. This was her way of escaping the anxiety-spiral of socializing.

“You sure? I can take a look to see if I can get you up and running again.”

Jessie bit down on her lower lip. Her eyes shuffled between her feet and the man’s smiling face. She was a bit desperate. She didn’t have enough money left to pay for a tow, repairs, and dinner tonight. Her car shook to the rhythm of her bouncing leg as she weighed her options.

And against her better judgement, the scrawny and naive woman traveling alone opens her door for the potential serial killer. Ugh. I did it again. Stop it!

Jessie rolled her eyes at her inner dialogue. “Yeah…ok.” Jessie took a deep breath and pressed the unlock button.

The man gestured for Jessie to move aside. She shuffled to the rear of her car, her arms folded tightly at her chest. She grasped her sides with her fingers, as if giving herself a hug. It was an attempt to calm her anxiety. Her insides were doing all sorts of gymnastics and making her feel even more queasy. She watched as the broad-shouldered man popped the hood of her car and began to work. Everything seemed fine when she stopped at that gas station a few miles back, but what did she know? Her knowledge about cars was limited to operational steps only. Brake to stop. Gas to go. Steer the wheel.

Maybe I should learn more about cars if I’m going to continue living in one.

Jessie had decided to live out of her car about 6 months ago. Everything was great when the weather was nice. But now, the weather was cold, her car was obviously broken, and she was running out of money. If she wanted to stay on the road, she needed to get creative.

Flannel man walked to the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine roared to life.

Wow…maybe there are some decent human beings out there after all.

“There you go, miss. All fixed up! Say, you look like you could use a hot meal, especially after an ordeal like this. Whatdya say?”

Jessie shifted self-consciously, trying to make herself look less pathetic. It was no use. He had already seen right through her. Not that she was very good at hiding her true feelings.

Accepting help from a stranger is a one-way ticket to being kidnapped, tortured, and murdered. He probably keeps the severed feet of his victims in shoe boxes under his bed, only peering inside to admire his trophies on the anniversary of the kill. DUDE! What is my deal? This nice guy is offering to feed me and I’m creating dramatic fiction about his foot fetish murder habits.

“Actually, that would be nice. You know a place? I can follow you.”

“There is a swell little diner not too far. Follow me, little lady.”