“The Bathroom Stop”
from Tales Across Country
by Rachel E. Olson
“We need to stop!” yelled Josh from the back of the van. He was huddled in his bright orange blanket, looking out over the traffic with an expression of pain on his face. Dad turned back from the driver seat and stared at him.
“You really need to go, that bad?” he asked, horrified.
Josh nodded, his eyes closed. He’d needed to use the bathroom for the last two hours and, from all the cars on the road, it looked like he wasn’t going to make it. He moaned.
Teresa, sitting in the front seat, giggled. If she’d turned back, he would have given her a dirty look; Making fun of him in such a serious situation; honestly!
They’d been travelling cross country for as long as Josh could remember. Every year, the night that finals ended, they’d pack up their huge green van with suitcases and cheese and crackers. He’d go to bed in his socks and favorite pair of jeans and wait for his parents to wake him up at four in the morning to pack people into the car, with their blankets and pillows and books, and go to sleep as they backed out of the driveway, on their way west.
As they drove through the city, out into the country, the sun would rise from behind them. The sky would be azure and oranges and creamy blues, gold and lilac and bright red. Farms passed by on either side of the road, the rich green stretching out to the horizon. But this time, Josh couldn’t enjoy it.
It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and they’d been driving for two hours without coming to a rest stop. He was starting to lose hope, and it was a thirty-six hour trip where they were going.
---------------------------------------------
“Alright, everybody! Out of the car!” called Mr. McCandless. They’d finally found an old, practically abandoned gas station near the interstate, just outside of Barkersville. Josh leapt over the plastic-covered seats, and would have thanked his dad if he could have. He threw himself out of the car, onto the hot tar, barefoot. Jumping back and forth from one leg to the other, he rushed to the restroom on the side of the building. It was locked.
As his brothers and sisters climbed out of the car, Josh sprinted into the main store where a pudgy man with light blue eyes and a western-Pennsylvania accent sat behind the counter. The shop was dark and quiet. Pictures of men catching fish hung on the walls and advertisements adorned the cash register.
“How can I help you, son?” asked the man, placing his hands on his knees and pulling himself up from his chair.
“Bathroom. Key!” Josh said, too out of breath for words.
“Oh, I’m sorry, son, but we lost that key weeks ago. No one’s used it since the end o’ May.”
This would have been a good time to cry.
He ran out into the parking lot and his dad, seeing that something was wrong, called out, “Alright, everyone! Back into the car!”
Fifteen minutes later, they turned off interstate 80, past fields of corn, brilliant and yellow. They were in Ohio. Josh sat staring out the window, his nose pressed against the glass. Ohio was his favorite state to drive through. One day he was going to move into a little farm town, past the main city, where everybody knew everybody, and one car passed by on the road per hour.
“Shoes on!”
The car stopped and Steve moved out of the way for Josh to get through. The gas station was a little more modern. At least the building was made of concrete. He crossed the vast parking lot at a jog, and ran into the station.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asked hurriedly to the girl behind the counter. She had light brown hair and hazel eyes and she grinned at him.
“Over there,” she pointed, and turned back to look at her magazine. She was reading “Reader’s Digest,” the funny jokes part.
Josh turned away from her and groaned. The line for the bathroom stretched back to the beef jerky corner, past the boxes of pop tarts and the “Pick-your-own-donut” station. A man up front with black hair and a scowl knocked angrily on the Men’s Bathroom door, but no one answered.
Back in the car, Mrs. McCandless was starting to worry if they’d ever be able to find a bathroom for her son, especially because he had a fear of snakes, bordering on a phobia.
“Well, I mean, you could just check google for it on your cell phone,” said Teresa, finally deciding to be helpful.
“PLEASE!” yelled Josh from the back. Susan, his only older sister, sitting next to him, put her backpack between her seat and his, and shuffled a little farther away. She was two years older, had curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and wasn’t the most mature at times. He glared at her.
“Alright, alright!” said Teresa from up front. She grabbed her dad’s phone and looked up restrooms on route 80, Ohio.
“Okay, so there’s one about ten minutes down the road, off exit thirty-five.”
Dad pressed on the gas. They were going 60 miles an hour, and the van sounded like it was about to break down. Which it was.
Twelve minutes later, AAA was towing their car to a repair station outside of Montpelier.
“How far is the nearest gas station?” Josh asked the tow-truck driver. He was sitting in the front seat of the truck and trying not to think about going to the bathroom.
“’Bout fifteen minute walk, I guess,” said the man. His shirt was stained with sweat and he didn’t smell particularly nice, but Josh could have hugged him.
“Thank you!” he said, and jumped out of the car. As he ran along the side roads in the direction the man had pointed, he called back to his parents that he’d meet them at the repair shop.
It took him five minutes to run there. The sun was just sinking down over the tree tops and the buzz of cicadas filled the air with a soft music. As Josh ran, he could see the gas station up ahead. It looked like it was open, and only a couple of people were filling up their tanks. This was good. He was going to make it!
Through the parking lot, dodging cars, along the sidewalk, and around the corner of the building; he was almost there!
Finally, he reached the door to the bathroom, panting and exhausted. As he looked up to open the door , his hand gripping the handle, too tired to turn it yet, he read the sign that had been taped up in front of his face. It was a lined sheet of paper, ripped at the edges, and written on in purple ink in large letters. On the paper were three words.
Out of order.
The End
No comments:
Post a Comment