Miles to Go Before I Sleep

Derikka Locke

As a child, I dreamed of leaving the house, being free, not having to listen to anyone. Well, it’s not as great as the movies led you to believe.

My motorcycle was running low on gas as I sped down the highway, the meter getting dangerously close to empty. This little beast had seemed so perfect before, with its cheap price and great condition, but when you’re out on the open road for as long as I am, it begins to lose its charm. Cursing, I keep an eye on the signs on the side of the road, hoping to see a rest area or town within the next few miles. I’ve had to beg for gas before, and it is not a good feeling.

Fortunately, I appeared to be on a golden streak today, as a large green sign popped up from behind the trees. “Flatwoods, 1 mile!” it cried out to me. Surely enough, an off ramp came into view a minute later, leading up into a semi-empty intersection. My bike roared as I climbed up before settling to a purr as I wait for a bumbling minivan to pass by. I pull onto the road, keeping a sharp eye on my fuel gauge as the arrow indecisively teetered on the edge of the red.

A gas station pulled up on the horizon, and I felt indescribably relieved. The black beast pulled into the nearly empty lot and up to a pumps. Switching off the ignition, I swung my leg over and off of the seat, like a rancher getting home after a hard day’s work. A swift survey of the area revealed an old man filling his pickup and an employee having a smoke by the side of the building. Reaching into the leather pouch on the back of my bike, I shifted through my meager belongings before triumphantly yanking out my old wallet before turning to the gas pump. I selected diesel and opened up the wallet to yank out a twenty when that awful feeling hit my stomach. Hoping it was merely a false memory, I peeked into my wallet, only to find my worst fear confirmed; I had used the last of my cash to get dinner last night.

I felt panic settling in my bones, questioning my choices. Why did I think this was a good idea? Why did I leave Dad? I knew the answers, of course, though I preferred not to think of them.

Although my golden streak had hit a rocky patch, it came back strong. During my agonizing moment of fear, the old man had apparently caught wind of my situation, as he lumbered over to my pump, dragging my eye off of my wallet. “Hey, there, missy.” His voice had a slight tang of an accent, as I had come to expect from people this far south. “Short on cash, huh? Your mama not give you enough?”

Ignoring the twang in my heart, I responded, “I don’t have a mama, sir, I’m here on my own accord.”

The man furrowed his fluffy brow. “What about your daddy? You couldn’t have asked him for a bit of money to get yourself some gas?”

“No, sir, I’m afraid I couldn’t.” As the man opened his mouth to speak again, I cut him off quickly. “I’m an emancipated minor. Can’t ask them for much of anything anymore.”

“Emancipated minor?” His eyes rose in surprise, and he gave me a stern look. “You mean to tell me you left your parents? If you don’t mind me asking, why would you ever do that?”

At this point, it took all I could to remain civil to this man and his increasingly personal questions. Breathing out a sigh, I turned to face this man directly. “My mother is gone, sir, and my dad wasn’t exactly father material.” I wasn’t sure why I was telling this random elderly man my life story, but it effectively changed the topic.

“Uh, right…” he muttered, seeming to understand not to ask. “Anyways, you’re short on cash, huh?” Cue curt nod from me. “Well, I think I could help. How much do you need?” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and began to rifle through it.

Immediately, my hand went up to stop him. “I don’t like pity, you can keep your money.” I knew in my heart that I needed it, but accepting charity was always an issue for me. Being given money for nothing was unheard of in Mom’s house, and I definitely never asked for any from Dad.

“You sure?” he questioned, raising those brows again. “Can you push this little bike home? Do you live nearby?”

Debating my answer, I carefully replied, “I’m out of state, so that’s a no.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. I surely don’t live in Virginia with dad, so I still considered myself a Hoosier, but I didn’t really have a home there either.

He gave me a teasing, yet kind hearted smile. “Than I think you need this cash a little more than I do.” He pulled out a few bills and stuffed them in my hand, before giving me a nod in goodbye and walking back to his truck. I watched the man pull away, then looked in my hand, expecting to see a few crumbled ones and fives.

I was not expecting to see several twenties and a hundred.

Taking in a deep breath, I begrudgingly filled up the beast, fed the pump a twenty, and dropped the bills into my pouch. I swung back onto the bike, and within minutes, was right back on the highway. I took pleasure in the wind blowing my hair, tangling strands and blowing those pesky thoughts right back where they belonged. I thought on the man, thought of admitting defeat and settling back down, yet here I was, right back on the road, the sky darkening, with miles to go before I sleep.