Roadside Rest Area

By Maggie Bayne

 

It was 7:45 a.m. and Brenda had just begun her trip. But already, the day's drive had become monotonous.

The flat Midwestern scenery was identical in every direction. A barn and farmhouse to the east and identical buildings to the west. Ahead lay a snake-like black asphalt path divided by a yellow line with an identical image reflected in the rearview mirror. How could Brenda withstand several more hours of the same view before she reached Chicago? Only the fact that she was en-route to visit friends motivated her to continue.

She reached for the radio, scanning for some decent music. Classic rock oldies would be good or, better yet, classical. Nothing would be better than Vivaldi. Finding nothing worth listening to, she opted for silence.

Her mind was glazing over. There was no impressive scenery and no Starbucks for miles, though a nice double mocha latte could work wonders. There were few other cars on the road at this early hour.

Vacationers were sleeping in or enjoying waffles at IHOP. Truckers had not yet begun their days, judging from their absence in both directions. So that left only a few other all-night drivers and commuters from surrounding areas already easing into their daily pattern.

Suddenly, certain bodily functions began kicking in. It would have to happen out here in the middle of corn country, miles from any gas station or restaurant. There are some things in life over which one has little control.

Panic was building. Brenda was going to have to stop and go to the bathroom, especially urgent now that she began to acknowledge it.
Her eyes scanned the horizon but no options were visible except for cornfields and more cornfields.

Ahead Brenda could barely make out the outline of a dark brown sign that meant either Park Exit or Roadside Rest Area. No, it definitely was a rest area. Those facilities were always clean and nice, some with well-stocked vending machines.

Her car rolled to a stop. There were mere seconds to spare.

The rest area building looked new and stylish like many other facilities she had visited, designed to accommodate visitors of all ages traveling by cars and trucks. Not a piece of trash or misplaced aluminum can was in sight on the immaculate grounds.

There were very few cars in the parking lot at this hour. An older couple was walking their Yorkie on a leash and talking quietly. Another couple stopped to empty the trash from their car into the recycling bins and seemed focused on separating cans from food containers. A small group of picnic tables sat empty beneath tall shade trees.

Brenda got out of her blue Toyota, locked the driver's door and made a beeline for the restrooms.

Near the women's restroom she noticed a tall yellow plastic sign standing in front of the door. It read "Restroom temporarily closed." A young man was mopping the tile floor of the nearby hallway.

"What does this mean?" Brenda was almost shouting at the man.

"It means the women's restroom is closed." He didn't look up from his task.

"Why?"

"Someone was sick all over the floor in there and we need to decontaminate the entire area."

"How long will that take?" She was almost ready to describe the predicament, but decided against it. Her urgency was sincere.

"Well, the other cleaner arrives in an hour, so it will be at least an hour or two."

"You can't be serious. What are the women supposed to do in the meantime?"

"You can drive up the road north to a gas station. It's about seven miles. Or you can use the men's room."

"The men's room? Are there any men in there?"

"I dunno." He was still mopping. "I don't think so."

"Well, in an emergency, could you watch the door of the men's room so a woman could use it?"

At this remark he stopped mopping. "Lady, look. I'm busy. I don't have time to watch no door for you or anybody else." He looked genuinely angry at such a suggestion. "Those are your options."

"I don't think I can stand here and discuss the matter and I certainly don't think I can drive on up the road."

"That's your decision." He kept about his task.

Brenda knew when she was defeated. Few visitors seemed to be present and the area near the restrooms was practically empty.

Brenda walked nervously to the men's room door. First, she tried knocking on the large wooden outer door. When there was no response, she cracked open the door and stuck her head near the opening. "Hello," she called in a loud voice. "Is there anyone in the men's room?" Still no response. She opened the door cautiously and stuck her head into the doorway. "If there are men in the men's restroom, please answer now." She waited a moment and was beginning to feel a little foolish at her overcautious behavior.

"OK. I'll try one more time." She was speaking to herself but was also making another attempt to check the population of the men's room. "This is a woman. I'm coming in to use the men's room since the women's restroom is not available. If there is a man present, you had better tell me now." Again, there was no response.

By now, her bladder was close to bursting. She thrust the door open and walked into the restroom. There was no one to be seen and the room looked surprisingly like a typical women's restroom, with the addition of the urinals. She walked to the stall farthest from the entrance, closed and locked the door. Bliss. Brenda was alone and at last able to go to the bathroom. It was very peaceful there alone in the stall at the light of early morning.

As she was about to finish up and flush, she heard muffled voices in the room outside the door. They were men's voices, deep and hushed. She froze for fear of being discovered violating some type of health code ordinance. Perhaps there was some unbending rule in this part of the country that prohibited one sex from using a restroom designed for the other sex.

She vaguely remembered reading about a woman at some stadium event who had to use the bathroom so badly that she used the men's room because the line was short. The woman had been fined or made an example of or imprisoned. Brenda couldn't recall the outcome of the matter, but it sounded similar to what she had just done. She dared not breathe.

The big door squeaked and the voices came closer. One voice sounded younger, more of a tenor. The other voice was stronger, baritone and the second voice had a definite nasal twang.

Brenda strained to hear what they were saying but could catch only parts of the conversation. The tenor voice said something about "she came in here."
The other voice asked whether the other man was sure.

"Of course," the first man said. "Saw her myself."

Perhaps the first voice belonged to the mopping man. He had told her there was only one restroom open and knew well that she was going to use it. Brenda wondered whether he was now informing on her. Had he called his supervisor and told him that this woman had broken the law? Was she to be hauled off in handcuffs just because she drank too much water?

Her mind pondered what to do. She could flush, come out of the stall and try and explain the entire episode with an awkward smile. She could walk out nonchalantly as though there was nothing wrong.

If they asked why she happened to be in the men's room, she could indicate that she hadn't realized what the sign said. But that sounded too hard to believe and if the first man were the mopping man, he would know she was lying.

Another option was to sit quietly and hope the men would merely look around and leave. She remained seated in the stall and quietly raised her feet up until they were no longer visible beneath the door. She would wait.

The two men's voices sounded closer. The baritone voice said, "Well, I've been following that blue Toyota for a while today. I thought she looked very nice."

Blue Toyota? Brenda's breathing nearly stopped. The baritone man must have been following her car. Perhaps he had followed her into the rest area. Perhaps he happened to be driving by and saw the blue Toyota parked outside.

With few cars on the road at this hour, her car would have been easy to spot. The situation could become dangerous. What did the man mean that he thought she looked "very nice"? Was he was stalking her?

The baritone then asked, "Could she have gone somewhere else around here? Maybe she went into the woods for a smoke."

The tenor was emphatic. "No, she came in here."

They must have been walking along the line of stalls. Finally, the baritone said, "Well, I don't see her. She must be outside."

The door squeaked again and the voices left.

Brenda did not know what to do. She thought about the layout of the room and wondered if she could escape by climbing through a window to get to her car. But the windows were narrow and long and would not allow an exit.

She remained inside the stall for several more minutes. There were no other voices or other sounds. How to proceed seemed an important decision, perhaps vital to Brenda's personal safety and she wanted to make the right choice.

She looked at her brown leather handbag hanging on the back of the stall door. "My cell phone," she thought. "I'll use my cell phone and call 911. I'll tell them I am at the rest area and heard a conversation between two men and have reason to believe that I might be in danger."

Before dialing, Brenda tried to analyze this situation, weighing every side. She couldn't see any drawbacks to making the call. It would bring the authorities and they could make sure she got back on the road without any problems.

Grabbing her phone, she dialed 911.

"Emergency center. What is your location?"

"I am at the roadside rest area on Interstate 28. I believe it is about 10 miles from John's Corner."

"Is that the Downer's Grove rest area?"

"Yes, I believe it is."

"What is the nature of your emergency?"

"I'm alone and someone has been following me in his car. He also knows that I'm here now."

"How do you know that you are being followed?"

"I overheard a conversation about me. The man who is following me knows the make and color of my car."

"Remain at the rest area. We will send two officers out to talk to you."

"Thank you so much. I know this must sound a little far-fetched, but I would feel better if you could send the officers. I appreciate your help."

"No problem, ma'am. They will be out there shortly."

Now that the call had been made, Brenda felt comfortable in leaving the men's room. Stopping to wash her hands, she checked her reflection in the mirror. Thank goodness her concern did not show on her face.

She then walked calmly into the main lobby area. It was a glassed-in structure which was bright and comfortable and would provide shelter to visitors when the weather turned bad.

Concrete benches lined the glass enclosure and Brenda sat where she could see her car. She tried to relax her shoulders after the episode in the restroom. There was nothing to do now but wait for the officers.

In a few minutes, a yellow and white State Police squad car drove up and two officers got out. They walked slowly toward the glass entrance. One was a large man, very tall with slightly gray temples. The other man was much younger, slim and too young to have been an officer very long. As they approached Brenda, they both smiled.

The young officer took out a notebook and introduced himself as Officer Reynolds. "This is Officer Patrick," he said, gesturing toward the older officer. "We just need to ask you a couple of questions. Did you see either of the men in the restroom?"

"No. But I heard them talking."

"What made you think they were discussing you?"

"One man said he had been following me and described my car."

"What kind of car is that?"

"A blue Toyota."

"That might have been a reference to someone else's car. Had you seen any sign that they were following you?"

"No."

"Well, perhaps this was all a case of mistaken identity or misunderstanding. Why don't you let Officer Patrick and me look around outside for a few minutes. Just stay here and we will look for suspicious individuals or perhaps someone else driving a blue car. We will be back in a few minutes."

Brenda returned to her seat on one of the benches. She suddenly felt that if someone were watching her, they might be watching even as the officers patrolled outside. Her stomach was growling for lack of food but eating was low on her list just now.

After several minutes, Officers Reynolds and Patrick returned. Officer Reynolds was holding a small piece of white paper which he unfolded and held toward Brenda. It read "I'm still watching."

She gasped as she read it. "Where did you get this?"

Officer Reynolds said, "It was on your windshield."

Brenda's posture crumpled. "Oh, my."

"It does look as though you might have someone keeping track of you," Officer Reynolds said, keeping his voice low. "I wouldn't want anyone to overhear this conversation or begin some type of panic. But you might be in danger."

"What do you think I should do?"

"Well, perhaps you should go with us to our regional headquarters. You can make an official report. Perhaps our profiles will identify other incidents with a similar pattern. We might be able to put together the pieces of this puzzle."

"Yes, you might be right. I would be glad to do that."

"You were on your way to Chicago, I think you said."

"Yes, to visit friends. But I don't have a time schedule and I think going to your office might be important."

Officer Reynolds looked to his partner. "You ride with Officer Patrick. I will wait here for a tow truck to take your vehicle. We should have it fingerprinted."

"Good idea," she smiled at the officers. "I feel this is the best thing to do." She handed the keys to Officer Patrick and they all neared the door at the same time.
"The office is just a few minutes away. I'll see you there." Officer Reynolds then got on his cell phone and called in to request a tow truck.

Officer Patrick and Brenda walked toward the trooper vehicle. Brenda got in and fastened her seat belt. "I'm a little nervous about all this," she smiled awkwardly. "So, forgive me if I ask silly questions or seem uncomfortable. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before."

Officer Patrick smiled and started the vehicle. The radio screeched with static saying garbled words that no one could understand.
"I don't know how you can interpret what is said with all that static."

Officer Patrick was backing out of the parking space and said merely "Hmmm."

The car straightened out and exited the parking lot leaving Officer Reynolds standing by Brenda's blue Toyota.

"You must be the quietest officer I have ever seen," she observed trying to break the silence.

Officer Patrick said, "I talk when I need to." His voice was deep, almost baritone with a hint nasal whine.

Brenda sat frozen in the passenger's side of the vehicle as it sped down the interstate. "You… I know that voice. I've heard it before."

Officer Patrick smiled broadly. "Yes, I know you heard me and I've been watching you."

 

Maggie Bayne from US is a fiction writer living in upstate New York. She has had a number of stories published, including: "The Blizzard" in October Hill Magazine, Volume 6, Issue 4; "Rescuing Addie Stiles" in Remington Review, Spring 2023; "Time for a Change" in Mobius Magazine, Issue 4; "The Christmas Wish" in October Hill Magazine, Winter 2024; "The Return" in Lit Shark Magazine #2, October 2023; "Candy!" in Lit Shark Magazine #3, October 2023; and "Neighbors" in October Hill Magazine.