Shepherd

TWO

Shepherd eased the rig into the loading bay with such speed that the crew working the roller-shutter doors leapt backwards as it slammed into the concrete platform. Of course he didn't feel a thing but several of the stacked crates toppled and dust fell from the overhanging roof. He slammed the stick into neutral, shut down the auxiliary controls and turned off the a/c. Then, grabbing his overnight bag, he climbed down the ladder and dropped to the floor just as the Line Manager appeared from the back of his truck.

"What the fuck are you-" he began to say but Shepherd flipped him a finger and walked around the cab, breathing in the hot metal stench from the vents as he made his way over to the diner. Forklifts raced past him and the cries from the warehouse were quickly drowned out by his own thoughts as he imagined the hot shower, the fresh clothes and the slice of warm blueberry pie winking at him from the counter just a few feet from the door.

Once inside he was assaulted by the clamour of cutlery, of metal trays being dropped unceremoniously onto Formica table tops, of serving calls from the fry cook and the cuss words of a dozen dissatisfied truckers. The woman behind the counter, Doris he remembered, cast him a wary glance which he returned with a nod of his head. No doubt she'd be plating up his supper before he'd gotten out of the cubicle.

He went into the shower block and dropped his bag into a locker, stripping off his damp shirt and pungent boots alone. The other benches lined up in the changing room were empty save for a single blue towel hanging from a hook on the last shower from the end. He could hear the sounds of someone whistling a tune, a broken melody of some Stones track from days gone by. He dropped his jeans, stuffed them into the locker along with the rest of his clothes, found his towel and slung it over his shoulder. Then, dropping his shorts, he padded naked into the stall and set the water on a powerful hot blast that scalded his skin. He didn't care. His pale flesh, livid with scar tissue, turned a bright red but he still didn't care. Soap. Scrubbing. Wiping away days of ingrained dirt and sweat. He stopped and watched the grey filth slip away down the plug hole at his feet.

He saw her. The cab. The summer sun on their faces. He remembered the shape of her thighs, the way her ankles crossed on the dash board as the wind blew in through the open windows. She wore shades that day as they crossed the state line. Pink toes, painted nails the colour of midnight. She sat side-on, facing him, reading a book with one hand and a glass of amber liquid in the other. Hair the colour of autumn picked up by the breeze. It was the image of heaven, of a paradise captured in the reflected glow of a noon-day sun that bounced off the asphalt Eden as the world became the size of a truck cab, just him and her, not a care in the entire thing. Denim shorts on tanned legs. A frayed tee that had once been his. The smile she gifted him with.

He looked up. The dirty, stained tiles were ugly and grim. They were the uniform reminder that he'd fucked it all up and now, as the world promised to end, he was trying his hardest not to find her again. He knew why. She didn't. She couldn't.

He dried himself off, feeling the soft, pale flesh around his waist that he wished was a defined torso and not the belly of a serious drinker. He brushed his teeth that he wished were no longer so broken and worn. He ran a hand through the short, bristly hair on his scalp that... Pointless, he realised. Stupid introspection of a real human based on a fictional model. He was the man he was, warts and all. Even if she no longer found him physically attractive at least she'd loved his words. He still had those; they couldn't take them away from him. The road could never steal them from his heart.

In the diner, fresh again and with a baseball cap on his head, tilted forward slightly against the prying eyes of others, he took a seat near the counter.

"The special?" asked Doris in a voice much the same as a sanding block on coarse timber.

"Aye," he replied. "And a beer."