Road to Nowhere

            The long, dusty gravel path stretched out before me as I slowly trudged along. How I ended up here, I could barely remember because it was so long ago. It all started on May 15, 1947. I was a young school girl at the time, only seven, when I met Jeremy. We met when I was walking to school one early morning and he had jumped out of the bushes at me, scaring me half to death.

            I had fallen over and so I stood up and brushed myself off and noticed I had torn my good school dress. “What was that for?” I asked hot tears beginning to slip down my face, “It ripped my dress!”

            “I didn’t mean to rip your dress,” he cackled, “but it was funny!” I stomped toward him and while I was speaking, shook my finger like I had seen my mother do so many times.

            “That was just a plain, old mean thing to do.” I scolded. “Now, who are you?” He glanced sheepishly at me and mumbled that his name was Jeremy.“Well, I am Lucy. Remember it and use it.” I answered. “Now I am going to school, Good-bye.”

            As I started walking to school Jeremy turned and began to follow me. I broke into a run towards the school house. As I reached the school house, a small, red brick cottage, he caught up with me and yelled as loud as he could, “I’m sorry!”

            The teacher, Miss Conroy, skipped out and chirped “Boys and girls, there will be no fighting, okay?” We answered yes and stumbled into the tiny, one room school house. All the others were already seated in the coarse, hard benches with books in hand. I sat down in my seat, next to Alison Flynn, the short, stubby six year old that picks her nose. Miss Conroy pranced to the front of the room and started to jabber on and on about spelling. While we were reciting the alphabet, my eyes gazed over to Jeremy. I figured he must have been about ten and five feet tall. I was still very angry at him and vowed not to forgive him.

            Time passed. A lot of time passed.  I was married and had two loving children. The year was 1991 and I was now fifty-one. I had become an office worker and my job was to stare at a flashing screen all day long. One day at work my boss, Miss Sainte-Claire, droned over the loudspeakers that she was due to give an inspection in a few minutes. My co-worker, Alice McLane, was really worried about the inspection

            “You ready Alice?” I asked.

            “No way,” Alice responded, “there is no way I’m going to be ready, Lucy.” You could stop whining and start cleaning up, I thought.

            “You could stop whining and start cleaning up.” I have always been one to say what’s on my mind on the moment. I just blurt things out. Fortunately, Alice has gotten used to it.

            “You’re right Lucy.” She responded. “I need to get to work! “ During the next few minutes Alice turned into a cleaning machine. It was kind of funny to watch her scurry around cleaning her office cube.

Eventually, Miss Sainte-Claire, a tall, stick like lady from England, strutted into the room and began inspecting each and every nook and cranny of the entire room. Miss Sainte-Claire found several dust bunnies in my other friend, Janet’s cube. She was extremely down-cast after the find. Miss Sainte-Claire left after a thorough inspection and my friend broke down into tears.

“I didn’t get it right, Lucy,” my other friend, Janet sobbed, “I didn’t get it right.”

“Oh dear,” Alice complained, “It’s just a couple of dust bunnies for crying out loud.” Janet is a perfectionist and Alice is the exact opposite. She doesn’t really need neatness but when she needs something clean it happens and it happens fast.

“Alice!”I groaned. Then I turned my attention to Janet. “You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, I think so.” She sniffed. “I’ll be okay.” Janet trudged back to her office cube and picked up a feather duster; she got right back to work cleaning.

I then turned to Alice with a disappointed look on my face. “Alice, you know that Janet is extremely sensitive, and...”

“I know, I know!” Alice interrupted rudely. “I just don’t get why she is so, so, so...”

This time I interrupted. “...Different?” I suggested. She agreed to apologize to Janet later and we both returned to our work. When it was time to go home, I strolled out to my car, a small, junky, red thing, and slipped into my seat. I turned the cold, steel key in the ignition and listened to the car roar to life. I sped away towards my tiny house on Moll Street. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that I was going twenty kilometres over the speed limit. The shrill noise or the patrol car’s siren blared through the air. I pulled over and a chunky police man in blue got out of the car and waddled over to my window.

“Can I see your license and registration please?” he asked in that boring voice that police officers use to sound like they are in charge. I noted that his voice sounded familiar.

“Sure.” I handed them over.

“What’s your name?” he ordered.

“Lucy. Remember it and use It.” came my reply.

He laughed a deep, almost scary laugh. “I know who you are! You’re that little girl that I scared way back in the day!” by this time he was nearly in hysterics.

“So,” I questioned, “what does that mean for me, exactly then?”  

“It means that you don’t have to pay the ticket!” he cried. “But...” I thought to myself Oh great! “But you can never go home again.

“Excuse me? Uh huh. Who are you again? As well, what right do you have to order that! You can’t just swoop in and tell me that I can never go home again!” by this time I was in hysterics. “You are just an insignificant, greedy pest! Now get out of here!” I was in no mood to be polite. He just turned around and mumbled something as he slowly shuffled back to his patrol car and sat in the driver’s seat. I pulled away but not before I caught a glimpse of his face in my rear view mirror. The look on his face called out I’ll get you for this.

I reached my home soon and lumbered up the front steps; I was exhausted. I took one of those micro-wave able dinners out of my freezer and shoved it into my toaster oven. As it cooked, I flipped on the TV and slumped to my bedroom where I changed out of my work clothes into my pajamas. I staggered out to the kitchen where my meal was finished cooking. My husband and children were out at my brother’s place for the week so I had the lovely quietness of the house to myself.

I shoveled my creamy macaroni, which tastes like rubber, into my mouth as fast as possible. I just wanted to sink down into my soft bed for a pleasant nine hour sleep with absolutely no interruptions. Oh well.

As soon as my head hit the pillow, I heard a loud scratching noise just outside my window. I didn’t feel like sleeping anymore, I was wide awake and afraid, really afraid. I jumped up and slipped over to the window and peered outside. Climbing the wall, there was a stout man with a dark black face mask. I quickly dashed to the phone out in the kitchen and dialed nine-one-one. A man’s voice droned on and on so I finally interrupted him.

“Excuse me,” I yelled over the man’s voice, “there is a man climbing my wall!”

“He’s probably you’re boyfriend doing the Rupunzel bit.” He answered. “Good-night.” The man hung up and I stood there dumbly. How could an officer do that? Then I realized that the man climbing my wall was trying to open my window. I scrambled to the door while grabbing my car keys and ran to my car. I swung open the door, but it wouldn’t start. Since it wouldn’t start, I bounded out of the car and straight to my bike, but it wouldn’t unlock. The man who was climbing my wall noticed me struggling with my bike and began his rapid descent. I flung my bike away and began sprinting down the driveway towards the police station.

I charged as fast as I could down the street. I turned my head back and noticed that I was about two blocks ahead of him and had only about a block to the police station.

Using my last reserves of strength, I barreled towards the front door, giving it all I had. I reached the door and tried to yank it open, only to discover it was locked! I had no choice; I had to continue running. By now I was exhausted. I didn’t know how I was managing to lift my legs at all. The man was now only fifty meters away, puffing and panting. I stumbled onto a park pathway and began to trudge wearily up the steep grade.

A bang echoed through the darkness. A gun! This scared me; even though I had no energy, I was again racing up the trail. Another shot rang out and I felt my shoulder felt numb and was bathed with a sticky warm substance. I slowed and fell to the earth. The cool, moist soil stuck to my aching wound. A face appeared above me; I recognized it to be the police man who had stopped me.

“You!” I whispered. 

“Yes, me!” he answered.  His face twisted into darkness as I fell into unconsciousness.