The waitress looked me all over. The leather jacket, the worn out jeans and my black boots. For a moment I thought I scared her, but I wasn’t wearing a patch so she figured I wasn’t in a motorcycle club and it was probably safe to come near me.
“What will you have, sugar?” She asked. I studied her pretty face and deep blue eyes. She was too pretty to work a joint like this, in a middle of nowhere on a highway no one cares about. “Cat got your tongue?”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll have the french toast and some orange juice.”
She chuckled and flirted a little, or maybe she didn’t since she was a waitress after all, “Since when do bad bikers drink orange juice?”
For a second I thought about making a cheeky joke, go with it and see where it lands, but just 48 hours ago the love of my life decided to end things. It didn’t feel right, “I’m no bad biker, darling. I’m just a guy with a Harley.”
The waitress smiled again, “Ooh. Doesn’t matter. I like good bikers too.” Her look fell down as she said it and saw the shiny ring I had twirling in my hand, “Thinking about proposing? There’s a lot more fancier places.”
“Nah. This ring…she returned it to me just two days ago. It’s run it’s course.”
An awkward silence ensued and the girl decided to nod and get back to work. I continued playing with the damn ring and sipping on my orange juice. She came back after 10 minutes with my french toast and set it on the table.
“What happened between you two if you don’t mind me asking? You seem like quite a catch,” Once again she flirted.
I took a bite of my meal, “Well, there was a time when we were inseparable. We had plans. I’d buy a Harley and we would drive all the way to Louisiana. She always wanted to see New Orleans, then we’d go and see the desert, move up to California too. No restraints, no worries. Just the bike, her and me.”
“Seems like she had a change of mind.” The waitress said.
“Yeah. Somewhere between dream and reality she decided that a Benz, security and a nice place in a quiet neighborhood outrank a Harley and the open road,” I said. “Can’t blame her though. Everyone wants security. A nomad’s life isn’t a pretty one.”
I ate through all my french toast now and took my wallet out. As much as I liked talking to this pretty stranger I figured it was best to leave, “Here you go, darling.”
The waitress smiled, “Where to now?”
“Wherever I end up. I’ll ride around, see which place looks good. You never know where the road might take you.”
She smiled and took a small piece of paper, scrambled and address and a phone number, “If the road ever takes you to Barstow. Why don’t you visit me?”
I took the paper and smiled, got up and went for the door, “Sure, darling. I don’t know your name yet, doesn’t matter. If I ever decide to stop by in Barstow you’ll be my first stop.”
“Have a nice day and take care.” She said.
I put my helmet on and sat on the bike, looking at the open road ahead, the sun shining bright. I could go wherever I wanted. Just me, my bike and the vast beyond. Chances were I’d end up in Barstow sooner than later though, we all know I can’t resist a pair of nice eyes.
The engine came to life and I drove off trying to get as much distance as I could from me and all the troubles back home.