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My Stories

Dedicated to
Gerald Webber
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                             Sanctuary

                     I drove along, pushing the radio buttons over and over.  Frustrated, I flipped it off and impatiently tucked a strand of auburn hair behind one ear.  I had been driving for days, with no clue where I was going.   Thankfully, my family understood, helping me pack and wiping the tears from their eyes as I drove away.   I hadn’t wanted to leave.  My family meant the world to me, and Oakmont was a wonderful town, mostly.  Brent’s face flashed into my mind then.  Handsome, charming, deceitful, Brent.  A cold shiver rippled through me, raising goose bumps on my bare skin.  I glanced at my reflection in the rearview mirror.  The bruise that encircled my right eye was almost gone.  I smiled a relieved smile, and blinked away tears.  I was going to start over, in a new place.  It would be a new chance for me; a new life.   No one knew where I was going; I didn’t even know myself.  Upon Brent’s arrest, my family had promptly helped me pack, and gave me a disposable cell phone, which couldn’t be traced.  I accepted it gratefully, and promised to call when I found a place to stay.  I sighed.  I had only been stopping to eat and sleep.  I wished I had my GPS, but, that was too risky.  A small alarm drew my attention to the dashboard instruments. 

“Darn”, I muttered, seeing the blinking fuel indicator.

                      It was on empty.  Luckily, an exit was coming up that had gas stations, so I pulled onto the off ramp.  Standing at the pump, I could smell the enticing aromas coming form the pink building next door.  The sign out front, proclaimed it, the “Pancake Palace”.  I laughed at the name, but my stomach growled loudly in response.  I couldn’t remember the last time I had eaten; the day before, at breakfast maybe?  After filling the tank, I pulled into to the parking lot of the pink, Pancake Palace.  It had white scalloped edging around the roof, and a stack of plastic pancakes with butter and syrup, twirled in circles on the roof.  It looked like a Fisher Price toy.   I smiled, amused, as I made my way to the door. The smell of bacon and fresh perked coffee, greeted me as I stepped inside.  I spotted an empty booth in the back corner.   Brent always liked booths.  He liked their privacy, while being able to see what was going on all around him.  I shook my head to dislodge the memory, and stepped up to the counter.  Islid onto a stool and perused the menu.  Moments later, a waitress appeared.  She was wearing a faded pink uniform with a grey apron.  Her carrot colored hair was pinned up in neat bun, and she wore too much red lipstick.  She was probably younger than she looked, I surmised.

“Coffee”, the waitress asked, holding up a pot.

“Yes, decaf please”, I replied with a smile.

                     The waitress moved to the coffee maker, picking up the decaf and filling my cup, from the orange-lidded pot.

“What’ll ya have?” the waitress asked, her pen poised above the order pad.

“I’ll have the number three waffle meal”, I ordered.

“And how do you want your eggs?” the waitress asked, as she scribbled.

“Scrambled please”, I replied politely.

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