The air felt like you could take a knife and cut a slice out of it.  It was cloudy and cold.  The weatherman said it would be twenty-seven today.  He was wrong as usual.  It was more like just seven.  Graham took a deep breath before opening the car door.  When he exhaled it looked as though he had inhaled on a cigarette.  His breath floated away behind him.  He took one last look at his house and tears welled up in his eyes.  He thought if he cried now the tears would make his face feel colder than it already was.  The tears held off within the eyes and he opened the door.  When Graham got into the car he shut the door and placed his hands on the steering wheel.  He began to think of how in Driver’s Ed his teacher would say, “ten and ten”.  Graham’s thoughts were always scattered here and there.  He was intelligent and had a lot to say on any subject, but could actually have an argument with himself.  It wasn’t that he was sick in the head; no schizophrenia or the like, only retained information.

                He turned the key and the Alero fired up.  It never gave him a whole lot of trouble.  He knew he could go out in this kind of weather and it would still fire off.  Christmas music was playing on the local soft rock station from the last ride he had taken.  He slowly put it in reverse and pulled out of the driveway.  When he put it in drive he told himself not to look back and he drove out onto the highway.

                There was a lake within a mile or two from his house.  He thought about going there to clear his thoughts.  No, he needed to drive.  Men do that.  Things go wrong, they drive.  They lose their job.  Drive.  They get kicked out by their wife.  Drive.  They have a major loss.  Just drive. 

                He merged out onto a major highway and noticed himself singing low to the song playing.  Baby, it’s cold outside.  He stopped singing and turned the dial.  Silence.  He sighed and the tears were showing up again.  What was wrong with him.  He was supposed to be strong.  Men are stereotyped as strong.  Here he was running and crying.  Didn’t sound very strong to him, but this was his reality.  Reality was not what he was looking for at the moment.  He was the type of person that would watch a movie to get away from reality.  Why stay in the land of reality when you could jump from its train and land into not necessarily fantasy but somewhere in between?  There’s almost a place of Middle Earth for life itself. 

                Graham had started out with about three-quarters of a tank when he left.  One-hundred fifty miles later he was looking for a gas station.  There was one right outside of Shamrock, Texas.  He had been this way before, but not further than Amarillo.  He gave a small smile when he noticed it was a Shamrock station.  He pulled in to fill up and noticed the gas station also had a restaurant.  He was a little hungry.  He hadn’t eaten all day and it was now almost seven-thirty.  He got out and pumped the gas.  The chill slapped him in the face.  He was wearing nothing to protect his face.  As he stood next to the car he looked around.  He noticed there were hardly any trees.  Really nothing around but earth and this gas station.  There were only two cars parked at the restaurant side.  A seventy-six Eldorado and a nineteen ninety Buick station wagon.  He put the pump back in place and twisted the cap back on the tank.  He parked near the restaurant side, and went in to pay. 

                A little bell rang as he walked in the door to the gas station.  An older man of about sixty-five stood behind the counter hunched over reading a newspaper. 

                “Twenty on pump two,” Graham said sullenly.  The old man looked up slowly and took the bill from Graham.

                “You want a receipt for that,” the old man grumbled.

                “No, thanks.  Hey, is the restaurant open,” Graham asked.  The old man gave him an evil stare and nodded.  Graham walked back out.  The bell rang again.  He zipped his coat up further and walked toward the restaurant.  Just as he got to the door and opened it a highway patrol car drove up.  Graham looked back and then walked in.  Another bell rang.  It looked like an old diner.  A long counter the length of the building with stools.  The stools were stationery, set in equal intervals.  There was one waitress who was nearing her forties.  She looked worn, as though she had been pushing plates since she was twelve.  Her eyes said get me out of here, but her smile invited me in.  She adorned herself with a long dress and an apron.  Graham thought the costume was only in the movies.

                “Hi, Hon.  Booth or stool,” she asked solemnly.  Graham looked down the aisle between the counter and the tables.

                “I’ll take a booth, please.”

                “Follow me,” and she left him standing at the door.  She went down three booths and turned around.  She placed the menu she was carrying on the table, and walked off behind the counter.  Graham slowly sat down and scooted near the window.  The bell on the door rang and Graham turned to see the trooper walk in.  He was average height with a little gray.  He rubbed his hands together and sat at the first stool.  Graham turned back around and picked up the menu.  As he was choosing for his hunger he looked up and saw an older man in the corner booth.  He looked frail and about ninety something.  A cup of coffee was steaming in front of him.  He had both hands wrapping the cup.  His stare was almost scary.  His eyebrows and wrinkles on the forehead formed a v, angling downward.  The old man lifted the cup up to his lips, blew the steam away and sipped.  He then nodded his head to bid Graham come to sit with him.  Graham looked back at the trooper again.  The waitress was pouring him some coffee being quiet.  In fact, Graham noticed the whole place was quiet.  He looked back at the old man.  He was still staring, frozen.  He hadn’t moved.  Graham slid out of the booth, stood, and walked slowly to the corner booth.  The old man placed the cup down and motioned with his hand for Graham to take a seat.  Graham took another look around then sat.  The old man didn’t crack a smile; not even a small smirk but only grimaced. 

                “You look horrible, kid,” he said with a gruff voice.  Maybe he had been smoking since the seventh grade.  Graham was looking a little ragged.  His eyes were bloodshot from the tears he was fighting back all day.  He didn’t take a shower this morning and he was beginning to smell himself.  What did this man care?  He was the one who had motioned for Graham to come over.  Graham didn’t have to grace this man with his presence.

                “Thanks,” Graham said sarcastically.  The waitress came back.  She held a pad and pencil, ready to write any order down.  A heavy sigh came flowing from her mouth.  She was somewhat agitated.  The scowl on her face showed it.

                “What’ll it be?”

                Graham looked up and saw that she had rolled her eyes upward.  He wanted to say nothing, but was afraid to.

                “Just coffee, please.”

                She left without writing anything on the pad.  Graham watched her leave.  The pot was on another counter on the wall across from the customer’s counter.  When she walked back around the counter to bring him his coffee the trooper turned and looked at Graham.  He too did not have a smile on his face.  If any one with depression wanted to go anywhere this would be it.  When she came to the table she set the cup down loudly and almost spilled it on the table.  She quickly turned back around and went to the back where the kitchen was.  The trooper turned back toward the counter and took another sip from his coffee. 

                “So, where you from,” the old man asked.  Graham was doctoring up the coffee.  He found a small container toward the wall that had sugar and creamer packets.  Two creamers and five sugars.  He stirred and looked up at the old man.

                “Little suburb outside of Oklahoma City,” then a sip.  The coffee was still bitter but he didn’t feel like putting more creamer into it. 

                “Oklahoma City, huh?  What’s your name?

                “Graham.”

                “Sounds like a rich boy’s name.  You got money?”  There still wasn’t a smile.  Another sip.

                Graham made a small chuckle.

                “Far from it.  Maybe my parents just wanted to be rich or make others think we were.”

                “Graham what?”

                “Look, old man, I’m not wanting to get buddy buddy with anyone right now.  You motioned me over here.  What is it that you want?”  Graham’s patience was growing thin.  He only stopped in for gas and a bite to eat.  The old man just glared at him.

                “Today is Wednesday.  Two days before Christmas.  You headed somewhere?” the old man said with his gruff voice.  Graham took a drink and set the cup down. 

                “O.K., old man, what’s your name?”

                “Paul,” the old man said matter-of-factly.

                “Alright, Paul, I'm still not ready to give the last name, but I’m just taking a short trip.  And why don’t you think I’m headed somewhere for Christmas?

                Paul looked down at the table.  He looked up and toward the counter where the waitress and trooper were.  Graham turned to look with him.  There wasn’t a trooper in the building unless he went back into the kitchen with the waitress, but Graham thought it abnormal.  Of course, he didn’t know what happened in smaller towns.  Maybe he did go to the back.  There were no voices, though.  He looked back to Paul.  Graham jumped and hit his knee underneath the table.  Paul was gone.  Vanished.  He started to scoot quickly out from the booth.  He started backing up toward the front door.  His breathing grew heavy.  He didn’t know if he should have yelled out the old man’s name or just leave as quickly as possible.  The latter sounded better.  As he scooted backward he tripped but caught himself.  He finally reached the door and backed outside.  No bell.  No noise at all.  He fell to the ground once outside and picked himself up and ran toward his car.  Way before he reached it he stopped in mid stride.  No wind.  No noise.  He looked down the highway.  No cars in sight.  He turned to look for the cars which were parked near the building earlier.  They were not there either.  He quickly ran back to his car and got in.  He grabbed the rearview mirror and angled it toward him.  This can’t be happening.