OldTroubador's blog post - 2AM is a Lonely Place

Early morning, awake, whether by accident or design. Walk the three steps to the front and flop into the seat. Coal from the cigarette glows and reflects in the windshield; smoke curls around in front of my eyes. Surreal shapes form as I reach for my coffee and take a sip. Swallow, inhale, listen, look. Nothing is moving in the parking lot; no trucks, no people, no stray dogs. Even the hookers have left. No activity in the shop. Look to the highway, nothing moving there either.
Inhale, swallow. Watch the smoke curl.
Crickets call plaintively to each other. A couple of trucks idly rumble. A train whistle blows at a rural grade crossing, echoing forlornly down the valley. Other than that, all is still. Stille Nacht.
Swallow, inhale. Stub out the butt in the ashtray.
2 AM – demon time. My mind drops its reins and gallops through the wasteland where the detritus of a lifetime has been stored. A junkyard full of broken dreams and promises. The inventory scrolls, past fears and failures, flubs and fuck-ups.
Shit.
Fire up another one, watch the smoke curling again. Drain the coffee. Look at the inert array of semis – quiet, resting. Check the clock. Don’t need to leave this early, but what the hell. Beats sitting around doing nothing but meander through the rusted remains of my mind.
Get dressed and wander inside. Jeez, just as depressing in here. The restaurants are dark. No one wanders the store. A body is sleeping, snoring in the lounge, the TV playing an inane infomercial. Fill the coffee jugs, grab a sandwich. Go to the register and pay an equally listless cashier what I owe; back into the parking lot.
Swing the truck onto the highway, rolling up through the gears, trying to run away from the dark emptiness. It follows me, leads me, accompanies me. The road is as devoid of life as the truck stop. Nothing moving out here either, no lights coming or going. Tires hum on the pavement, dotted lines scroll by, appearing in the headlights, then dissipating into the darkness of my rearviews. Mind is wandering again as the truck drives the straight and narrow. Driving through a cut, thoughts echoing, clamoring off the rock faces as I motor west – running away from the eventual sunrise. Harsh words and hurts, both given and received, drown out the sound of the engine and tires. Faces of lost friends, images of crashes, appearing in the circle of my headlights, then dissipating in the darkness of my rearviews. Wish this damned truck would go faster. Clock moves forward at a glacial pace.
Ground fog rises as I drop into a valley. Yea, though I drive through the valley of the shadow of death….cut it the fuck out. Climb out of the valley, get your mind focused.
The headlights of a few other vehicles slide by in both directions – their presence fleeting, barely noticed, never remembered. The towns are dark and lifeless as I cruise by. Fits my mood. Rest areas and on/off ramps are lined with parked trucks – the industry is screaming for more drivers, but parking space is at a premium. Anywhere a truck can fit is used to break for the night. As I drive by I wonder if those drivers are able to sleep soundly, without the echoing voices I sometimes hear. Oh well, if they do, that’s their problem. Got enough of my own, don’t borrow theirs too.
Suck it up, buttercup. Drive through it.
I’d really like to have a bottle of Tennessee’s finest waiting for me at the end of this work night, but I cannot indulge that luxury.
I generally enjoy driving the wee hours of the morning – roads empty of crazy traffic, cooler temperatures, open truck stops when I park around the noon hour. But once in a while, Pandora’s Box opens and my world’s ills come flying out, like the flying monkees from the Wizard of Oz.
Lane reflectors cycle past in an endless, macabre dance; a treadmill of flashing white and yellow mirrors. I feel like I’m not actually getting anywhere, but am stuck on the same treadmill.
Gonna be a long night.
2 am is a lonely place.