Carolina North

It was two hundred miles later when Carolina North pulled her beetle into the parking lot of a quaint diner in the middle of, I thought, nowhere. She put the car in park and turned to me. "I'm hungry," she said softly, and she climbed out onto the pavement.

I watched her through the window, until she came to my side and tapped on the glass. Her heart-shaped face lingered in front of me, beautiful and peaceful and everything I had ever dreamed of. "Are you coming?" she asked, and I took it as an invitation and followed her into the diner.

I had not noticed before, but she was taller than me. Her long legs and elongated body stood at somewhere around five feet and ten inches. I stood at five-nine. Her dress fluttered around her slender thighs as she walked in front of me. I quickly averted my eyes from her legs before she noticed.

The bell above the diner door chimed, just as the general store's door had only a few hours before when Carolina North walked into my life. I caught myself smiling at the small sound, sliding into the booth across from her.

The floors of the diner were a classic, black and white tile. The furniture was as red as our waitress's hair. She smacked on her chewing gum as she approached our table. A smile was permanent between her fire-engine red lips. "What can I get for 'ya?" she asked in her Southern twang.

Carolina North had only just opened her menu, scanning the various items. I did the same, pretending to examine the prices. I really just could not keep my eyes off of her. She softly bit on the side of her lip, pondering. "I will just take a lemonade for now," she finally said, folding the menu and placing her hands on top, "maybe give us a few more minute to order?"

The waitress grinned, scribbling the words on her notepad. She gave Carolina North a wink. She didn't even glance my way before heading for the beverage bar. I guess I wasn't the only one who completely lost my train of thought when I caught her eye.

I sat silently in the booth, looking out the window at the small town that we were in. There were shops lined along the other side of the road, a few passerby chatting as they walked down the sidewalk with grocery sacks and shopping bags in their hands. I imagined the life back in my own town; sad and dirty and everyone hating everyone.

Carolina North studied her menu for a few more minutes before turning her eyes toward me. "You ready?" she asked, and I nodded. The waitress came back to our booth, her teeth still smacking wildly on the gum that I hoped would lose flavor soon.

"I'll take the double cheeseburger with fries. Extra ketchup and pickles on the burgers please. And a hot fudge sundae," Carolina North quickly rambled her order and handed the waitress her menu with a smile. The waitress grinned at the beautiful girl before her, wrote down the order that I never would have expected to come from such a frail, beautiful girl, and finally looked at me.

I had not looked at a single thing on the menu. I was too busy studying the stranger I had came here with. "I'll take the same," I answered. "With a coke." I looked over to see Carolina North smiling at me.

We ate our food quickly. I hadn't even realized I was hungry until the juicy burger was placed before me. Carolina scarfed down her fries and her ketchup-drenched sandwich and then her sundae finished my own. I was eating the last few bites of my ice cream when she began talking.

"So I know this is probably the strangest situation you have ever been in," she said slowly. She licked the ketchup from her fingers and I answered her with silence. "But I am truly grateful that you actually came. I mean, I have been driving for quite a while and I was getting bored and I just, I don't know, I really--"

"I understand." I cut her off, and her shock was aware in her eyes. She had been so used to my silence. The look of alarm made me grin. "I didn't really have anything better to do anyway."

Carolina laughed melodically. "Well then, Grayson Flinn," she flashed a smile as she spoke, "how about you tell me a little about yourself. What's your story?"

The waitress swept away our empty dishes in the silence that followed. I look at my hands, folding nervously in my lap. I glanced out the window at the happy people in this quaint little town. I thought again of the life I left behind. I met her questioning gaze and shrugged. "I don't really have one," I said.

She rolled her eyes, resting her chin in her hand. Her golden hair fell in very loose waves around her shoulders; the humidity, I was guessing. "Come on," she replied in a playful tone. I was beginning to become addicted to her smile. "Everyone has a story."

I looked at her, trying to see the sadness and hurt through those cerulean eyes once again. I had seen it seldom times in the hours we had spent together. And I had yet to hear a single word about who she was, where she was coming from, nor where the Hell she planned on going. I knew that I was playing with fire; considering how wild she must have been to ask a stranger to run away with her in the first place. But I held true to my words and spoke in the most serious, straight-forward tone I could manage:

"Then tell me yours."