Write About... A Certain Place on the Map

A Certain Place on Someone’s Map


The palm fronds quivered in the December wind; scratching, clawing against a corner of the board fence that stood like a weathered sentry guarding the back side of the parking lot. There was an eerie loneliness that pressed down hard on the flawless little seaside town. I looked at my watch. It was only five ‘til nine. The streets were empty. A draft rushed in from the ocean and ran its fingers along the back of my neck. I almost turned to see who had touched me when I remembered... I was totally alone.

He had told me to wait by the car; not in the car, mind you, but by the car. In the increasingly less likely hope that I could flag a passing motorist, he wanted me to stand out here like some sacrificial critter... in the dark... wrapped in the hideous blanket of evil that covered this deceiving place. I leaned down to look at the tire. It had grown noticeably flatter and apparently our ‘slow leak’ had turned out to be something much closer to a hissing gash.

I stood up straight and peered to the left then to the right down the dark road. There was nothing but emptiness; emptiness and... quiet. There was no sound at all except the distant coming and going of the waves and that dreadful scratching and clawing. A vague sense of uneasiness began to twirl around me with another burst of damp salty air that blew in from the direction of the beach.

My husband was no coward but he wasn’t the bravest injun in the tribe either. I just knew that he would be gone only a short time as he looked for help. To be gone so long was not like him at all, especially under such ominous circumstances.

We happened to visit this tiny resort town on the Florida panhandle because I had read a magazine article that raved about the ‘planned’ community. It was planned, alright. Right down to what time Mr. and Mrs. Whoeveryouare would mysteriously poof out of sight.

We had rolled into the rustic little spot as the sun was hovering close to the blue green waters of the Gulf of Mexico. The whole setting was like something from a movie. The scene had all the appropriate props that were all situated in precisely the right places to evoke an unavoidable desire to be there, to linger and to stay... always. It was… captivating.

Ed parked the car and we began to literally stroll the wooden sidewalks; strings of softly glowing lights overhead swayed with us in the sea air. There was so much charm packed into the shops and eateries that it seemed to ooze out into the night. We laughed and held hands. We drank in the feeling and meandered down to the perfect beach, sat in the perfect gazebo and enjoyed the perfect sunset as it draped its ribbons of color across the perfect town.

Now, a shiver crawled its way up my body as I sought to make sense of that picturesque face of serenity having transformed into a brooding, demonic sneer.

“Lord, it’s dark!” I chattered the words in a loud whisper. “Where in the world is Ed?”

I had sensed that something was wrong as we made our way up from the dunes in those last few moments of twilight. That which had a short time before been a vibrant, “Wouldn’t it be great to retire here?” little township, had become a ghostly sound stage from which all the actors had gone. As I had shaken the sand from my shoes, I suddenly could not wait to get to the car and make the drive back to our hotel in Panama City where Ed had come to work.

When we reached the parking lot we had found the ailing tire and set about finding some way to get it repaired so we could “Get the #@*^ outta Dodge.”

Nothingness is a difficult pill to swallow in a culture that’s “bustin’ at the seams with stuff”. It’s a void that creeps up; crawls over you ‘til you feel yourself trying, seemingly to no avail, to fill your lungs, to breathe. I leaned my backside against the car and placed my hands on my knees. I held my head down in an effort to get rid of the dizziness and the feeling that I was about to lose the dinner I didn’t have.

“Ed, where in the world are you?” my thoughts reeled.

Ed looked at her from the window of the spacecraft. She was a mere dot on the earth now. He felt a sense of something he had learned is called sadness welling up from way deep down. He had loved her well. He had loved her long and probably always would. He would miss her. He was glad they had allowed him to spare her; she had suspected nothing.

He longed to explain the staged town and its use as a travel portal for his planet. He watched her as she stood slumped against the car so far below him. With his mind he healed her deflated tire. Then, he settled back, closed his eyes and thought of being home.