My Car Broke Down In The Middle Of Nowhere, And Now I’m Pretty Sure I’ll Never Get Home

She had been in a few of his classes during the fall semester of his sophomore year at school and while they had exchanged pleasant smiles here and there throughout the year, Morgan was incapable of starting a conversation with the opposite sex. She had been sitting at his same table in the library when he got the call about his dad. She saw him run out of the library after he was on the phone in the corner for about 30 seconds, a few tears were coming down his face as he passed by their table and all his stuff (laptop, backpack, books about something he was never going to need again, and the sweatshirt he had just bought that day hanging on the back of the chair). As the second hand ticked away four more hours to two in the morning, Ronni was left as the only one in the now abandoned building. That was until finally Morgan came sulking back in, a glazy look on his face, his eyes puffy from weeping.

As he approached the table, Ronni looked back and their eyes connected. She stood up slowly and held out his vibrant purple sweatshirt, “You forgot your stuff.”

He pursed his lips together, and offered the remnants of a smile — his eyes still devastated. A moment passed as he looked down at his black converse high-tops.

“Do you want to get some coffee?” His eyes fluttered up at her, grimacing at his suggestion for a caffeine date at 2am.

She paused for a split second, causing a bead of sweat to form on Morgan’s temple, and then smiled coyly.

“I’d love to.”

Ever since that day, he never travels without it. A reminder of the worst…and best day of his life.

Ronni slid into the room still hiding the left side of her body behind the doorway.

“Well, it looks like you’re just gonna have to cancel your trip,” she said.

Morgan finally stood up straight and realized why he couldn’t find the thing that he needed in order to start the long drive to Wyoming. He looked down at his feet, closed the closet door, and smiled while licking his teeth underneath his lips. He glided over to his wife in the doorway and looked up into her guilty eyes. She bit her cheek, making a half-smile scrunch. He held out his hand and she pulled the faded purple (almost brown, now) piece of clothing from behind her back and placed it solemnly back into his grasp.

“Thank you.” Morgan said as he folded the sweatshirt and shoved it into his small duffle bag. Most people would probably need one or two large suitcases for a two-week trip, but he liked to travel light when he was by himself.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t just write here.” Ronni said as she finally stepped into the room completely and walked over to the bed.

“I know.” Morgan sighed, while looking for his keys.” But I can’t explain it any other way. I need nothing to write something.” He stopped, took a breath, and walked over to Ronni still rocking on her heels on the other side of the mattress. He held her by the arms and then moved his hands up to her face.

“You…” He said and kissed her, “are way…” (kiss) “too big…” (kiss) “of a distraction.” A final kiss. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

“You better.” Ronni whispered, frowning like a six year old.

Morgan turned back and zipped up his bag. Felt all his pockets. “Wallet — check. Phone — check. Keys —che- where the hell are my keys?” He turned back to his wife still patting his pockets. She was smiling, her eyes looking up and right, with a hand on her hip and another outstretched, dangling his keychain from a limp finger. Morgan cocked his head and grabbed his day-camp duffle bag.

“I love you.” He said as he took the keys and gave her another kiss on the cheek. “I’m coming back with the next greatest love story!” He shouted as he put a fist in the air on his way out the door.

“EERRKLUNK!” Morgan’s 98’ Nissan Altima had been sputtering for the last 20 miles. He looked at the check engine light flashing up at him and then at the corn fields surrounding the entire road. Morgan and Ronni moved to Boulder, Colorado after they got married. It was a quiet place with a relaxed atmosphere that encouraged his writing. He had been driving through the empty prairie of the High Plains for a hundred miles now and still had another 120 miles uphill to the luxurious 1 bedroom cabin he had rented in the Eastern Rocky Mountains. A small wave of panic washed over his face, and he began to think about being stranded out here, until he saw a small mailbox in the distance and the top of a roof peaking over the cornstalks. He looked at his phone. The network bar on top had been “Searching…” for the past half an hour. He was in a dead zone. And he had no choice.