Road Stop Refuge

by Bethany Peck

ROAD STOP REFUGE

Wet snowflakes splatter my windshield

trudging along interstate 68—

that great pass from my haven on the Atlantic

to the vast Midwest.

Faulty wiper blades force a pause

and my depleted body craves rest,

but I can barely stomach a few sips of broth

at a road stop Panera and chewing the crusty bread

requires too much energy,

so I tear out a few bites of the soft center for sustenance.

The snow hasn’t slowed and exhaustion envelopes me,

soul-weary from sleepless nights

spent crying into the carpet of my childhood bedroom

aghast at the maelstrom

that’s ripped right through my heart.

There’s no safety on the roads as dusk falls,

nor where I’m headed to end this desolate season,

and since this is West Virginia, there’s an oversized Cabela’s

on the other side of the strip mall,

and my car seems too claustrophobic in this squall.

Blasts of warm air greet me at the entrance of the store,

but as outdoorsy as I am, some of this world scares me—

what with the weapons and gear I don’t know.

My nervous system’s running both fight and flight tapes too,

so nearly every person looks like a threat.

Stumbling from section to section, feeling more desperate

with each step searching for whatever I was looking for,

I wonder what on earth I am doing here,

not just this megastore, but this place in life

where I’m running away.

Escaping a sideways glance, I stumble

into a hallway, where a stuffed bear welcomes visitors—

not a child’s toy, but the taxidermied kind.

It’s full-sized, and you need a double take.

A few steps forward and I’m catching my breath,

choking back disbelief as I see behind the bear

a handmade habitat with woodland creatures

and a fountain bubbling with water that’s wet,

for a plethora of decoys that make me think

of the wetlands back home.

The tears are coming now, as I dig into the depths

of my puffy layers for a torn-up tissue.

My muscles release their petrified tension

here in this wild and unexpected display.

Everyone else is shopping for their newest Carhartt

while I commune with these once majestic creatures.

And maybe I can’t tell if they were once real

or are all just made of plastic,

but the naturalness they exude

has me weeping with gratitude.

A buck, a doe, and their fawn bring a smile to my messy face,

as the beauty of these pretend scenes

feels more real than the reality of mine

that’s been decimated over just a few days.

I startle myself with real breaths,

which feels relieving yet so strange

after a week of holding in air for fear,

and even my heart rate has slowed

as I admire a beaver in suspended action

demonstrating what she was born to do.

Finally, other people arrive and stare—at me I think—

so, I meander out, still visualizing each scene in my mind.

The second-floor exit holds a camo-upholstered couch,

tucked at the end of an aisle, and my steps have slowed

wondering when I’ll find sleep.

I’m drawn to the cushions.

Will anyone see me if I rest right here?

Gingerly laying myself toward an edge, I lean my head

on the oversized arm, allowing my eyes a moment to close.

Just a few minutes to rest, to cradle this peace,

and pray the storm outside subsides.

BETHANY PECK

Bethany is a writer and photographer living near the beautiful Chesapeake Bay in northeastern Maryland. She loves nature and writes about experiencing God's love through creation at bethanypeck.org and on Instagram at @beautiful_purpose_writing. She’s been featured in Fathom Magazine, The Way Back to Ourselves, The ClayJar Review, and other outlets. In her day job, she gets to write stories for local ministries in the Baltimore area. She and her dog Hunter stay active by hiking, paddleboarding, and enjoying long evening walks.