Chapter 4: Going Home

I awoke the next morning with the manual lying on my chest. I'd slept better than I could remember doing in a long time now.

"Good morning, Sally," I said brightly as I stepped out into the clear morning light. "By now I'd say I know all of your secrets," I commented, slipping her owner's manual and other papers back into the otherwise empty glove box. After moment's reflection I added, "But I'll bet, in truth, that I don't know any of them at all yet."

The danger in talking to an apparently dumb animal, an apparently non-responsive plant, or an apparently inanimate piece of machinery, is highly overrated. At least as long as you're not too directly overheard by someone who can control your fate.

I view it like this:

Either it means nothing at all, no one is actually listening, in which case nothing has actually happened. No harm, no foul.

Or, if someone, somewhere, somehow is actually hearing you, well you're just being considerate, which can hardly be counted against you. Win-win.

I certainly don't know everything that's happening or not happening, is true or not true, or matters or doesn't matter, in this universe I inhabit. And that's even before considering the uncounted multiverses opened up by The Highway.

So if you see me talking to my car, and already happen to know the universal truths of life, the universe, and everything, then please explain it to me. I will be very appreciative.

Until then, grant me my quirks. They're already shared by enough other people.

Breakfast was a quick affair across the street again, with me getting more impatient with every bite. I could lose my new possession any second someone else came along to claim her — although that would be offset in part by meeting the lady whose name is on that registration. Then I was back across the street slipping into the driver's seat once more.

Again her engine caught the moment I turned the key, its silky purr promising everything you could want out of a car.

I warmed her up by cruising down the main drag of this modest town to the local service station. I didn't need gas yet. This petite car's fuel gauge still read full.

Instead I checked her oil, air, and other fluid levels right down to the water in her windshield washer reservoir, exactly as the owner's manual specified. Everything was precisely where it should be, but I felt better for making sure.

A slow cruise back down the main street and I took the turn back towards The Highway.

Again there seemed a little tug — or more likely just an involuntary flinch on my part — as we passed the Interstate on-ramp. And again I resisted temptation, although the urge to be naughty here was very strong in me.

Back at The Highway I again parked her in plain sight of anyone who wanted to find her, making sure my note was in plain view again. This is my responsible side just doing its job.

"Surprised you came back," the male half of a pair of dedicated Highway watchers said as I climbed into their bleachers again.

"Had a car to return."

"That car came to you," the woman told me directly.

I was about to reply with an expected, "Yeah, right," but stopped myself. These people virtually live on The Highway as best I could determine. I know I'd seen them here on both my previous trips. Bad form to argue with someone who may know a whole lot more than you do.

I settled for giving an indeterminate nod, before settling down to firmly watch The Highway myself. I intended now to prove myself as dedicated a watcher as they were.

It was a quiet morning. A couple nondescript creatures traversed our segment, ignoring all of us alongside it, but that was it for the moment. There are often quiet periods like that here.

About the time I was feeling hungry — and realizing in my distraction this morning that I had forgotten to bring any lunch with me today — the woman sat down next to me and handed me a sandwich. While she may have been older than I am, she remained quite appealing.

"I'm Wilma," she introduced herself. "That's Sam," she nodded to her husband, who seemed willing to not crowd me too much too quickly. "You're the guy who first figured out that it was a city moving through a few months ago, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I replied, more gratified at that acknowledgement than I was willing to admit.

"That was a great insight," she continued. "We were really stumped on that one for a while."

Wilma seemed a person of few unnecessary words, and we ate in silence next to each other after that. I thanked her when I was done, and offered to reimburse her for her trouble.

"Tain't necessary," she said easily. "Just happy to get a chance to get acquainted. I gather we're not likely to be seeing you here much in the future."

I was surprised, and it showed. She could read my wanderlust that well. Maybe I should listen more closely to what she had to say otherwise.