Where Did You Go?

You let me down.

My gas gauge blinking E for the last twelve miles.

I pulled into your gas station. Desperate.

Your sign says “Gas, Oil & Parts”. Such a kidder.

I’ve been inching down your too-slender Bankhead Highway, now Finley Road, west of Putnam. Callahan County just east of Baird. A new friend tipped me off…

In a Model T, I’d have wide pavement to spare. Today, much faster than twenty and I’d be sucking bar ditch dirt.

Nothing to see here.

I passed a granite Texas Centennial Marker back up the road, surrounded by turkey vultures atop hack-cedar fence posts. The 1874-1875 military telegraph line crossed there, connecting Fort Concho to Fort Griffin.

The year Comanche Natives were herded north.

No coincidence, that.

Black and white stripes mark the center spine of your phantom road west. No shoulders. No signs. No billboards.

No gas.

I’ve crossed four dying bridges coasting to this place, rusted rebar finger bones poking through crumbling concrete guard rails. The Model As of long ago safe from raging flood waters that came along once a year, or not.

Is that your frame house behind the gas station, back in the trees, fallen to the ground? Abandoned or fled or did you just move on? Disgraced in every way but fire.

Are you back there, hiding from me in those shadows?

Your neighbor’s farm house crowds us, from across the road. I bet they made you uncomfortable, right there when your customers pulled up. A dad or widowed grandmother once answering that front door. Unlike yours, their empty home stands proud. Shoulda seen to that leak in the roof…

I hear the monster that killed you, if you’re dead, roaring low over my left shoulder.

Interstate 20, though it looks like you skedaddled before that Faster-Better-Longer blew through and spoiled your fun.

Will great grandkids explore that abandoned four-lane someday, they distracted from Whatever Comes Next?

Will they mourn the eccentricities of their ancestors,

Even know their names?

Our names?

I know you’re here. Need you to be here.

But again today,

Like yesterday,

Like tomorrow, you’re not.

Best wishes, wherever you are.