''Myles Away''

Driving along I-15 he saw the storm in his rearview mirror, sliding across the sky in leisurely pursuit. It was not an unwelcome sight after miles of desert, promising to clean his soul after the heat and the sophisticated decadence of Las Vegas.

 Without warning his car broke down. Cursing his luck he pulled to the center divider. The cars whizzed by like he didn't exist. he sat on the car's bumper and watched the storm approach, noting with futility the call box on either side of the highway.

 Far off in the distance he thought he saw a figure walking along the median. Staring through the distortion of the heat waves he was now certain of it, the figure of a lady ambling toward him. She had no bags and there was no other car on the median. He commiserated with her plight, stranded no doubt like he was himself.

 Finally she made it to where he was. Reflexively he stood up to meet her. She smiled, only. He asked her who she was and she laughed, high and sweet like a little girl. "I am," she said without indicating that she might say more. "Do you have a name?" he tried again. That smile again; she wasn't going to tell him. Not the chatty type, apparently. She walked around him, deosil, and then began to speak.

 "I am the spirit in its human manifestation," she began matter-of-factly. "I am like the scent of rain, which must be perceived to be understood. I am the reason men speak what will cost them dearly, be it their lives or their voices. To define me is impossible, to cross me can be criminal or mandated at the whims of a society."

 Okay, he said to himself, she's crazy. Yet it was a poetic kind of crazy that made him want to know more. Besides, how else was he going to pass the time? He popped open the hood of the car and began to tinker aimlessly. "Go on."

 She smiled and feigned interest in the engine. "I am the rebel's daughter. My mother was the redhead who rode on the back of his bike. I can fight like a man and love like a woman, or be icy cool when it suits me." He murmured assent, clearly bored. "I used to play the violin," she offered tenatively. He didn't even look up. "Okay, fine. There are other fish in the pond." She stood up and walked away.

 "No! Wait! Come back!" Slowly, slowly she turned her eyes skyward, and shook her head. "Hey, where can I find you?"

"The phone book ," she replied peevishly.

 "Which one? Where?"

 "In your town. In any town. Sometimes even here on the highway." She put out her thumb and disappeared.

He stood there, baffled, as the rain began to fall. It was beautiful, it was sublime, it was mystic, it made him thirsty. Just then a Sparklett's truck pulled over to the opposite side of the highway. The driver offered a call for help. He nodded, and then gestured that he could use a drink. The driver obliged, bowling a pair of bottles across the highway. He waved, and left. Not long after the tow truck pulled up, and life was back to ordinary again.

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