by Miles Rost
The sun beat down on the green earth of west central Oregon. The smell of grass in the air, the sounds of tractors and traffic in the background punctuated the desperate feeling of the folks in transit.
“So, where are we going?”
“Haven’t decided that yet. It’s summer, the weather is warm, and we have a couple months before we have to be back at college. Where do you want to go?”
Sherry Michaels and Harlan Bossier were perched on the railings of a white house just a short jump away from the interstate. Two unlikely people talking about where to go.
“I think we should just ride until we feel like we have gone where we need to go.”
“I agree, but I do feel we need to have some sort of a destination.”
Sherry swung her legs up and landed them behind her, while straightening the blue t-shirt she wore.
“Are you sure you just want to go? I mean, do you think we have enough money to get things fixed if we break down somewhere?”
“There’s a reason I have a separate savings account from my parents. They don’t know about it, and it was made for stuff like this in mind.”
Harlan stood up and walked down the stairs.
“Then I guess we should go. Let’s do this!”
The seemingly mismatched couple walked down the path from the house to the garage. They entered the garage, and after a moment, a couple of loud rumblings were heard. Both of them slowly pulled out of the garage, and into the sunlight as they rode their Harley Davidsons up to the main road. They headed towards the interstate, and paused at the stoplight. The choice was now theirs.
“So, which way to we go?”
“We just go any way the wind blows, sweetie.”
Harlan put his hand in the air and felt around for a half a minute. After feeling what the wind had said, he revved the bike and turned. Sherry followed him, her leather jacket reflecting a bit of the sun.
As they peeled down the interstate, they passed a sign on the road.