He pulled off the interstate at the little city to rest. Not quite sure of what the attraction was, he checked into the town's only motel. An absolute dive compared to the places he usually stayed.
"Single or double?" The clerk behind the desk asked.
"Double," he answered. The first time in years he was the one actually dealing with the basics of getting a room. "Can I get one with a kitchen in it?"
"So it's for more than one night? I can tell you now, that little restaurant over there has great meals."
He looked out the glass door to where the clerk was pointing. Big tractor-trailer rigs crowded the parking lot.
"No, I think I'll take one with a kitchen, anyway. Yeah, go on and give me the room for at least two nights," he decided.
"Suit yourself. Check out whenever you're ready. We don't usually have many people here until Race Week."
That's the way he heard it, with capital letters. What kind of place was this? He took the keys, drove to his room, and unloaded the three suitcases he had from the car. Upon opening the door to the room, he found himself an entire world away from the one he had become accustomed to. This world had shaggy green carpet, blue bedspreads, and beige walls that should have been painted years ago. The kitchen consisted of a microwave, a sink, a dorm refrigerator, and a chair to sit in at the counter.
Tossing the suitcases in the floor and locking the door behind him, he stretched out across the lumpy mattress and fell asleep.
******************
"Are you waiting for some kind of sign?"
"Huh?" He asked, looking to his left.
"You've been standing there for nearly five minutes staring at those cantaloupes. You don't want to wait too much longer or they'll be bad. You gotta act fast around here if you want to get the good produce," she said, reaching in front of him and picking up a melon. She held it under her nose and sniffed. "Here, let's make it easy on you. This one's just right."
He caught it as she tossed it to him. He looked at her, taking in her brown hair pulled back from her face and loose-fitting denim jumper covering a gold blouse. His eyes traveled down and back up. She noticed him looking at her and threw a reproachful look his way. Her expression suddenly changed to one of confusion, then realization.
"You're new in town, aren't you? I mean, obviously you are or else you wouldn't be here in Super Foods. Actually, I get the impression you don't belong in a grocery store at all and not just because you're a man. You look familiar though."
Damn it, he thought. There goes my chance at anonymity. I could always use my favorite line.
"Really? I'm Kevin," he said.
"Hi, Kevin. I'm Maggie. I know a Kevin. He's tall like you are. We went to school together," she told him, studying what she could see of his face from underneath the baseball cap.
"Maybe I'm the same Kevin," he flirted.
"I doubt it, unless you've got six kids now."
He laughed. "Six kids? Then no, I am definitely not your Kevin."
"Oh, he was never my Kevin. And I certainly don't want him to be now that he has six kids! Can you imagine? Well, it was nice meeting you, Kevin. I'm going to finish my little bit of shopping. I hope you can find what you need in here. Stay away from the food in the deli. Stuff will do some damage. Trust me," she winked, pushing her cart down the aisle to the crackers.
Watching her leave, he noticed he was still holding the cantaloupe she had picked out for him. She had one thing right; he didn't belong in a grocery store, this one or any other. Placing a few more items in his cart, he awkwardly pushed it to the checkout counter. There were only four registers in the store and each one was backed up with five in each line. He got in line behind Maggie.
"Hey, again," he said, making small talk as she unloaded her groceries onto the conveyor belt. At least this store had that.
"Well, hey," she said, her tone and smile making it appear she had known him for years.
"Miss Martin, do I have to turn that report in on Monday?" The skinny boy whined as he began bagging the groceries.
"Most certainly. First thing in my hand on the way to homeroom. I expect it to be worth your effort and my time," she informed him.
"But it's the weekend. How am I going to find out that stuff?"
"There's this great building called a library," Maggie told him, saying the last word slowly. "Surely you can spare about an hour tomorrow afternoon to do get the information. Why aren't you at the game, anyway?"
"I had to work. I need the money to fix up my hot-rod. It's gonna be sharp when I get through with it. See, being a mechanic, I won't have no need for knowing about that Chinese dude."
Maggie shook her head as she wrote out her check. Tearing it out and handing it to the teenage cashier, she looked back at Kevin.
"It was nice seeing you again," she said, putting her purse back in the buggy as she pushed it out the door.
"What was that about?" He asked the boy.
"Oh, Miss Martin busted me in history class today. She said I was shooting spitballs," he grumbled.
"Were you?"
"Yeah," he admitted, "but she didn't have to give me a five page report on Confucius and his sayings."
"Is this Miss..."
"Martin," the boy said.
"Martin, thank you," Kevin told him. "Is she usually this mean?"
"Nah. She's about one of the coolest teachers we have. Don't tell her that, though. Most everyone likes her and she's real fair with us. But man, don't get her mad. She is hell on you when that happens."
"I'm sure you'll find the information you need to do your paper. Next time, don't get caught," Kevin said, patting him on the back as he exited the store.
In the parking lot, he saw Maggie talking with a blonde woman. They were laughing and he saw the way the late summer sun shone on her, bringing out a few red and gold highlights in her hair. Not too bad, he thought.
"Hey!"
Kevin turned to see some girls heading his way. His first thought was to look for his bodyguards then he remembered he was alone. He said a silent prayer as they got closer.
"Would you like to buy a chance to win a golden bears blanket?"
He breathed a sigh of relief. These were just young girls in cheerleading outfits selling tickets. He reached into his pocket.
"I guess so. How much are they?"
"Five apiece."
"Give me two," he said, handing them the money.
"You know who you look like?" One of the girls asked.
"Me, I hope," he said, enjoying being on his own and handling it safely.
She looked at him strangely. "I guess so. But, naw, you look like Kevin Richardson."
"Who's that?" This was fun.
"You know, from the Backstreet Boys. Then again, you're too old to know who they are. Well, maybe you don't look like him. You look older than he does. Anyway, thanks for buying the tickets, mister. The drawing will be held at the homecoming game. Just show up with the tickets and good luck!"
He glanced at his reflection in the driver's window. How nice, he thought getting into his car, I look older than myself. I really do need a break.