Sunspots

Robyn Couch

I'm supposed to get off at three a.m., but the other girl who works the drive-thru hardly ever gets here on time. I've quit asking her why. The fact is I can use the overtime, and it's hard for me to sleep anyway. The exit I take is only about twelve miles down, so I don't really mind the extra wait. It's always a quiet drive, especially after listening to the squawking of those little speakers for nine or ten hours, and I like it. I don't even turn on the radio, usually. And of course it's real dark, and there's nothing to take my eyes away from my headlights. Except on those nights when there's a breakdown. Strange thing is, some nights you'll see three, maybe even four vehicles pulled over. Sometimes they have their blinkers on-which is kind of spooky-sometimes not. I look for people who may be stranded, but there's never anybody there. I can't figure out why, on just certain nights, there would be so many breakdowns. It's not something you can blame on the weather.

My daddy says it's sunspots. He quit selling CBs a couple of years ago because he said there was going to be a fit of sunspots that would ruin everybody's reception. Sunspots, he says. I think it's something else.