I'm jerked out of sleep by a loud bang.

My eyes snap open as my heart races, and I instinctively move the upper half of my

body as far away from the car door as possible.

I search for the source of the noise.

When I find it, I feel a now familiar combination of relief and embarrassment filming.

It's just someone else that had come to the rest stop getting back into their own vehicle.

I watch the pickup pull out of its space and head back towards the highway as I wait

for my heart rate to return to normal.

I cross my arms over the steering wheel and lay my head down on them.

It wasn't long ago that I wouldn't have even attempted to lie to myself.

It would have been beneath me.

I had been many things, but a liar wasn't one of them.

Now I cling to these self-created falsehoods like a drowning man grasping the edge of a

life raft.

I'm pathetic.

I know that I am.

I try to muster some sort of anger at that acknowledgement, but nothing comes.

There's only loathing and resignation.

With a sigh, I get out of the car and head up the sidewalk to the rest stop buildings.

The other parking spots are empty and I'm alone, and the night is cold.

I pull my coat tighter around me in an unsuccessful attempt to keep the wind off my skin.

It's oddly bright tonight.

...