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Olympus, Maine
“Where the fuck am I?”
Abby looked from the cheerfully blinking GPS on her dashboard to the dark evergreens crowding around her. The GPS was convinced they were on Route 1 to Bangor. Abby wasn’t so sure, since it had been at least an hour since she’d seen a road sign that said anything other than a speed limit. She’d gone through a few nameless little towns, always following the directions chirped out in a cheerful voice, her heart sinking along with the sun. Now, the last rays of gold were dying somewhere to her left and she could hear, faintly, the sound of the sea. But no signs for Bangor.
“Turn left in one-quarter mile,” the GPS said, and Abby rolled her eyes.
“Sure, Laurie,” she grumbled, hoping there would actually be a road in one-quarter mile. Not that lack of roads had stopped the device before. Abby wondered, yet again, how often the maps were actually updated.
To her mild shock, there was a road turning left a quarter-mile later, and she turned.
“Follow the road for nine miles, and then turn right.”
“Nine miles.” Abby shook her head. “I hope we don’t hit the sea before then.”
The sounds of the waves continued to grow as she drove on through the gloom, and she could taste the salt in the air. A white sign loomed up out of the twilight, and she slowed.
“Welcome to Olympus,” she said, frowning. “Where the hell is Olympus?”
When she typed in “Olympus, Maine,” her GPS blinked and presented her with Old Orchard Beach and Old Town. “No, you stupid thing, Olympus,” she muttered, and it flashed again, giving her Orient and Orington. “Dammit.”
Abby unplugged the unit, powered it down and chucked it in the back seat of her little Geo Metro, hoping she’d be able to find it in the morning. All her worldly goods, except for the hand-carved bed that she’d been forced to leave in her step-mother’s storage unit, were in various boxes and duffle bags, packed up in haste and shoved into any available spot in the small car’s rear. There was a job and another furnished room in Bangor, supposedly. “If I can ever get there,” she muttered, putting the car back into drive and rolling slowly down the road. “Maybe I can find a room somewhere in Olympus.”
A mist started to creep along beside her as she drove on into the night, and Abby rolled up the window, shivering just a little. The moon had yet to rise, but the mist and the dark trees marching into the night whispered to her, and all the stupid horror movies she’d watched with her brother began to play in her head. The radio had broken about ten thousand miles ago, so all she had to occupy her was the whistling of the wind as she drove.
And then, just as she crested a small hill, she heard, from the back, “Turn right in 100 yards.”
Abby slammed on the brakes so hard the Geo nearly ran over its own front tires. “What the hell was that?”
She sat there in the middle of the road, heart pounding, and heard again, “Turn right in 100 yards.”
“I turned it off. I unplugged it, and turned it off.” Abby put the Geo in park and started to open the door, then changed her mind and locked all the locks instead. Then she unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted to dig in the back, looking for the GPS. Her fingers closed on the smooth plastic and she pulled it out.
It was off.
“Nerves.” Abby shook her head. “Too many stupid horror movies with Mike the past three months. I really need to get a job and get busy again.” She tossed the GPS into the seat next to her. “Time to find a cheap restaurant and somewhere to sleep, then tomorrow, we find the right way,” and she glared at the now-silent GPS, “to Bangor.”
She started the car up again and started driving.
“Turn right now.”
THAT she hadn’t misheard. Abby nearly rolled the Geo as she yanked the wheel trying to look at the GPS that had been off. It was off. It was not on.
“I’m going insane. Fucking insane.” She guided the car to the side of the road and sat there, trembling, looking at the small device next to her and wondering how mad Mike would be if she tossed it out the window. Very mad, she decided, and compromised by wrapping it in a sweatshirt she’d thrown on the passenger side floor earlier in the day and then shoving the entire thing in the glove compartment.
Then she looked right. A road veered off, and she could see lights in the distance. Lights meant people, and Abby decided she needed people very badly at that point.
The lights turned out to be the edge of the town. Abby drove cautiously, noting other cars and cheerful lights in the houses she passed with relief. The GPS stayed silent, and she thanked whatever god might be looking out for her at that point for small favors.
She passed a bar, the neon grapes above the door a weird counterpoint to the motorcycles parked in front of it, and a small grocery store with its doors painted with sheaves of wheat and corn. A town hall, with a statue of an Civil War soldier in front of it, and a large building that had to be the town library made her smile. This was the New England she was used to, and despite herself, Abby began to relax.
And then, to her left, she saw a large inn, with a graceful sign proclaiming it to be “The Olympus Inn,” and pulled in. Once she parked in the small parking lot, Abby pulled her wallet out and counted. “Four hundred dollars. Can I afford this?”
Could she? Probably not, but she was beyond caring. She needed a bed, a real bed, not a floor or what she’d been planning on, which was her sleeping bag on the beach. Three months of sleeping on Mike’s fold-out couch had done a number on her back. “Be good, Sisyphus,” she said, getting out and patting the Geo on its roof. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Where the fuck am I?”
Abby looked from the cheerfully blinking GPS on her dashboard to the dark evergreens crowding around her. The GPS was convinced they were on Route 1 to Bangor. Abby wasn’t so sure, since it had been at least an hour since she’d seen a road sign that said anything other than a speed limit. She’d gone through a few nameless little towns, always following the directions chirped out in a cheerful voice, her heart sinking along with the sun. Now, the last rays of gold were dying somewhere to her left and she could hear, faintly, the sound of the sea. But no signs for Bangor.
“Turn left in one-quarter mile,” the GPS said, and Abby rolled her eyes.
“Sure, Laurie,” she grumbled, hoping there would actually be a road in one-quarter mile. Not that lack of roads had stopped the device before. Abby wondered, yet again, how often the maps were actually updated.
To her mild shock, there was a road turning left a quarter-mile later, and she turned.
“Follow the road for nine miles, and then turn right.”
“Nine miles.” Abby shook her head. “I hope we don’t hit the sea before then.”
The sounds of the waves continued to grow as she drove on through the gloom, and she could taste the salt in the air. A white sign loomed up out of the twilight, and she slowed.
“Welcome to Olympus,” she said, frowning. “Where the hell is Olympus?”
When she typed in “Olympus, Maine,” her GPS blinked and presented her with Old Orchard Beach and Old Town. “No, you stupid thing, Olympus,” she muttered, and it flashed again, giving her Orient and Orington. “Dammit.”
Abby unplugged the unit, powered it down and chucked it in the back seat of her little Geo Metro, hoping she’d be able to find it in the morning. All her worldly goods, except for the hand-carved bed that she’d been forced to leave in her step-mother’s storage unit, were in various boxes and duffle bags, packed up in haste and shoved into any available spot in the small car’s rear. There was a job and another furnished room in Bangor, supposedly. “If I can ever get there,” she muttered, putting the car back into drive and rolling slowly down the road. “Maybe I can find a room somewhere in Olympus.”
A mist started to creep along beside her as she drove on into the night, and Abby rolled up the window, shivering just a little. The moon had yet to rise, but the mist and the dark trees marching into the night whispered to her, and all the stupid horror movies she’d watched with her brother began to play in her head. The radio had broken about ten thousand miles ago, so all she had to occupy her was the whistling of the wind as she drove.
And then, just as she crested a small hill, she heard, from the back, “Turn right in 100 yards.”
Abby slammed on the brakes so hard the Geo nearly ran over its own front tires. “What the hell was that?”
She sat there in the middle of the road, heart pounding, and heard again, “Turn right in 100 yards.”
“I turned it off. I unplugged it, and turned it off.” Abby put the Geo in park and started to open the door, then changed her mind and locked all the locks instead. Then she unbuckled her seatbelt and twisted to dig in the back, looking for the GPS. Her fingers closed on the smooth plastic and she pulled it out.
It was off.
“Nerves.” Abby shook her head. “Too many stupid horror movies with Mike the past three months. I really need to get a job and get busy again.” She tossed the GPS into the seat next to her. “Time to find a cheap restaurant and somewhere to sleep, then tomorrow, we find the right way,” and she glared at the now-silent GPS, “to Bangor.”
She started the car up again and started driving.
“Turn right now.”
THAT she hadn’t misheard. Abby nearly rolled the Geo as she yanked the wheel trying to look at the GPS that had been off. It was off. It was not on.
“I’m going insane. Fucking insane.” She guided the car to the side of the road and sat there, trembling, looking at the small device next to her and wondering how mad Mike would be if she tossed it out the window. Very mad, she decided, and compromised by wrapping it in a sweatshirt she’d thrown on the passenger side floor earlier in the day and then shoving the entire thing in the glove compartment.
Then she looked right. A road veered off, and she could see lights in the distance. Lights meant people, and Abby decided she needed people very badly at that point.
The lights turned out to be the edge of the town. Abby drove cautiously, noting other cars and cheerful lights in the houses she passed with relief. The GPS stayed silent, and she thanked whatever god might be looking out for her at that point for small favors.
She passed a bar, the neon grapes above the door a weird counterpoint to the motorcycles parked in front of it, and a small grocery store with its doors painted with sheaves of wheat and corn. A town hall, with a statue of an Civil War soldier in front of it, and a large building that had to be the town library made her smile. This was the New England she was used to, and despite herself, Abby began to relax.
And then, to her left, she saw a large inn, with a graceful sign proclaiming it to be “The Olympus Inn,” and pulled in. Once she parked in the small parking lot, Abby pulled her wallet out and counted. “Four hundred dollars. Can I afford this?”
Could she? Probably not, but she was beyond caring. She needed a bed, a real bed, not a floor or what she’d been planning on, which was her sleeping bag on the beach. Three months of sleeping on Mike’s fold-out couch had done a number on her back. “Be good, Sisyphus,” she said, getting out and patting the Geo on its roof. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
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We must do the writing day again sometime. It was a hoot.
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