Vanna

She took Highway 21 heading south through cornfields, beans, alfalfa, cows grazing. Drove ’til she couldn’t drive no more. Just parked the car on the side of the road and started walking. Strolling down hot asphalt in the summertime without a care in the world. She prayed the old two lane would take her somewhere; anywhere.

Men passed her by. Amish boys in wagons taking a look. Teenagers on tractors taking a gander over their shoulders. Farmers slowing down in old pickups wished she’d stick out her thumb. The tall brunette kept walking.

And she’d laugh at her own jokes. Saying to herself, Some folks call it a small soda while I call it a Minnesota, that made her chuckle. The young girl would pick up rocks and pitch em ‘cross the road.

What was she walking away from? No one ever knew. Not sure that she did. Maybe she was just out for a walk. Clear her head for awhile. Could’ve been running from a man. Whatever it was gave her strength to walk ten miles that day. Ten miles to the nearest bar. And it was there she stayed awhile.

The bartender poured shot after shot for her. Whiskey was her choice. Backed with a Coca Cola. She liked the way it fizzed on her white teeth. She liked the burn on the way down.

On the television up connected to the corner ceiling, was Vanna White. Tall leggy Vanna turning letters. Smiling. She wished she could be Vanna. That was her dream. Just smiling and turning letters. It’s all she ever wished for.

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