August 8, 1967 - Somewhere in Wyoming
Elmer slowly awoke from a dream in which a young female detective mercilessly interrogated him under an intense accusatory spotlight. She seemed convinced he was guilty of something; whatever it was, Elmer had an unsettling feeling she was right.
He cautiously opened his eyes. The blinding spotlight was actually the early morning sun shining through the windshield of his well-used 15-year-old Chevy pickup. Shielding his eyes, Elmer was surprised to find himself in a desert of some kind. He turned to look around and felt a twinge of pain in his neck; he had been sleeping in the driver's seat with his head tilted awkwardly against the side window.
As his thoughts cleared, he remembered that late last night the truck had begun to lose power and he had pulled off State Route 130 into an abandoned gas station at the edge of a small town, just west of the middle of nowhere. The town appeared doubtful; a dozen dilapidated dwellings and a tacky tavern that wouldn't open until noon, and where a long-haired, fresh-out-of-college kid in bell bottoms wouldn't be welcome anyway.
Elmer suddenly felt apprehensive. Where was Tilly? He looked down to find her curled up asleep next to him, her dusty bare feet against his thigh. At least she was still there, looking beautiful and innocent. Her long peasant dress was pulled up and tucked between her knees; her uncombed long brown hair was sweetly entangled with her left arm, which covered her face.
They had been sweethearts four years ago, back in high school, and he couldn't help remembering the delicious and delightfully dissolute things they had learned to do together in this very truck during their two years of do-it-yourself sex education. Evidence of their homework still discolored the seats here and there. Those had been the best days of Elmer's life, before Tilly had left for nursing school in San Francisco and he had departed for the State College of Iowa in Cedar Falls. EVERYTHING was different now.