SoCal - Harbor Blvd

Jack found his Avis car in slot D11, a small Toyota Corolla – red.   It would do. He tossed his roller-bag in the trunk and plugged in his TomTom.   He pulled out of John Wayne airport and headed toward the 5 north – toward Anaheim.  The sun was bright and the sky was blue – what he always remembered about Southern California – the palm trees, the freeways, the sense of excitement that was hard to describe.   He felt like he was home, even though Texas ran through his blood, thick, traces of California would never leave – like a gene – it was part of him – part of his DNA. 

This trip was all business – no pleasure.  Moving slowly through traffic, stop and go, there was a hole in his heart.  A phone call – likely breaking the law, he answered his cell only to be reminded that no matter where he went – he could never get away from work.  Yet, thankful to be working – even if. . . even if he didn't need to.

As he exited on Harbor Blvd. in Anaheim toward the Hilton, that hole in Jack’s heart became bigger.  Being in Southern California was something he and Jill did – together.  It wasn’t right to be here alone.  For decades, it had become their annual destination.   Half of him was missing.  The seat next to him, in this Toyota Corolla, was empty.  That cute blonde was back in Texas – she should be here, he thought – sitting right there.  And it just didn’t fit.  Nothing was right.  Jack needed to end this trip as quick as possible, and get back to Texas - back to Jill.