Two Answers
Out in the semi-arid stretches of the Midwest, that zone between the corn belt and the Rockies, there’s a stretch of unremarkable back road, the kind that used to be called a highway before Eisenhower’s interstate road system redefined the word and killed a lot of chicken-scratch towns. It’s not on any of the road maps, but you can see it on those new satellite photo websites, if you know where to look, because a big smudge like the one they’ve got over Dick Cheney’s house—really!—would just draw attention.
You can drive it, too, if you want, though I wouldn’t recommend it. Driving hour after hour wondering if you’re going to run out of gas before one of these desiccated little ghost towns proves to have a working gas station is hard on the nerves, especially since cell phone reception is pretty dicey. If you do risk it, though, drive it in the early morning, a little before dawn, and make sure one of your headlights is out. Bring a good supply of singles and small change.
Before too long, a county sheriff will pull you over and give you a hwarning about that headlight. If he’s having a bad day, he might even give you a ticket. Ask him—politely!—if there’s anywhere you can get gas and maybe some breakfast. He will direct you onto an unnamed dirt-and-gravel road. Pay attention, because there’s no sign at the intersection, and no landmarks to speak of; you’ll miss it if you blink. The sheriff will recommend a breakfast. Thank him, even if he gives you a ticket.
If the sheriff recommends the hash, get your gas and drive on. If you go to the diner, no good will come of it.
If the sheriff recommends the peach cobbler and a coffee, though, get your gas and stop in the diner. Order coffee and the cobbler. When you’re ready to go, pay for it with exact change, and leave two dollar bills under the saucer for your coffee cup as a tip. At this point, you can still leave safely: just exit by the front door, drive off and return to your life. But if you’re determined, head back through the tiny hall to the left of the counter, past the bathrooms and storage closet, and out the swinging aluminum door in back. If you’ve done everything right, no one will stop you. Stand on the back stoop, look up into the morning sky, and ask any single question, three times, right out loud.
A voice like the smell of cinnamon will whisper the true answer in your ear. A second voice, like the rasp of a cat’s tongue, will whisper in your other ear the true answer to a question you didn’t ask. You will live with both answers for the rest of your life.