FICTION
Give me a Sign
To make up my mind
Phyllis had always had a difficult time making up her mind. Her mother never gave her much chance to practice, and so that particular skill just never fully developed.
Regular or decaf? Chocolate or vanilla? The white socks or the blue ones? Simple choices people make hundreds of times every day were burdensome to Phyllis. It wasn’t for lack of intelligence. It just took more time and energy than Phyllis had to spare. That waste of time was what made her nervous.
She’d managed to graduate from community college, having majored in something called “General Studies,” taking classes recommended for her by her advisor with her mother’s oversight.
“Now Phyllis, taking ceramics seems like a waste of time and your nails will always look dirty.” Phyllis had no hobbies.
Phyllis loved her work as a toll collector on the bridge. The county gave her an etched-glass plaque for her 30th anniversary on the job. Her supervisor made out the schedule a month in advance, so Phyllis always knew when she would be working. Sometimes, a person would not have the toll but there were specific ways of dealing with that, clearly outlined in the training manual.
The day Nick Sousa drove up to her booth on a vintage Honda motorcycle was clear and…
