Every highway still leads me back to someone

There are three cities I can no longer drive through like they are just places on a map.

Phoenix, Atlanta, and Orlando.

Every time my truck gets close to one of them, I remember a woman who once waited for me after closing her nail salon.

My name is Johnny. I am 43 years old, and I live in El Monte, California.

I drive an eighteen-wheeler across the country.

Most weeks, I spend more time inside my truck than I do at home.

People think truck drivers see everything.

That is true in one way.

I have watched the sun rise over the Arizona desert. I have driven through Texas thunderstorms so heavy I could barely see the road. I have slept at truck stops in places I never planned to visit.

But most of the time, the job is lonely.

You drive for hours with nobody beside you.

You eat alone.

You sleep alone.

Then you wake up and do it again.

Over the years, I had three serious relationships.

All three women were nail techs.

All three lived in different states.

And all three relationships lasted more than a year before falling apart.

The first woman was named Linda.

She lived in Phoenix, Arizona.

I met her because one of my regular routes passed through Phoenix every few weeks.

A friend told me about a Vietnamese restaurant near a shopping center where many nail workers ate after closing.

One night, I stopped there for dinner.

Linda was sitting alone at the table beside mine.

She was still wearing black salon clothes, and there was white nail dust on one sleeve.

We started talking because she noticed the trucking company logo on my shirt.

She asked whether I drove all the way from California.

I said I drove much farther than that.

Before leaving, she gave me her number.

The next time I passed through Phoenix, we had dinner.

After that, she started waiting for my messages to find out when I would return.

Linda worked six days a week.

I lived on the road.

Somehow, that made our schedules fit.

I usually arrived late at night after her salon closed.

She brought me food, clean towels, and little bags of fruit for the next part of my trip.

Sometimes I parked my truck nearby and stayed at her apartment.

Other times, we only had two hours together before I needed to leave.

She never complained in the beginning.

She said she understood my work.

For more than a year, Phoenix felt like home even though I did not live there.

Then one night, my delivery was delayed in New Mexico.

I was supposed to see her, but I could not make it.

She had already taken the next morning off.

She had cooked and waited for me until almost midnight.

When I called, she was crying.

She said she was tired of loving someone who only appeared when a load brought him nearby.

I promised I would change routes.

I promised I would spend more time with her.

I meant it when I said it.

But trucking companies do not arrange everything around your relationship.

A few months later, she ended it.

The last time I saw Linda, she returned a jacket I had left at her apartment.

She had washed it and folded it neatly.

That hurt more than if she had thrown it at me.

The second woman was named Kim.

She lived near Atlanta, Georgia.

I met her about a year after Linda and I broke up.

I had a delivery near Atlanta and needed a haircut before going home.

The barber shop was closed, so I walked into a nearby shopping center looking for food.

Kim was standing outside a nail salon waiting for her ride.

It was raining hard.

I offered to let her wait inside my truck because the salon had already locked the doors.

She hesitated, which I understood.

I showed her my license and kept the passenger door open until she felt comfortable.

We talked for almost forty minutes before her cousin arrived.

A week later, she sent me a message asking whether I had made it home safely.

Kim was different from Linda.

Linda was quiet and emotional.

Kim was direct.

She told me from the start that she did not want to waste time.

She wanted marriage, a house, and children.

I told her I wanted those things too.

At that time, I believed I did.

Whenever I had a route through Georgia, I stayed with her.

When I did not, she called me while I drove.

She would sit in her car after leaving the salon and talk to me until I reached the next truck stop.

Sometimes she fell asleep while the call was still connected.

I could hear her breathing through the phone while I drove in the dark.

For almost eighteen months, we planned a future.

We looked at houses online.

She talked about moving to California.

I talked about finding a local driving job.

But whenever the time came to make a real decision, I delayed it.

Local driving paid less.

I had debts.

I told myself I needed another six months on the road.

Then another six months.

Kim finally asked me whether I loved her or only loved having someone waiting in Atlanta.

I became angry because the question felt unfair.

Now I know it was the right question.

We broke up during a phone call while I was parked at a truck stop in Tennessee.

She told me she could no longer build a life with a man who was always leaving.

The next morning, I drove through Atlanta without calling her.

That was one of the hardest things I had ever done.

My third relationship was with a woman named Annie in Orlando, Florida.

By then, I knew better than to make big promises.

At least, I thought I did.

I met Annie through social media.

She saw a picture of my truck and asked whether I ever drove to Florida.

I told her I went there often.

She was also Vietnamese and worked as a nail tech.

We started talking casually.

After a few months, I planned a delivery so I could spend one extra day in Orlando.

Annie was funny and easygoing.

She did not ask me to quit driving.

She said she liked having her own life and did not need a man beside her every day.

That sounded perfect for me.

When I arrived in Orlando, she usually picked me up near the truck yard.

We ate late dinners after her shift.

Sometimes we drove to the beach on her day off and stayed until sunrise.

She loved taking pictures.

There are probably hundreds of pictures of us that I no longer have.

Annie kept them all on her phone.

She took pictures of me sleeping in the passenger seat of her car.

She took pictures of us eating in small restaurants.

She even took pictures of my truck like it was something special instead of the place where I worked and slept.

Our relationship lasted almost two years.

It was the longest of the three.

I thought that meant we had finally found a way to make long distance work.

Then Annie became sick.

It was not a major illness, but she needed surgery and could not work for several weeks.

She asked me to come stay with her.

I wanted to go.

I really did.

But I had just accepted a long route to the West Coast.

Canceling it would have cost me money and caused problems with the company.

I told her I would come after the delivery.

She said she understood.

When I finally reached Orlando almost three weeks later, she had changed.

She was polite, but she was distant.

Her sister had taken her to the hospital.

Her coworkers had brought food.

Her neighbor had helped with groceries.

Everybody had been there except me.

That night, Annie told me she had realized something while recovering.

She said I was a good man on the phone and a good boyfriend whenever my truck was nearby.

But I was not someone she could depend on when life did not follow my route.

I had no answer.

We sat in her living room without speaking for a long time.

The next morning, she drove me back to my truck.

Before I got out, she kissed my cheek.

She said she hoped one day I would stop driving long enough to let someone truly know me.

That was the last time I saw her.

Many years have passed since those relationships ended.

Linda is married now.

I saw it online before I stopped looking at her page.

Kim also moved on.

A mutual friend told me she has a child.

I do not know what happened with Annie.

Part of me wants to search for her.

Another part is afraid of what I might find.

I am still driving.

I still pass through Phoenix, Atlanta, and Orlando.

I know the exits near the salons where they used to work.

I remember which restaurants stayed open late.

I remember where I could park my truck without being bothered.

Sometimes I slow down near those places even when I have no reason to stop.

In Phoenix, I remember Linda standing outside with my clean jacket.

In Atlanta, I remember hearing Kim fall asleep on the phone.

In Orlando, I remember Annie taking pictures of my truck because she wanted proof that I had really been there.

All three women loved me.

They cooked for me, worried about me, waited for me, and tried to make room for me in their lives.

I loved them too.

But looking back, I think I loved them in the only way I knew how.

From the highway.

For a long time, I blamed the distance.

Now I understand that distance was not always measured in miles.

Sometimes I was sitting right beside them and already thinking about the next delivery.

People ask me why I never married.

I usually laugh and say the road kept me too busy.

The truth is harder to explain.

I had three chances with three good women.

Every one of them asked me to stay in a different way.

Every time, I chose to keep driving.

Now when I cross those state lines, nobody is waiting for me after the salon closes.

There are only old exits, dark shopping centers, and memories riding in the passenger seat.