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Fade to Beige. A private tour of romance on the road
“P
By Joe Tougas lease don’t bother trying to find her. She’s not there.” — The Zombies
I don’t know what her long red hair smells like and I don’t know her views on Iranian nuclear talks or her favorite Replacements song. I cannot tell you what she likes to read or what she does for a living. But over the past year or so I have imagined learning all of this, gradually, over long, lazy stretches of coffee, popcorn, House of Cards marathons and other trappings of togetherness. Maybe you have a relationship or two like this, the kind that has to be imaginary because of circumstances. That’s what’s going on here, and the circumstances in this case include me being in my 50s, on the road a lot and her being a billboard. Which, yes, on the surface sounds cold and flat and maybe a little bit weird. But like everything else there’s a lot of wiggle room beneath the surface. And that’s what I found immediately impressive about her: How she effortlessly emerged outside of the bland universe that is stock photography without having to compromise anything. She’s not doing a pouty, come-hither look. She’s not trying. She just is. Here’s our story: I drive to the
30 • April 2015 • MANKATO MAGAZINE
Twin Cities from Mankato a lot. For the first hour of the trip, I’m driving a beige Honda and having beige thoughts about normal, beige things. The cream in the coffee gives it a beige tint … you get the idea. But then, at the one-hour mark, up ahead and to the right, she starts coming into view on a roadside billboard on Highway 169 near Jordan. That’s right, I think. It’s her. I check my speed, hit the signal and move over into right-side lane. I get closer to her. Closer. Checking my speed as I approach, not wanting to slow down too much. Down to 55 m.p.h. 54. 53. And there. THERE she is, above the gleaming fenced-in fleet of the Bobcat dealership and just before the Chaska turnoff. I get two, maybe three seconds of her gaze, which I swear is pulsating out of that poster and into my veins. It is full-on eye-to-eye contact followed by the swift and cruel physics of moving forward. She’s gone and I