Moving Forward is What We Do

A story of hope

Graphic by Decorous Designs Co

KENYA THOUGHT SHE COULD GET AWAY FROM TRENT, but the town brought her back despite her best efforts. All the hard work she did to break out— the tunnels she dug through textbooks and the identity she forged with all the right extracurriculars and reference letters— she did in vain. One decision, a single mistake any freshman could make, and she reminded the deans why they were weary of letting a small-town Texas kid through their ivy walls. Worst of all, her failed escape was not just humiliating but downright sensational news around the little town. Their bright star— one who shone so brilliantly against the empty prairie— couldn't find a new constellation and came hurtling back like a comet with a predetermined trajectory to crash land.

"I can't go back," she told her mom on the phone. Even then, she knew the words were untrue. Her car's gas tank was full, and she had to be out of the dorms by the end of the week. She didn't have any friends left. Her closest relatives were estranged second cousins who lived two states away in the wrong direction. The university that was once her dream school became a nightmare. Waking up and going home was the only thing left to do.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out, hon," Kenya's mom said. Her cattle rancher's twang sounded harsh compared to the northeastern voices Kenya grew so familiar with over her first and only semester. "I'm sure you'll figure this out. There's good schools in Abilene."

Abilene. Kenya rolled her eyes as she drove on I-20 west of the famous cattle town. Abilene was the biggest city near Trent, and the furthest anyone got out of her hometown. Yes, there were colleges there, but they were the same colleges the boys and girls from her high school went to if they could achieve escape velocity. Far enough away to taste freedom but close enough to be pulled back into Trent's orbit on the weekends.

"GPS signal lost," Kenya's phone chirped from the console cup holder. She was getting close. Kenya didn't need an app to tell her how to get home. The map on her phone was to trick herself into thinking she might have lost her way. But black holes create their own gravity, and Trent tugged her in with singular force.

The sunset over the highway lit the sky ablaze with orange and violet light. A turnoff appeared in the distance: an oil-top farm-to-market road known by numbers instead of a name.

"GPS signal lost."

Kenya turned the music up— an old Hank Williams song— and eyed the approaching turn. She didn't recognize the exit. The road didn't appear on her phone, either, but it was too busy looking for a signal to show an accurate location. Her parents were expecting her home in time for dinner. The waning sun informed her she was cutting it close. She might just make it if she pushed the pedal down and drove like a true Texan. Or she could delay the inevitable and turn away from Trent one more time, even if it was for just a little while. Being late for dinner would rank pretty low on the list of disappointments anyway.

"Lord, I take a cost," Kenya sang along with Hank as she flipped up the turn signal, "Oh, the lost highway."

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A CRESCENT MOON POURED OUT ITS BLUE LIGHT to extinguish the remnants of dusk as she drove down the undivided road. Within short order, the pavement gave way to oil and then gravel, and soon, Kenya wasn't sure she drove on a road at all. Her poor compact rattled over potholes it wasn't built to take head-on, but she went further down the detour.

"On this road of sin, are you sorrow bound?" Hank Williams asked. Kenya turned the radio off before he offered advice, and then one of her rear tires gave up the ghost.

The vwhump-vwhump-vwhump-vwhump of a flat tire joined the sounds of thrown gravel hitting against the chassis. Kenya brought the car to a stop. She didn't bother to pull off the road but stopped in the middle of the path she kept.

"Perfect," Kenya said. "Just perfect." She hit the steering wheel and got out of the car to inspect the damage.

The rear tire was a goner. The sidewall had a large gash that was too big to seal, and the car itself didn't come with a spare.

"GPS signal lost."

And she had no cell service.

Kenya considered her options. I-20 couldn't be more than a few miles behind her. She could hike back and flag for help. She should probably walk back to the highway, but something about the road enticed her to go further. Kenya looked ahead. A dim golden light, not even half a mile ahead, winked at her. A house, maybe? Probably an oil well, but she stepped away from the car nonetheless. She didn't even bother taking her useless phone out of the cup holder and left the keys in the ignition.

As she walked near the light, she could see that it did indeed come from a structure and not from a piece of equipment. But it wasn't a home— at least not one that had been lived in for a very long time.

The building was little more than a pile of rubble that resembled a pueblo house. An edifice as out of place in Comanche lands as a lighthouse in the desert. The glow came from an opening— not from within, but from the doorway itself— in the center of the building. It shimmered more than shined, and Kenya couldn't see what was inside.

"Hello?" she asked, but no reply came. "Is there anybody in there? My car broke down up the road, and I could use some help."

"Hello," she thought she heard a voice say, but it sounded distant, as if the word had been shouted from across a field.

"Can I come in?" Kenya asked. The light of the doorway seemed to pulse.

"—come in," said the voice almost in a whisper.

"Alright," Kenya said, but, for that moment, she wasn't all right. Whatever was left of her better judgment protested from deep within her gut. The vincible part of her reminded her that she was a young woman, practically a girl, alone in the middle of nowhere, Texas. Trouble, and not help, was more likely to be inside the odd building. But the glow just a few steps away looked strangely inviting, if not enchanting.

"There's not even a door to close behind me," Kenya thought. "I can come out as quickly as I go in."

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SHE STEPPED PAST A SAGE BUSH, the only hurdle in her way, and walked through the opening. A warm feeling, like bursting the membrane of a hot water bottle, washed over her from chest to head. The yellow light disappeared as soon as she left Texas, and she found herself in a dark, brick-walled room. A young man, alone and also dark, stood on the opposite side.

"Hello?" Kenya said. The man attempted to answer with a smile, but his square-jawed expression bore pain instead of kindness. Piercing eyes— the kind that call attention to themselves from the depths of long lashes and thick brows— looked at her with pity.

"I said don't come in," he said quietly, like a mourner whispering at a funeral for a friend. His voice was deep and soft, like the parts of a river where the water is still.

"I can leave," Kenya said, but when she turned to go, the doorway— the portal— behind her was closed and gone. A brick wall stood in its place.

"No," said the man, "you can't go back."

"But—"

"What you have done cannot be undone." The man gave her another joyless smile. He was tall, but not threateningly so, and fashioned in the likeness of a competitive rower. Anywhere else, Kenya might have been struck by his appearance.

"What kind of joke is this?" Kenya reached in her pocket for the pepper spray she kept on her key ring, then remembered where she had left her keys.

"It is no joke," the man said. "I am not laughing."

"Are you going to hurt me?" Kenya took several steps back and was surprised she did not hit the wall she had just walked through. She raised balled-up fists but didn't have any notion of how to use them. The man chuckled honestly.

"I would never hurt you," he said.

"Then why won't you let me go?" Kenya asked.

"It is not I that keeps you here."

Kenya looked around. The three brick walls she could see looked dusty. A bright light shone from somewhere up above, but it cast no shadows.

"What is this place?" Kenya stepped away again, fists up, but she didn't meet the wall with her back.

"It is the In-Between," the man said slowly.

"In between what?"

"No. The In-Between. It is the place between where you are going and where you have been."

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?" Kenya almost shouted, but the room seemed to swallow her tone and kept the volume in the corridor low.

"You'll understand soon." The man said.

"Wha—Why can't I go back?" Kenya stepped from the man. Again, she didn't find the wall.

"There is no back." The man said

"No back?" Kenya dropped her fists incredulously.

"You can only go forward from here."

Kenya took several more backward steps with her eyes on the man.

The man chuckled. "Turn around," he said. Kenya shook her head.

"It's okay, I promise I am harmless."

"Can I trust you?" Kenya asked.

"You must."

"Okay," Kenya turned, and the back wall, which had been a gold-yellow light only moments before, was beyond her reach.

She took two steps toward the wall, but the distance remained.

"Wha—"

"You can only go forward from here," he repeated.

"How is this possible?" Kenya was close to tears. "So I'm stuck here forever."

"No. We can leave whenever we like."

Kenya laughed to keep herself from crying. "How?" she asked. Both hands rubbed at the sides of her head. "There's a wall over there, too."

"I know. I just came through it."

"You just came through? Show me."

"I can't," said the man. His smile diminished.

"Why not?" Kenya asked like a petulant child. The man stopped smiling entirely and sighed.

"Because I have to go forward, too."

"But that is forward," Kenya really yelled this time. "You just said there's only one way."

"I did." The man whispered. "You can only go forward from here, and I can only go forward from there." He stepped and came within an intimate distance of Kenya. "Look."

The man pointed with his brow to the wall behind her, which was so close, yet impossible for her to touch. When she turned, she gasped. The wall shimmered again. The portal opened.

"But you said I—"

"You can't. It's open for me."

"But that's going back?"

The man's smile returned. It was a nice smile, and he stood close enough to be shy about the smell of his breath, so he covered his teeth with his left hand and blushed as red as his dark skin would allow.

"For you, yes. But for me, it's forward." He spoke with his hand over his mouth.

"You're trapped too?" Kenya asked.

"Yes, but I wouldn't say that we're trapped."

"And we can't go back?"

"Yes, I know we can't go back," the man laughed loudly, but neither could step away. She wanted to push him but knew it wouldn't do any good.

"I was on my way to see my parents.” Kenya protested. “What about them? Will I ever see them again? How will I get— home?" Her voice lost steam as she remembered that she wasn't going home when her car tire burst.

"Do you want to go home?" The man asked, but she didn't answer with her words.

"So you go that way, and I go this way?" Kenya said, pointing with her thumb.

"That's right."

"And how do you suggest we get past each other?" The chamber was narrow, like a fun house hallway, and seemed to press in on the sides. "Can you pass through me, too?"

"No. We can't pass through people." The man's eyes were bright with joy. "We pass each other like this!"

Before she could protest, the man held Kenya like a dancer, her hand and waist in his. The man's strong hands knew how to lead gently. He spun her with gusto; somehow, their feet knew where to step on the floor. When he let go, Kenya twirled closer to the front wall. It changed and shimmered as she moved, the portal opening for her, and she stopped just inches away from the other side.

"Wait!" She said. The man had spun forward, too, and was poised to disappear into her past. He looked sad when he turned.

"Will I see you again?" Kenya asked, and the man nodded.

"I hope so."

"You do?"

"I really do."

"Me too." Kenya smiled, and her eyes fell bashfully to the floor.

"What's your name?" The man asked. Kenya's hair bounced as she looked up.

"It's Kenya."

"Kenya! Kenya is where I'm from."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"That's cool. Then is your name Trent?" she asked.

"No. Not Trent. Henry."

"Of course. Well, Henry, will this take me to Kenya then?" She gestured to the open portal with her head. Henry shook his.

"I'm afraid not. But I do think you'll like where it leads."

"Where does it lead?"

"You have to find that out yourself."

"Well, that one will take you to Trent, Texas."

"No, it won't," Henry said with another wide grin, "They never go to the same place twice."

"Oh." She looked at the portal before her. Its aura swirled like molten metal.

"So you've done this before?"

"Many times," Henry said. "Do not be afraid. You'll be okay."

"You're sure I can't go with you? Or you with me?"

"I wish you could, but we can't go back now."

Kenya and Henry looked at each other across the impassable space, and though both were strangers, they thought it would have been nice to dance together one more time.

“So I keep going, then? Going forward?"

"Moving forward is what we do," Henry said.

"No," she said with her own smile. "We hope to see each other soon." And together, they stepped into the unknown.

Graphic by Decorous Design Co

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Short stories are published on a monthly basis. If you missed last month’s story THAT BLOODY CITY you can find it at the link below.

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Lyrics to “The Lost Highway" by Hank Williams are public domain.

Text copyright © 2025, Corey D. Evans. All rights reserved.

Audio copyright © 2025, Corey D. Evans. All rights reserved. Theme Music by Kris Wallace Music