I stood alone, as she'd opted to stay in the warm car for her phone call. We'd just crossed that imperceptible border back into the twenty-first century, noticeable only when signal bars began to reappear on our little plastic personal shrines. She'd talked about it being imprudent to proceed without making that call, and so I'd eased up on the accelerator again, to stop at the first moment she thought poorly of going farther. Again.

To properly cool my heels, I had stepped into the place that was loaning us parking - drop a few bucks on them for the favor, and save myself from waiting sitting still. The place itself was a twenty-first century staple: fries cooling at my left, or perhaps I should call it stage right, nearest the drive-thru window. Just where the time-and-motion people put that identical setup every single time they build a new one. All was familiar enough that I didn't pay it the mind I usually pay to a new place, and was perfectly content with my waiting although I stood alone.

I was glad the place was open - it was that holiday that starts the year, and I'd guessed that it might have been closed. Of course the place was mobbed, there at the geographic edge of the modern era, on a day such as that. In general, that day is marked by poorly-planned resolution, and everyone launches into it realizing only later that they still have to eat a little something. I watched the time-and-motion blur that served them all, halfway lost in my thoughts, and that was fine.

I didn't know until later I'd want to remember the woman who helped me. I reconstruct her now as dirty blond, extra padding; mid-twenties, mid-shift, warmed up and moving effectively at her tasks. For all I can say for sure, this image is just an amalgam of every woman who's ever helped me - dammit, I never know they will matter until too late. She took and filled my order according to that place's particular ritual, moving among her team with an efficiency that would have made the time-and-motion people quiver with pride. It was only the ritual thanks at the end that diverged.

"Thank you. Happy New Year." Pause one beat. "Be safe."

I'd already smiled and nodded, and pivoted away. I was most of the way to the car when those last two words sunk in. It occurred to me that I'd heard her thank ten people, and add polite holiday wishes, but I was sure that last imperative was directed to nobody there but me.

My brow furrowed and my stride paused, leaving me standing in the driving lane a large American truck intended to use, perhaps a moment longer than the truck or I had guessed. Two longer strides moved me away from the truck and the woman, and that extra time and motion quenched the impulse I'd had to go back.

Still, it ate at me later. It clearly still gnaws at me now.

What had that woman seen in me, that would cause her to say such a thing?

What danger was it, that brought on "be safe"? Was it around or within me?

Should I trust an oracle that gave to me her guidance with fries and a random fountain drink?

Can't even recall the set of her eyes. I know if I knew that, I'd know.