Ordinarily I would have loved to visit San Antonio again. I had not seen it since the battle of the Alamo, quite a memorable experience, but of course a story for another time. I had to focus on getting back to the TARDIS… and my friends. On the other hand, my caloric expenditure had vastly exceeded my caloric intake; I hadn't eaten for the better part of two days. The next eatery I spotted off of US87 was a pizza joint. I headed around the back and saw overflowing garbage bins and was bracing myself for a dumpster dive when an unfamiliar receptacle caught my eye. It was labeled "donations" and contained boxes of partial and even whole pizzas. The highway wasn't exactly the Champs Elysée but the establishment had café seating and I enjoyed the imperfect pizza for longer than I should have rested, considering the urgency of my mission and the distance I had to cover. I wasted even more precious time trying to figure out how to fit a pizza box into my coat pockets. I was concerned enough to consider packing the pizza loose, folding each slice, but I had to consider the TARDIS' feelings as well. Dry cleaning was not her favorite task. Finally I decided to rip the boxes carefully and stack slices of pizza between the pieces of cardboard, folding them over the edge of each slice and securing one end with my paper clip and the rest with string. Doubtless some grease would seep through but I did not intend to fail my friends by virtue of being too weak and famished to stand up.
I trudged on up the highway, trying not to take it personally every time a vehicle zoomed by without pulling over to whisk me out of the wilderness – and trying, too, to stay awake. I was dreaming as I walked and in moments of relative clarity I feared I'd step dreamily out into traffic. After about an hour I gave up the fight. There was a grassy gully alongside the shoulder and I stumbled partway down the slope to what I hoped was a safe spot to collapse, which I promptly did. I took my coat off in order not to crush the pizza, drew it awkwardly over me as best I could despite the heat and humidity of late-spring Texas, let it fall to the side, and drifted into dreamland.
Tegan was shaking me. I knew it was a dream and at the same time utterly believed it. I didn't want to believe it, although I was relieved to see her, because she was furious with me and shaking me quite hard. "I'm sorry," I said, not knowing quite what I had done wrong but feeling sure enough that I had done whatever it was and that it was sufficiently wrong to warrant more than an apology. It was hard enough to utter the apology, as she was shaking the breath out of me. Then she was holding me upside down and swinging me around so fast that the centrifugal force rendered me practically horizontal in the air, and although I had a burlap bag over my head, I could see her grinning down at me. My arms were free and waving crazily as I tried to yell "Stop! Stop!" but my voice wouldn't come all the way out of my mouth; it was stuck in my throat, restricted by an ever-tightening black drawstring. I awoke to find myself indeed being shaken but most gently, barely a nudge to my shoulders.
"Mister? Wake up, Mister! Good Lord, how much did you have to drink anyway? Come on, now!" When I sat up rather suddenly the young woman who had been trying to awaken me sat back on her haunches and said, "Well! There you are!"
"Yes," I replied, "but where?" I was feeling rested, despite the nightmare. It didn't hurt that the young woman gazing at me with a curious mixture of concern and amusement was easy to gaze back upon: dark-skinned, with an oval face, sparkling brown eyes and long black braids.
"You don't know where you are?"
I grabbed my jacket and stood up, so she stood up as well, brushing some grass off her jeans. "I know I'm not where I need to be. I don't suppose you have a car?"
"Come on," she said, leading me back up the slope to where her dark green VW bug was parked on the shoulder. It had a light green Christmas tree painted on the passenger side. I looked back down the slope and could not see where I had napped; I had chosen the spot thinking it out of view from the highway.
"How did you spot me from up here?"
"I didn't. I just needed a tinkle."