Jackson hadn’t ever ridden a motorcycle before. He owned one now, courtesy of his recently deceased father. It was a normal drab Tuesday when he decided to call into work sick and just drive. He drove for one day, and then decided to continue. He felt, with a strange certainty, that if he could just exist somewhere else, somewhere far away enough, he could be someone else completely, and all his problems would cease to be his.

He drove all the way down the eastern seaboard, past the capitol, and into the humid swamps of the south, until he stood at the very edge of the United States. As he overlooked the ocean from Key West, he wanted to go farther, farther than the bike would be able to take him. He gave it away to someone, as he never intended to drive back up, and rented a tour on a seaplane.

Then, he was truly at the end of the United States, on a tiny island barely big and stable enough to hold up its brick fortress. Dry Tortugas. Dry, because there was no water except the salty ocean.

“Here we are,” the pilot said, “I’ll meet you back here in four hours. If you’re late, you’ll be stranded on the island, left to your own devices until the ferry comes by tomorrow morning.”

Leave me, Jackson thought.

“Now, I have to go deliver this pizza to our rangers!”

The other passengers cracked jokes about sharing the cheese and pepperoni.

“People live out here?” Jackson asked.

“The park rangers, yeah. They’re stuck out here, cut off from society. No stores on the island and they only get shipments so often. So us guys, from the planes and ferries, we like to treat em, you know?”

“Can I go with you?” Jackson asked.

“Sure?”

Rick the Ranger greeted them at the fort, grinning at the smell of pizza.

“This is why you’re my favorite pilot, Bob.”

“Bet you say that to all the pilots with pizza.”

“No, only to pilots named Bob.”

Rick and Bob conversed like old friends, the type who were comfortable and easy in their routine. They made to go inside, to share the pizza with the rest of the rangers, when Rick decided to bring up the stranger in their midst.

“He one of yours Bob?”

“Yeah, passenger curious about the way you crazy hermits live.”

Rick studied him for a moment, and it must’ve been all over Jackson, leaking out of him like how blood leaked out of a fatal gut wound. People had been giving him those sorts of looks lately, like they could just see the grief on him. It was not something he tried to project; it was more like something he’d become.

“How about you give the pizza to the guys, and I’ll take him on a little tour?”

“I’ll eat your slice for you,” Bob said, immediately heading inside for air conditioning.

Rick gestured at Jackson gently, and they rambled around the grassy courtyard, explored the leftovers of rooms and weapons, and then they climbed up the crumbling steps and onto the top of the fortress. Nothing surrounded them besides ocean and wind. No mainland in sight. No noise beyond wind-whipped sea-stirred isolation.

They stood side by side, until they eventually decided to sit, still not a word exchanged between them. Jackson wondered at the kindness of strangers, who could just take one look and decide to offer a moment of comfort.

“What’s your favorite pizza?” Jackson asked.

Rick twitched, startled, “Hawaiian. I know, I know, it’s a sin to put pineapple on pizza. Save your breath, I’ve heard it before.”

“I’ll bring you a box, every day.”

Rick laughed, “You don’t have to do that, but I appreciate the thought.”

“I never rode a motorcycle before I drove down here from New England. I’m sure I can figure out a plane just as fast.”

Rick gave him another look, but it was a different one this time. There was less pity and understanding, and more interest, like he had found something unexpectedly quirky that he kind of liked.

“It’s peaceful out here, far away from everything,” Rick said, “it’s a good place for a new beginning. It was for me.”

Jackson agreed, and when he was back on the mainland, he became a pilot. He delivered a Hawaiian pizza every day, like he said he would. And on the two thousand five hundred and sixtieth day, he also delivered a little something else: a golden ring.