Let Your Heart Drive (8 page)

“Abso—Always,” He practically coughs out his answer and I’m doing everything I can from cheesin’ like a goof.

“Do you have certainty that you will obtain what you want?”

“Always.”

“Does the idea to have people working for you allure you?”

“Frequently.”

I raise a brow at his answer. I nod my head side-to-side and continue, “Do you know exactly what you want?” 

There’s the slightest silence between us and I can hear him suck in a breath before he slowly states,
“Always
.”

He’s hiding something I can sense it but I’m not about to whip out a Dr. Phil Show—steading a pen and pad of paper in my lap ready to psychoanalyze him. So, I blow it off and ramble on with another question.

“Do you know exactly how to obtain what you want?” Another long pause and this time he has me wondering if he is still on the line with me.

I inhale and check the signal, nope everything looks good. “Are you there?” I ask.

“Always.” I’m startled by his answer but I get it, he’s answering the previous question. Or at least I think so. I check off his answer and return to our questionnaire.

“Would you lie to a friend to obtain something important to you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Would you move to another nation to catch a good job offer?”

“Never.”

“Would you be able to act illegally if this could help you realize your most important objectives?”

“Never…” he declares almost immediately, which confuses me with his hot and cold responses.

“Okay… well bear with me we have just a few more questions, you’re doing great, champ.” He laughs a soft rumble and I absorb it completely, it’s that crazy swoony feeling and it does no good for me except making me grin like a love-sick girl. Thank God he can’t see me!

“Would you sacrifice a friendship for an important objective?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you think that you should never be content?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you believe that opportunities just happen, or do you think that they have to be built up?”

“Hold on, that’s two questions, how do I answer that with sometimes or always?” he asks.

“Okay… Do you believe opportunities just happen?”

“Sometimes.” I roll my eyes as I ask the final question.

“And… Do you think that opportunities have to be built up?”

“Always… I think the
right
opportunities should be built up.”

“Oh wow, guess what?”

He groans out, “What?”

“Your score… Wait, you are sitting down, right?” I tease and say, “It states you have an elevated ambition level.”

“I could have told you that,” he quips. 

“All right, your turn,” he announces and if I’m not mistaken it sounds like he just pressed his lips closer to the phone because his voice resonates through me. It’s deeper and unclouded and I know he’s intending to reveal something about me.

I cut him off before he starts in, “Oh, no. I don’t think we can handle two egotistical, over the top, ambitious people in one night. I think we should just absorb in your power-loving discoveries for now.”

“Power-loving, ha, ha… nice. But I’m not giving up that easily.” He counters. I pick at the pink polish on my nails, trying to avoid any further conversations about me. I have succeed so well so far and it’s the last thing I need right now and he’s too interesting to flip this around. Besides as crazy as it seems I’m definitely falling for the sound of his voice even if I have no clue what he looks like.

“Tell me if I’m wrong, but I’m getting this vibe that you’re not into pop quizzes, so… let’s just call it a night.”

“Deal,” I jump at his offer a little too eagerly. I adjust my tone and bargain, “Okay, if you want to ask one question then ask away…”

“Why are you driving Route 66?”

“Because driving Route 66 beats the hell out of walking it. Night… Trey.”

“What we see depends mainly on what we look for.”

–John Lubbock

I’m up by
the fifth slam, a door either across from me or next to my room keeps opening or closing. Click…bang, click…bang. Click…BANG. It’s way too early to be checking out, I roll over squinting at the digital clock on the nightstand. Seven twenty-two a.m. and all I want to do is throw the comforter over my head and sleep for another hour or two….

Five minutes later…

I’m up, marching my way toward the door.

My hand grudgingly clutches the door handle and yanks it open right when a tall, attractive guy comes strolling out. Apparently, the ‘door slammer’ is indeed my loud, rambunctious neighbor. He’s carrying a tightly rolled-up, navy blue sleeping bag and a cup of fresh coffee. I resist the urge to lean in and inhale the heavenly aroma as he walks by me, staring.

“Mornin’,” he says with the energy of someone on a high dosage of Adderall. His smile compliments his features, strong defined jawline, deep blue eyes, dark disheveled hair like he
just got out bed
, but I know that’s not true. His door has proven to be quite functional this early morning.

“Morning,” I return feeling my pale face turn three shades of red. My intent wasn’t to barge out here and feel weak in the knees, but rather throw an evil glare, a silent warning that
some
people are still trying to sleep. Now, I’m nothing but putty. I close the door quietly and rest my head against it. Biker boys and men in suits are a crippling weakens for me, I guess Bogart and James Dean have forever destroyed me.

I let my shoulders relax while I slowly ease my head back, allowing the tension to dissolve. It’s just a guy, a totally hot guy, but nothing to freak out over. I pull my composure together and prop myself on the bed, legs bent, hands in their upright positions and I
try
to meditate.

The sound of my breathing resonates all around me while I focus on constructive thoughts. I inhale deeply on my third calming breath and I can’t stop my mind with running non-stop thoughts over and over,
where’s my next fuel stop going to be?
Or will I have breakfast here or down the road?
My stomach rumbles excitedly with the thought of food. Then, I hear the door slam, again. Animated voices, laughter filling the hallway, and I find myself laughing inside, at myself, it’s like my mind is a manic monkey, constantly on the go, repetitively worrying inside a cage, wondering what’s going on.

There’s no way I can do this here, with all the noise coming from outside, but I promised Chelsea I would try to meditate for at least five whole minutes. So, I shake out my arms, let out another dramatic sigh and try again. It’s so silent in my room for a moment that I can actually hear my ears ringing from the silence. I feel the harmonious, rhythmic beating of my heart and out of the blue, I recall his voice, Trey’s deep voice whispering in my ear. My eyes pop open and I laugh out loud, it’s worse than I thought. My mind is a drunk hysterical mad monkey. I’m not cut out for this, I’m not a Buddhist monk, or a wannabe yoga instructor. All the breathing exercises, counting my breaths, and reciting the mantra are not clicking for me and it’s only been three and a half minutes.

That’s when I decide it’s time for nourishment, I can’t possibly do this if I haven’t eaten a healthy breakfast yet. I pack up my things, brush my messy hair out and change into a denim short outfit. I double check the room before I leave to make sure I haven’t left anything and quietly close the door behind me. My eyes scan the Rise & Shine menu hungrily, it’s been awhile since I had a decent appetite. A massive eight ounce top sirloin steak topped with two eggs, skillet potatoes, plus, two fluffy biscuits smothered in homemade gravy sit in front of me. My eyes are definitely bigger than my stomach, but it’s at a price I can’t beat and I’m starving. I’m not sure where this new enthusiasm for food has come from, maybe it’s that manic monkey running around inside my head.

“Excuse me, honey,” a bouncy tanned blonde mutters lightly. She leans over exposing her cleavage to me. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but I’m about to crawl under your table,” she says pausing a beat and points to the floor. “I dropped my lipstick,” she finishes and starts to move forward.

“Oh, well, I can get it,” I reassure her setting my drink down.

“You sure?”

I wave her off like it’s no big deal, I’d rather get it anyway, it’s just a few inches from my foot. I bend down and reach. It takes a little more effort to grasp it, so I physically get off my chair and crawl underneath, with
cherries in the snow
lipstick finally in hand, I move back. And crack my head on the edge of table when I spot the hot biker guy from the hallway taking a seat beside her. Figures he’d have a girlfriend.

“Oh! Are you okay?” she asks, her sculpted black eyebrows arch up with concern.

I rub the edge of my forehead and quickly respond, “Yeah, its fine.
I mean…
I’m fine.” Lord, if I don’t sound like some babbling twit. I brush my hair back and take my seat, the throbbing fades, but my awkwardness doesn’t, I glance slightly over at the two of them. His sharp blue eyes study me. Hers, which I can’t see, are covered with sunglasses.

“Thank you,” she mouths and turns back to him.

I decide that our little interlude has come to an end and I go back to minding my own business. I’m self-conscience of every single bite that I take, because I can still feel him staring. I wipe my mouth more wondering if I have some huge gob of gravy running down my chin. I take a drink, and then another, trying to suffice the dryness dominating my throat.

“You sure you’re okay?” His throaty tone doesn’t affect me, but his looks sure can do a number on any girl. His black leather jacket hangs lazily over the back of his chair, leaving his muscular, beautifully tattooed arms visible, he takes one arm and leans it farther on the table so that he can have a clear shot of me. Waiting for my reply.

I steal another drink. “I’m fine, really.” I don’t want any unwarranted evil-eyed glares thrown at me from his girlfriend. I note she whispers something to him, his eyes bounce between her and I. A second later he gets up and strides his way toward me.
My god what did I do?
The crazed monkey inside my head is shaking the bars now. He picks up my unfinished plate and nods over to their table.

“Oh, he won’t bite,” she laughs while I stare big-eyed at him for taking my food, I barely have time to mouth the words, “
What the…?
”

When she interrupts sweetly, “Why don’t you come over here and sit with us, it wouldn’t be a bother at all.”

I grab the back of a chair and take a seat with them, still feeling uncertain. The guy reaches over and extends a hand out as he says, “I’m Zane and this is Jennie, we’re from Oklahoma.”

I shake his hand feeling childish for gawking at him, they seem nice and they definitely picked up that I’m alone. “I’m Sinead from California,” I announce and scarf down the last of my biscuit.

“That’s where we’re heading!” Jennie divulges, clapping her hands together. She removes her shaded sunglasses and I’m floored with the biggest brightest eyes I have ever seen. They’re bluer than his, much more vivid and clear. She rests her elbow on the table, props her chin in her hand and asks, “So, do you like all these little gifts shops?”

“Yeah, I mean they’re not bad. I’ve bought a few
things—
” 

“Oh, how about turquoise jewelry? I know there’s tons of it in Oklahoma, but I’m looking for the rare kind. Did you know that real turquoise is more valued than diamonds?”

I place the napkin on my plate and reply, “No, I didn’t, but I’ve seen many Navajo shops all through Gallup New Mexico.”

She turns to Zane, the blue eyed God, and smiles. “I have to track down the Yazzie family.”

Zane looks over to me almost as excited as his girlfriend and explains, “Jennie and I went to New York last year to what they call The Glittering World exhibition, she’s read about it and has become
obsessed
this whole idea of owning a piece of jewelry from the Yazzie family.” 

“I’m not obsessed!” she spouts as she playfully slaps his upper arm and he smiles even bigger. They’re in love, it’s as plain to see as if it was written across their faces. Now, it’s my turn to push my plate aside and rest my chin in my hand, watching them banter back and forth teasingly.

“So, why turquoise?” I blurt out curious to know more.

Zane’s eyes brighten as he leans forward. “Turquoise is the most sacred stone to the Navajo, they say the stone means life and that everything,
everything
no matter how small or seemingly insignificant is sacred.” he states matter of factly with an intelligent glimmer in his eyes. He slowly directs his gaze back to Jennie and adds, “Besides I’d be a fool not to take her on a good old road trip,” he laughs. “Even if it’s half the trip.”

I’m completely intrigued by these two and find myself in love with the fact that they’re
in love,
and maybe, just maybe, I’m trying to absorb their upbeat lovin’-life ambition. “So…you two are from Oklahoma traveling to California, but making a pit stop somewhere to find the Yazzie family turquoise. Right?”

He nods but it’s Jennie who replies, “It’s that, and he has a friend near Oakland, California. Which is why we’re riding that way.” She drops her voice to almost a whisper and adds sorrowfully, “He’s been ill for a while and he’s like a big brother to him, so we thought we better take some time off and go see him.” I take a guess at their ages, and I would have to say that nether one are over thirty-five or so. It’s not every day you meet people, connect with them on some level and understand where they’re coming from. I’m glad that they found each other, both appear rational in their own right and it makes me feel bad for assuming the things I did when I first saw them.

We talk for another hour and I soon realize it’s time for me to hit the road. I find out they are from Vinita, which is less than an hour from my sister’s,
small world
. I offer an email address so we can exchange pictures of Route 66 and she gives me a business card with all their contact information. They own a custom motorcycle shop just east of their town. We say our goodbyes and I slip off to the nearest bathroom, my microscopic bladder reminds me of how much orange juice and coffee it
can
cannot
handle. Once I’m outside in the parking lot I spot Jennie next to a low seated motorcycle, simply leaning against it, reading a book. She looks like one of those pin-up models from some kind of biker’s week magazine. I yank out my cell phone and shout out to her, “Hey Jennie!”

“Oh come on! You can smile bigger than that!” Zane hollers from behind me. I catch him strolling beside my left carrying another cup of coffee. “I can’t leave her for two seconds before she has her nose stuck in some book,” he jokes and kisses her cheek softly, ever so gently, and for a moment when they stare at each other it makes me almost want to just say,
aww, out loud
, but I stop myself.

“Be careful you two!” I shout over my shoulder and hop inside my rental. My heart swells with a tinge of sadness that Jake wasn’t someone who could take this journey with me and see everything, all the beautiful sights together like Zane and Jennie are. I save the picture of Jennie smiling and hear the powerful rev of their motorcycle roar like a clash of thunder as they pass me.

It doesn’t take me long to reach Cadillac Ranch, it basically sits right off the main highway. I adjust my speed and start my commentary about the abandoned wheat field while I drive closer to the nose-diving Cadillacs. My anchored camera jiggles on the dash as I travel the road. As the story goes, in 1974 a very wealthy man along with three of his friends were somewhat art hippies and I believe they called themselves
The
Ant Farm
.

They decided it would be something for the locals to talk about and at the same time honor the dying prominent tail-finned Cadillac, I count them as I pull over, ten nose-down in the dirt just like the pamphlet showed. It’s so hard to imagine what their original paint ever was because they are so coated with graffiti. It’s truly an evolving piece of art that keeps on changing through the years.