Once Upon a Road Trip (30 page)

Better off alone than with the wrong person
.

Angie couldn’t remember where she’d heard the adage. She often wondered if other people took in select words of wisdom and wove them into their consciousness as completely as she sometimes did — embracing them like old friends — allowing them to shape the way she perceived life. To her, these were the truest kind of friends. They could be counted on to tell her what she needed to hear, and not just what she wanted to hear. Still, she desperately wanted to get in touch with her mother and have a live person verify that she’d made the best decision. But that would have to wait a few more days.

In dire need of distraction from her thoughts, she found it first in the peaceful Amish countryside. Watching a horse-drawn buggy rambling between the fields set her mind to imagining a simpler, unhurried life. Further distraction came in the form of her next host.

Brant met her in a bookstore parking lot, where he pulled up in a hulking old Buick. Angie had to hold her amusement in check when the gangly, diminutive seventeen-year-old emerged. She’d seen his sophomore year photo when he’d posted it to the story-writing community, but up close he appeared even younger — no more than thirteen. Puberty had yet to be kind to him. His straight, white-blond hair was feathered to frame large, intelligent blue eyes, while a sprinkling of acne and a none-too-subtle set of braces vied for attention. He couldn’t have been more than three inches over five feet, which struck her as particularly comical when he stood beside his cumbersome vehicle.

It was little wonder why he preferred to write about burly, heroic characters.

“Well if it isn’t Peril, The Road Warrior Princess.” Brant’s voice was amiable, and more fitting to his age than the rest of him. He offered out his hand, projecting a whimsical confidence.

“That’s a lot more extravagant than I deserve, but I’ll take it.” Angie grasped his hand in a quick shake.

“Are you kidding? You’re my hero. Er...heroine.” He flashed a metallic grin. “I wish I could pull off what you’re doing. I can’t even stomach the idea of driving to the next state.” He turned to lead the way as they started for the front door of the bookstore. “Sorry about not being able to put you up for the night. If my parents figure out where you came from, they’ll ground me until I sprout roots.”

“It’s no big deal, I don’t want to get you in trouble.” Angie assured him. “Just show me where I can park for the night and I’ll be fine.”

“Well, we can hang out for a few hours at least.” He sprinted to catch the door and held it open. “We’ve got a pool at my house, if you want to cool off.”

Entertained by the young man’s exuberant courtesy, she chuckled to herself. “Are you sure it’s a good idea if I go to your house? Won’t your parents ask questions?”

“Considering I’ve never had a girl over before...yeah, they’re going to ask questions.” Brant rubbed his palms together in anticipation, as though he were looking forward to the interrogation. “I doubt they’ll ask you anything. They’ll wait until after you leave and then grill me. If they do try to talk to you, just remember your backstory: You’re my friend Steven’s second cousin, visiting from Kalamazoo, Michigan. You’re studying to be a herpetologist, and you have a cat named Atonic.” He rattled off the information with rapid ease.

“I—what now?” Angie caught up to his sense of humor after a brief delay.

“You’re right…we should just hope they don’t ask you anything.” He grinned as he steered them toward the store’s cafe. “You drink coffee, right?”

“Oh, definitely.” She nodded. “I wouldn’t have made it this far without Jesus and gas station cappuccinos.”  

    “Good. I was online until three A.M. this morning, and I’m still barely conscious.” He motioned for her to file into line ahead of him. “Everybody’s talking about your trip. Kalvin is still expecting you in Georgia by tomorrow night, and I think Vincent wants you to call and let him know if you’re still swinging by Alabama.”

“Alabama is still up in the air.” She frowned with uncertainty, stepping up to the counter as the line advanced. “It was going to be on my way to Arkansas, but now that Don is out of the picture...” In light of the persistent heat of the day, she ordered a frappe’. When she attempted to tack on Brant’s drink, he pulled out his wallet and shooed her back.

“I got this.”

“I can at least pay for mine—” she protested.

“After you drive all this way and bother working me in for a face-to-face?” Brant laughed and dismissed her with a wave. “The least I can do is buy you a coffee.”

July 1st,

Just before I left New York, Scott gave me a going-away present. I now have a traveling buddy; a huggable-sized stuffed version of Stitch. Scott must have really logged it away when I mentioned that I’d love to have something like Stitch for a pet. It’s nice he was paying attention.

It sounds like I’ll be visiting D.C. next month, and then letting Scott follow me  back as far as Wisconsin on my way home. He’s got his own little road trip planned for seeing relatives before he starts college this fall. I just hope by then it won’t be weird for us to spend more time together.

I still don’t know what’s wrong inside my head. Lately, it’s like the whole idea of love is a lost cause to me. I still don’t understand it. People talk about falling in love like it’s just as easy and pointless as falling down a flight of stairs. So many things about Scott fits what I’m looking for in a guy, but I couldn’t seem to let myself be in love with him. I just don’t think we were much good at bringing out the best in each other. But now, I’m beginning to wonder if I’ve set myself up to always be alone. I don’t know, maybe I’m over-thinking this.  

I arrived in Lancaster today around 5pm, and spent the next four and a half hours with Brant. The kid was even more of a cut-up than I’d expected. I didn’t really get to talk with him about anything profound, but then, I guess there wasn’t really time for it. We paddled around in his family’s swimming pool until it got dark, and then he showed me a safe place to spend the night in my car.

This might be one of the stupider things I’ve ever done. At the moment I’m parked near a field behind his neighborhood, getting by on peanut butter crackers and jerky. The sun is down, but it’s still over 90 degrees. I’m afraid I’m in for a rough night.

~Ang

Though the temperature and humidity were both miserable, Angie had locked herself into her car with the windows cracked only an inch. While it came as a relief whenever a breeze happened  to stir the air, she didn’t dare allow any opening to the outside large enough for an arm to enter. On the off chance that someone did try to break in, she wanted ample warning.

With the back seats laid flat she settled, fully clothed, on top of her sleeping bag with the lower half of her body extending into the trunk. It was far from comfortable, but it was the most secure setup she could arrange. She waded restlessly into the night, lying on her belly with her arms grappling her pillow. It was certain to make her look pitiful from the outside, which was one of the reasons she’d chosen the position. The other reason being it allowed her immediate access to the bowie knife she’d hidden under her pillow. She had bought a new can of mace to hide between the seats, but it was useless while she was in such a confined space.

Brant assured her his neighborhood was safe, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Well...any
additional
chances
.
The darkness of the field flanked her car on one side, while the dull glow of suburbia illuminated the other. The longer the night wore on, the more the residential lighting dimmed. Enveloped by a droning chorus of crickets, she eventually drifted into a shallow slumber.

A sound startled her awake. Keenly aware of her pounding heart and the raw burn of adrenaline pumping through her limbs, Angie strained to identify the cause of her alarm. She lifted her head from her pillow and peered into the darkness. The silhouette of a vehicle had come to a stop along the nearby road, its headlights shown toward the dead end where they were diffused by tall grass. A car door closed and footsteps started toward her.

Angie’s first thought was to calculate how fast she could extract herself from her sleeping pallet, throw open the side door, and go tearing off through the adjacent field.

Not fast enough
, she decided.

That left her with plan B: Play Possum. She lowered her head to the pillow and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her ragged breathing to slow so she could monitor the figure’s approach. At the same time she gripped the leather sheath of her knife with one hand, curling her fingers around the handle with the other. In her mind’s eye she could picture the blade, curved at the tip and facing away from her.

The footsteps stopped, and she waited for something to happen. There was a pause and then a rustling sound. She opened her eyes to thin slits and saw the ominous frame of someone staring in at her through the left rear window. Angie drew in a slow breath and pulled the bowie knife halfway out of its sheath. Why hadn’t she just found a cheap hotel? The question floated out in the middle of all of this, but she didn’t have time to answer it.

A blinding white light invaded the interior of the car. She winced at the sudden constriction of her pupils, and her brain told her the offending object was a flashlight. Before she could guess at why a serial killer would be wielding such an attention-drawing device, it switched off. The figure turned and began a sauntering walk back toward the idling car.

Angie lifted her head. The figure was a man, of that much she was certain — broad shouldered and sure in gait. She caught the short hiss of static along with a garbled radio voice, and realization offered her a full serving of relief. Her visitor was a police officer. A closer study of his vehicle’s outline confirmed this.

I almost pulled a knife on a cop. Fan-freaking-tastic.

She planted her face into her pillow, held her breath, and waited. Hearing the squad car turn around and head back down the road, she released a sigh. Perhaps he’d been on patrol and was just making sure that her car hadn’t been stolen or abandoned. At least he’d done his job without knocking on the window to give her a sound scolding.

Angie spent several more minutes breathing out her tension into the sticky night air before she gave sleep another chance.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

July 2
,

I survived my first night sleeping in my car…barely. I have to say, I hope I don’t ever need to do that again. What little sleep I did get was lacking in quality. I gave myself a wet-wipe sponge bath this morning and managed to leave by 6 am. It was a particularly long and lonely drive this time. I still had a lot on my mind.

Oh, and I received my very first speeding ticket around noon. I got careless and forgot to set my cruise control coming out of Richmond, Virginia. Being an out-of-state driver this close to a holiday, I guess I shouldn’t have bothered hoping for mercy. I know I technically got what I deserved, but I’m pretty miserable over it. That fine is really going to stress my trip budget.

I arrived in Toccoa, Georgia right around 6 pm, and met up with Kalvin in the Wal-mart parking lot. I thought I recognized him right away, but for some reason I kept losing my nerve to get his attention… maybe because he’s so tall in person. It’s not like he’s scary or anything, though. He speaks and moves slowly, and he always seems sad. The way he talks reminds me of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh (I’m not even exaggerating.) I don’t know if it’s just the way his personality is, or if it’s because of his issues with depression. I know I’m not exactly happy-go-lucky, but it’s almost as though negativity is an embedded part of his mindset. 

Kalvin lives with his mom in a little townhouse nearby. They’ve both insisted I make myself at home, so I’ve taken up residence on the couch. They’re still living out of boxes from having moved in a few months back. Kal hasn’t bothered to unpack at all, since he’ll be moving to Atlanta at the end of the week to start at a technical college. Having type 1 Diabetes seems to have made him a bit of a shut-in, so I’m happy he’s about to try living on his own. I hope I can at least make myself useful and help them with the move.

Mileage Log: 3,023 mi

~Ang

Chapter 18

“Kal, are you awake?” Angie called down the narrow hallway of the single-level townhouse. It was well after noon when she’d finally awoken, the only sound she’d heard was the muffled clicking of a keyboard coming from his room.

“Yeah. Unfortunately.” The young man’s reply was heavy-laden, which she recognized as his usual inflection. “I’m decent—you can come on in. If you can make it past the door.”

Taking his offer as a warning, Angie pushed at the door. It yielded several inches, forcing her to put her shoulder into it when she met resistance. As the gap widened, it became obvious what had hindered her. Mounds of clothing spilled over from where they’d been stacked atop a constricting maze of boxes. Among the discernible clutter were scores of toys; most of them cars or action figures. There had to be hundreds of them. Kalvin himself was wedged in the back corner at a tiny computer desk, his pasty features awash in the glow of the screen. He continued typing, in spite of her arduous entrance.

“Good afternoon,” she offered, wading in several feet.

“Is it?” Kalvin’s voice droned as he cast a sluggish glance over his shoulder.

Angie opted to overlook his prevailing cynicism, diverting her gaze in a sweep of the room. “Well, this is…quite the collection you’ve got.” She attempted a tone of admiration but didn’t quite make it beyond astonishment.

“It should be—been collecting since I was five.” Kalvin pivoted and stood, up to his knees in the mire of his living conditions. “My so-called father tried to make me sell it when they divorced, but mom wouldn’t let him. It’s the only part of my childhood he didn’t take.” He looked as though he was trying to work up the gumption to sound angry, but defaulted to weariness instead.