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Travelers
I pull up to her house. My palms are sweating, my nerves in a frenzy. I’m almost never this reckless. Then again, I did graduate yesterday, so maybe a little recklessness is in order.
I honk the horn, maybe a little to enthusiastically, and she comes outside.
I shouldn’t be surprised that she looks like she just got finished at a fashion show. Charlene always looks like a goddess. She has on some of those fancy little grey boots, jeans and a blue/white stripe blouse. Her long blonde hair curled, allowing her blue eyes to have a new light. My ripped jeans, black MCR t-shirt with a red flannel and black converse suddenly become strangely uncomfortable on my body. My brown/blonde hair is newly straightened and black sunglasses cover my hazel colored eyes.
She slides open the back door and throws 2 duffel bags, a suitcase, 2 backpacks, a purse, and a makeup case in, next to my duffel bag. I’ve had my bag packed for over a year now, a few mere belongings and some clothes.
Charlie howls with enthusiasm, I do the same. its kinda our thing. Charlie and I have been planning this “move” since our sophomore year. We started saving up to buy the Chevy eco van we passionately named Penny. We both worked a couple jobs, lame restaurants and department stores. Dead end jobs. But it worked, by the middle of our senior year we’d saved up enough to live on the road.
She smiles as she gets in the car. “You ready?” I ask.
“Are you?”
“You know it.” I wish she knew just how ready I am. I was ready when we started talking about it 2 years ago.
“Where’re we headed?”
“Oregon.”
“Oh, I forgot,” She says, climbing into the back seat. I hear her shuffling around in a bag while I drive, “Here, I got you this.” She pulls a foldable sign out of her bag. It has all the states on it. “You can paint is as we go through the states. A kind of log of our adventures.”
“You suck!” I say. “I didn’t get you anything.” Rubbing the back of my neck.
“Yeah, you did.”
“What’s that?”
“When it’s finished, we’re gonna have a piece of art for our new home.”
“Did you just call this crummy little van a home?” I laugh.
“Yeah,” She laughs, “maybe more of a place to live than a home.”
“Yeah.” I reply. We laugh.
You would have never guessed that the two of us would be friends. An unlikely pair. We met as freshman. I was the new kid, just moved from Chicago, having no friends, (being kinda emo goth doesn’t really help that either.) She was the popular kid, cute clothes, shoes and being head cheerleader, she was basically born for it. We had math together and she just started talking to me.
Since then we’ve been basically inseparable. We do everything together, even though we are completely different. Kinda like that Taylor Swift song You Belong with Me. We have yin yang tattoos that we got together a couple months ago. Mine is yin on my left arm and hers is yang on her right arm. Neither of us are Chinese but I remember learning about it in 6th grade. I learned about Daoism and Taoism, which is where the roots of this theory are based. Yin/Yang is the theory of two halves creating a whole. The light can’t exist without the darkness and vice versa. They need eachother, they create balance. I think that basically sums up our relations ship, two halves making a whole.
Sometimes I wonder if I know all there is to know about Charlie. Maybe this trip will allow for some bonding or something. I’ve noticed things about her but have never had the courage to ask about it. I know she’s adopted by her grandparents, but I don’t know why, and I also know that she has a faint scar along her arm. I wonder how that happened.
“You good?” She asks me, and I realize its been a long while since we spoke, and of me just thinking. Yin and yang and our relationship and about her. I get caught up thinking sometimes.
“Yeah, just thinking.”
“Woah, that’s dangerous.” She says sarcastically.
My eyes roll on their own. Force of habit.
“Should we listen to music?” She asks.
“Sure, what do you have in mind?”
“Katy Perry or-” but she’s cut off. The car starts to shake. No, no the ground is shaking. I’ve been in a couple earthquakes before, some really bad, some mild, but I’ve never been in the car during one. I can see the road still, which is good, at least that means it’s still there.
“Charlie put your seatbelt on.” I say. I’m trying to sound calm, but my voice wavers.
“Alex, I’m scared.”
“Charlie, we are gonna be fine, just do it please.” I say harshly. I didn’t mean for it to come out harsh, “I’m going to try to find somewhere to pull over.” I continue, calmer now.
I do so with ease as the very few cars in front of us do the same. My main worry now is that fact that we are on a bridge. People behind us pull over. I feel a small bump, and for a person who doesn’t live in Cali, they might think that was the end of it. Unfortunately, that’s only the beginning. The ground begins to shake violently, and Charlie starts to cry. I can see Charlie out of the corner of my eye. Fear spreads over her face, like she’s just seen a ghost, and I find myself wondering why she’s so afraid. She tucks her knees to her chest, rocking back and forth. She’s whispering to herself, crying, telling herself to calm down. She grabs the necklace around her neck, a cross. I wonder if she is praying silently. I know she’s catholic, but I wonder how deep that belief goes. Is it merely surface faith, something you have when you need it, or does it run deep, like she knows it’s true? Is it the base of her life or just something extra? I’m not religious, but I’m no atheist either. I believe there is a God, I just don’t really know what religion is right.
I look at Charlie again. I have no idea how to help her. I speak up and grab her hand, “Charlie,” she squeezes my hand. A kind of recognition that I’m there. Maybe she questions the reality that I’m here at all. I know when fear like this is present, you feel like the entire world is falling, and you think you’re gonna die. Maybe just being here will be helpful to her. I don’t know, “Charlie you’re fine.” But she keeps crying, sobs shutter through her. She’s shaking. “Screw it.” I say, unbuckling my seat belt and hers. I grab Charlie’s arm and pull the both of us to the back where there is a mattress with blankets. She’s crying and I’m not quite sure what to do except reassure her and hold her. I wrap my arms around her and she holds my hand, squeezing it now and again.
“Charlie, its ok. Just breathe. In and out. Its going to be alright.” I help her do some breathing exercises. She starts to calm down. “I’ve got you. I’m here.” I hear a loud bang and she screams. She lashes out, like her body had a direct link to the sound. I surround her with me, like a shield. I brush the tears from her face and hold her. she still cries, but she’s not shaking as badly anymore.
After several hours of this the shaking stops. Charlie is asleep after I gave her some Benadryl. I pry myself from her and stand to look out the window but there is dust clouding the windshield.
“Charlie, hey I’m gonna go take a look around, stay here ok?” I tell her.
“No please, don’t leave me.” She says, slurring her words through a half sleep and awake state.
“Charlie, its ok, it stopped. Just sleep, I’ll be back.”
She doesn’t respond, as she’s already fallen back to sleep.
I climb over the front seat and get out the passenger door. Dust clouds my vision and I walk slowly forward. Whatever that sound was, it was forward. I stop at every car to make sure the people inside are ok. I hear screaming and dash forward.
A woman, in her 30’s, is screaming. I notice that she has slammed into a truck in front of her. I open her door slowly and see blood. Lots of blood. And something sticking out of her leg- oh dear gosh that’s her bone. Ok well first off, ouch.
“Ma’am, hi. I need you to stay calm ok, I’m going to inform the people behind me that they need to go get help.” I run to the car behind me. There’s a man, a young woman and what looks to be a 7-year-old boy. The man rolls down his window.
“Hey, um there’s a lady in front of you who got in a pretty bad accident, can one of you inform authorities?”
“I can.” The woman says.
“I was an army doctor; may I take a look?” The man asks.
“Yeah, I haven’t checked out the car in front of her yet. Follow me.”
I lead the man to the car. He starts helping her, asking questions & splinting her leg, while I check on the other car. It’s a truck, looks like utility. I open the door and there’s a middle-aged man in the seat. He’s unconscious but other than that he looks fine.
“Sir,” I say, tapping his shoulder, “Excuse me sir.” He lifts his head.
“What happened?” He says, rubbing his forehead.
“You were in a car accident, everything is fine, but you need to just stay here for a moment, there’s help on the way.”
“Thank you.” He says. I nod, and then I hear more screams. I walk back to the doctor, let him know the condition of the man in front of me and tell him I’m going ahead. He nods and thanks me. I find myself running again.
When I stop, I see an RV is parked on the side of the road, but the back of it is off the ground.
“How the-” I whisper. “Holy shitake mushroom.”
In front of me there is a massive hole. Where the rest of the other half of the bridge used to be, and the RV is teetertottering on the edge of this hole. A vicious version of the playground game.
“This is no time for jokes.” I say to myself. I know it’s only my mind trying to calm my nerves, but still.
I walk slowly toward the edge and see at least a dozen cars crushed under rubble. I see people too. Men, women, and children. No survivors. I wonder what they were traveling for. To go on vacation? To see family? Or just going home? They will never make it to their destination. None of us, the people on the road, woke up this morning with the thought that this would happen. I imagine the devastation on the faces of their loved ones, knowing that they will never return home. My mind races. I think about the kids who will be absent to school tomorrow, the companies and corporations that are going to have to look for new employees. The families that will never be whole again. Mothers, fathers and siblings. Gone. I force myself to look away and go to the RV.
“Hello!” I yell.
“Help!” A woman says.
“I’m going to get you out of there.” I yell back. “How many people are in there?”
“Just me and my husband, and we are both fine, except-”
“Except,” Her husband buts in, “That we are on the literal verge of death.”
“Just stay calm, I’m gonna get you out just walk to the back of the RV, I’m going to get something for you to land on.” The RV rocks a little as they walk back, and I can see them out the back door of the RV.
I run back to several cars, asking for anything they have, blankets, pillows, anything soft for padding. Several people come out to help me. others turn on their car lights and bring water and food to others. It’s kind of a community. There’re people from all over the country. There’s also a Latino family and some Italians who are on vacation. I’m not sure what they’re saying, but they are helping as best they can. If this weren’t such a tragic day, this might be considered beautiful. It’s been about 2 hours since this began. After gathering supplies, I notice that the pile isn’t all that great but its something. Some people, a man named Robert and his daughter Elise, help me gather supplies. They were headed to Oregon to see the forests. When we’ve finished gathering stuff, I thank them, and they return to their car.
“Just jump onto this.” I say.
It looks terrifying, they aren’t all that high off the ground, but every move they make moves the RV. The man kisses the woman. I can tell he’s saying I love you. They hold hands and he reassure her, telling her it’s alright. She launches herself and lands safely. She has tears in her eyes.
“Are you alright?” I ask, offering my hand.
“Yeah.” She says. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, I just don’t wanna see anyone else get hurt today.” I say. A shudder travels through my spine. These people could have been in that pit below. They could have had the same fate as those people. But they were lucky. Spared.
The man jumps, landing safely. They embrace eachother. I walk slowly back to my car. My leg injury from a few months back is acting up. I find myself trying to conceal a limp. When I get back after a while of walking, stopping, and sitting, Charlie is awake, looking worried. When I get in the car, she grabs me tightly. I’m sweating like crazy, and I’m exhausted. I lay down on the mattress.
“Are you okay?” She asks, sitting next to me.
I reply with a nonappealing grunt. All I want to do is sleep, but we’ve got to get going. The road behind us has been pretty much cleared, and police are starting to let people leave.
“I’ll drive.” Charlie says. “You look like you just clawed your way out of Hell.”
“Thanks.” I say. I tell her all about what happened out there. She looks at me wide eyed.
“Well then.” She smirks.
“Yeah, ha-ha don’t even start that.” I pause. “We’re gonna have to change our plans.”
“What about the southern route?” Charlie asks.
“I’m down.” I reply
“So, Nevada then?”
“Veeegasss.” I say. I get in the passenger seat and Charlie starts the car. Then I start to remember what I saw back there. There were so many people, gone. Their lives ended so quickly. They might’ve been going to see their friends, going to their homes, visiting family. All the devastation, the destruction. I shake the image from my mind.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
“I could eat.” Charlie says.
We drive to some random diner and Charlie goes in to get food. While she’s inside I get a container out of my bag. It’s little and red, I have 2 or 3 of them. Almost like a ring box. To most it would be unsuspecting, but I know what it contains. Medications. I was smart enough to stock up when I left. I pour an unknown amount into my hand and pop them in my mouth.
She asked me months ago if I was off the meds. I looked her in the eyes and told her yes. I hate lying to Charlie, but I only use them when I need to.
I’m no addict.
I told her I stopped taking meds, but I keep them around, just in case. I shove the little box back into my bag and lay myself on the mattress, shutting my eyes, just for a minute.
I find myself repeating the phrase in my half-asleep mind. I’m no addict. I am no addict. I don’t need them. Somewhere between the state of sleep and being awake my unconscious mind is in turmoil over this. I really only use them when necessary. I’m thrown back to that day, a year ago. I was Mountain biking alone. I shouldn’t have been. Stupid. I was on a mountain, descending, and I hit a jump. I’d jumped it a thousand times, I should have been fine. The next this I know, I’m detached from my bike, flying. I hit the ground, rolling. Falling. I destroyed my leg, broke my wrist, shredded skin all over me. I snapped some bone in my neck and they said I was lucky. I hate to say it, but I didn’t feel very lucky that day. Now, I have metal where bone and skin should be. I could be iron man. It took 4 surgeries and physical therapy (+meds) to put me back together. Sometimes I wonder if the meds are what still keep me together.
No. Stop it.
I jolt up as Charlie slides open the door.
“Woah, you look awful.” She says. The words sound different from her, and the way she looks at me, I know she’s worried. She has been since that day.
“Bad dream. Sorry.” I reply. My voice cracks as I hold back tears.
“Oh. Alright.” She says. I know she wants to ask me if I’m ok. She always asks. I remember her visiting me in the hospital, every day, and she slept there on weekends when her grandparents allowed it. She showed up right after she heard. I was in surgery. At that point my condition was unclear as they found me unconscious. I got spotted by a hiker. After surgery I was knocked out, breathing tube in my throat, IV’s all over. She held my hand, and just sat with me for hours. She never left my side.
And I’m lying to her.
“Charlie, I’m fine.” I say.
She opens her mouth like she wants to say something, but then doesn’t.
“You wanna play a game, you know, while we eat?” I ask.
“Yeah, sure.” Charlie says. “Slap jack?”
“Is there any question?” I ask. She shuffles through her bag and grabs out a deck of cards.
This game has a special place for us. It’s the first game we ever played together. As little freshman, we didn’t really know how to break the ice when we hung out the first time. Charlie, that damn genius, grabbed a deck of cards and taught me this game. Since then, we treat it like a religious worship.
We eat and talk a little while we play. I win, she wins, back and forth as we keep going, more and more vicious each round.
“We need to get going.” I suggest. Its nearing 7 o’clock, and as much as I want to just sit and play games and talk, we have to get somewhere. We have barely left home, and if we are going to see the country in a summer we can’t wait.
“Alright.” I can hear the disappointment in her voice. “You need to rest though, you don’t look good bro.” She says.
Bro is our word.
Instead of “Love ya” or “you’re my fav” we say bro. That’s how I know she’s serious. Besides, when those meds kick in, I’m going to be drowsy, which isn’t good to be when driving. I nod in agreement. She goes to the front seat, starting the car, I put away the cards and lay down.
Suddenly, I’m asleep.
I wake up on the road. My body is sprawled out. Everything a pale gray, except the yellow lines on the road. I’m on my back, my eyes aimed at the sky. I stand and walk. There are no people, no cars, nothing at all. I don’t recognize this place immediately, but it seems familiar. As I am walking, I hear a noise and stop short. The ground is cracking, like ice.
What is my best choice? Keep walking or stay still.
I laugh. A sick laugh, nervous and tainted with fear.
I have no good options. My luck would have it that I fall through some unknown cavity in the earths crust. The earth in front of me crumbles, slowly at first, then it picks up speed.
I have an option left, which is running back the way I came. I turn and bolt, but I am to slow. The ground underneath me crumbles like stale bread. I find myself holding on to the ledge of what used to be a road. I look back and shudder. So high.
I try to claw myself out, but I find myself laughing. Its like the Lion king, and I’m Mufasa. My laughter subsides as a Man steps over me.
My father.
He steps on my hands and I wince. “This is for your own good.” He says.
I know what’s coming. He knocks my hands off the concrete, sending me falling into the hole beneath me.
When I wake, there is miles of hole above me. I fell 70 feet, at least. I attempt to stand, but it feels like the ground is holding me down, like gravity has suddenly increased on my body.
As I struggle in my attempt to stand, my mind becomes panicked. I’m trapped. I feel as though I am sinking. My lungs begin gasping for air.
Just breathe, I think, you’re fine.
I am most definitely not fine.
My arms and legs are buried. I can’t breathe, but I let out a final scream before the ground devourers me fully.
I jolt up, covered in sweat. My lungs are screaming for air and space. My head is fuzzy and I’m shaking. Charlie is outside, luckily, paying for a spot to park the van for the night.
My breathing is shallow. Curse my anxiety; my thoughts are running at 1000 miles a minute. I reach into my bag and grab more of those meds.
I need them right now.
I take some of them and lay down. My thoughts start to slow as I breathe.
Charlie gets in the car.
“Hey,” She says as she gets in, “Welcome back to the land of the living. You were out cold. How’re you feeling?”
“Better,” I say, unconvincingly, “Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“Yeah,” She mutters, “I guess I should.”
She gets ready for bed in mostly silence while I get on my laptop to watch some tv.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” She asks.
I wish I could tell her, that would be so much better, but there are things that you just can’t tell people. Things you have to bury. “Yep.” I say, trying to perk up. I straighten myself as best I can. My hands are still shaking, so I hide them behind my screen. “I’m perfect.”
“If you say so,” Charlie says, grabbing some blankets. I shut my laptop and lay down, covering up. “Oh, and welcome to Nevada.”
“Welcome to Nevada.” I whisper to myself.
I sleep without dreams tonight. Thank whoever is up above those clouds for that. I don’t need a night of sleeplessness. When I wake up in the morning, my head is pounding. I cradle my head for a moment, in my hands, between my knees. There are tears on my face. I must’ve been crying in my sleep.
Not again.
My back is aching. Old wounds opening up. I slept with a tank top on under my shirt. When Charlie was asleep for sure, I took off the top shirt. Trying to air out the injuries on my back. Now I put a shirt on. I can’t have Charlie asking about them.
Now there is only one thought on my mind.
Breakfast.
Charlie is the kind of girl that wakes up thinking about food.
McDonalds is a no go, and neither is Denny’s.
She isn’t necessarily picky, more like particular. She likes food made fresh, not the frozen junk I grew up shoving in my face. Then again, if it has chocolate on it, she’d probably eat it just fine.
I slide open the door of the van and crawl out with the grace of a moose.
The sun is barely peaking over the Stillwater Mountain Range. We’ve driven past Carson City, but exited the highway last night and camped on the side of the road.
After walking for a little while, the cool breeze brushing against me with a force I can only describe as nudging. I find what looks like a gas station. As I walk closer, I realize that it isn’t a gas station, but instead it’s a bar.
I step inside, and at first it smells like an old diner, then upon second impressions it smells like what an alcoholics dreams are made of. The bartender looks at me. “Hey.” he says. His voice is young, but his features scream I am worn. He’s probably 34 years old, give or take a year. This place used to be a convenience store for sure, the old shelves and refrigerators painted to disguise it. Despite the efforts of the owner, it is still pretty run down. The bar is tilted on one side. The windows are covered with what looks like black Glad garbage bags.
“Hi.” I reply. He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Can I help you?” His eyes tell me Hey, I’m a nice guy. However, his voice sounds judgmental. It’s almost irritating.
“Um yeah,” I say, “Where’s a good place to eat around here?”
He laughs and then looks at me. “Oh, your serious. Well if you haven’t already noticed, there’s really nothing around here for miles. If you want, I can cook you up something.” He says. His tone has softened a little.
“Yeah, sure.”
“I can make pancakes, eggs, or some French toast. Take your pick.” He says. He try’s out a smile. Its probably been a really long time since he’s had any customers.
“Um, an Egg is fine for me. Can you make French toast for my friend?” He looks at me. I realize he might think I’m crazy now. “She’s in our car.” He looks at me warily again. “We are friends.” I say, my tone agitated.
“Hey,” He says, “I don’t judge. You do you.”
I roll my eyes, unintentionally.
He turns and goes into another room. I hear him start a gas stove and rip open packages. I walk around the walls of the building, looking at old pictures and newspaper clippings hung on the wall. Some of them crooked, others covered in dust, but one of them stands out. It’s probably the best kept thing in the whole place. In the picture there is a young man dressed in a suit, probably in his late 30’s, with a woman of the same age dressed in a beautiful flower dress. Below them are 2 children, a boy and a girl. The boy, who looked probably 7 or 8 had kakis and a dress shirt on. The girl, looking to be in her early teens, had a dress like the woman. They look happy in this little grove of trees. It’s the only colorful picture on the wall, and it stands out. In a good way.
I take it off the wall and walk back to my seat.
A moment later the man comes out.
“Who’re the people in this picture?” I ask.
He turns and it’s as if he’s seeing this picture for the first time. His eyes go wide and his jaw drops. He sits like that for a while, gawking at the picture. Then suddenly, as if it had never happened, he readjusts. He turns his eyes away.
“My family.” He says, working on putting the egg on a plate for me and the French toast in a box.
I point to the man. “Is this you?”
“No,” He takes a shaky breath, “My father.”
“So, you’re-”
“The boy.” He says, like I wasn’t capable of figuring that out on my own.
“Where are they?” I ask.
“My Mom died years ago. She had a heart attack in the middle of the night. When we woke up, she was gone. I was 14.” He pauses, “My Dad was more recent. About a year ago. His health declined more slowly, not as sudden as my mom. You know how that goes. Right at the end he didn’t even remember me. All he knew was this stupid bar.”
“This was his?” I gesture to the building.
“Yeah. He loved it. Built it with his own hands. His pride and joy. Now it’s mine.”
I suddenly have a new appreciation for the place. Starting as a gas station, later converted to a bar. He didn’t just hire someone to build it for him, he used his own knowledge and strength. I imagine he was one of those if you want it done right you gotta do it yourself kind of men. I remember seeing a little house in the back as well. “Did he build the other building too?”
“Him and mom built it after they got married.”
“And the girl?”
His eyes go to glass, a touchy subject.
“My sister, Delila.”
“What happened to her?” I decide to late that I might want to tiptoe around this question.
“She ran away, she was 13 in this picture, at 17 she was gone. Said she hated her life, hated our family. Hated this stupid town, if you can even call it that. Her leaving broke our parents,” He pauses, “My parent’s hearts. I haven’t heard from her since.”
“I’m sorry.” I say.
“Yeah. Well life sucks and sometimes you roll with the punches, and sometimes you just have to take a hit. That’s just how it goes kid.”
“Yeah.” I look down and realize I’ve eaten my eggs. “Well thank you for the food and for telling me about your family.” I say as I get up.
“Yeah, no problem. Come again.” He says.
As I leave, he calls for me.
“Hey kid, when life takes you down a notch, it’s like when a gardener trims a tree, at first it’ll hurt, but it will make you grow stronger than you have ever been.”
I smile and give him one of those hat tip nods.
I think about his family as I walk back. I almost ran away at 17. I was almost Delila.
Running from your past is something I’m used to.
Something I have to do.
The wind is nearly gone now, and the sun is higher in the sky. It’s warm and I try my best to take it in. there are birds chirpind an
After half an hour, I’m back at the van.
When I open the door, Charlie swings at me with a bat.
She misses, thankfully.
“Charlie!” I yell.
“Ah!” She screams, dropping the bat.
“Charlie what the heck!” I scream.
“I thought… I didn’t know that… I was worried sick and…. is that French toast?” She asks.
“Whoa wait. You just took a swing at me and all I get is bu…bu…bu…but I um ugh. No. What the heck?”
“I didn’t know it was you. I thought that you were some kind of burglar or rapist or something.” She pauses. “Sorry.”
“Its fine, just chillax.”
“So, French toast?”
“Yeah. I went out and got it.” I say. I tell her all about the bar and the dude and everything, to which she just nods. Her mouth is full of syrup and bread.
When my story is finished, she gives me a thumbs up. Obviously, she isn’t amused. Why was I? It wasn’t even all that interesting.
“Was he cute?” She asks after some silence.
“Dude no he’s like 30 something.” I laugh.
“Yeah, well so are Zac Efron and Chris Hemsworth. Those two are HOTT.” We laugh.
It feels like old times, back in high school, when we would drive around our crummy town acting like idiots. We had some really fun times back then. I remember when I got my license, seems like forever since then. I took her around the town, just driving my run-down Toyota Corolla for hours. What she doesn’t know is that I was stalling. My mom had been drinking, more than she should have, and when I got home that night she was throwing up in the bathroom. The whole place smelled of alcohol. My Dad had been gone all day. I’m not sure what he was doing, maybe drugs, maybe hanging with his other trashy friends, maybe drinking. When he got home, he smelled the alcohol and wasn’t very pleased. He grabbed me. It was my fault. Shocker. So, I left and picked up Charlie.
I didn’t want to be alone.
I look up, tears in my eye. She stops chewing, swallows, and her eyes widen.
“What’s wrong?” She coddles. Coddling is like some kind of pity love.
I sniff. It’s like im 5 years old again. “Nothing.” I laugh. She doesn’t take it.
“Alex.” She stops. I have an uneasy feeling that she can read my mind. I don’t like it.
“I’m perfectly fine.” She looks at me. She knows something, and yet she stops pushing.
“If you say so.” She shrugs. “So, like what color is his hair and is his jawline more Steve Rogers or Augustus Waters?”
I tell her all about him. “WE should go back and see him.” She says.
I know that I should tell her about my family, but I don’t want her to get weird. People sometimes don’t know how to deal with stuff like this, and then they walk out. I can’t let that happen.
I won’t.
It’s been months since I’ve updated this and right now, things are bleak.
We’ve traveled through states and states, having an amazing time. Up until last week that is.
I took a few more pills than I should have.
My leg felt like fire, so I took some without looking. Then I got really sick. Throwing up, dizziness, chills. The whole thing. Charlie found my pills while I was asleep. Now, after a day and a half of driving in silence, we end up somewhere in the middle of North Dakota. Charlie sat in the back the whole time. Worst part about living on the road with someone, if you want some “Space”, your options are pretty limited. It’s rainy and cold so we (I) set up camp, without saying a word, at a kind of off the grid camp ground.
I hate the awkward silence but am afraid to say anything.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Charlie blurts out, as if she could tell I wanted to talk. I’m glad one of us can say something.
“I didn’t know how you would react.” I mutter. I have my hand on the back of my neck. I can’t meet her eyes.
I can feel her glare. Charlie is a big supporter of the “If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all” philosophy. So, instead, she just glares at you, forcing you to either leave or say something. Usually I would laugh it off. But this isn’t our usual.
Finally, she breaks the silence after I refuse to respond. “You didn’t even give me a chance. You just assumed that I would be upset.”
I want to get a word in, but I have nothing to say.
So, she continues.
“You lied to me.” I hear a hint of disappointment. “To my face. I thought we could trust eachother. I thought that you trusted me. Do you have anything to say?”
For a moment, I hold my tongue (figuratively). Then it just comes out. “I wanted to protect you.” I mutter.
“From what Alex?” she fumes.
Suddenly I have a spark of bravery, A rare occurrence in my case. I look at her, making direct eye contact. “From me.” I say.
In an unexpected turn of events, she goes from confident confrontation, to looking stunned and off balance. Charlie never looks stunned, never loses confidence, and according to her, I’m extremely predictable. I guess I broke the cycle. Now is my chance. I grab a blanket and open the door.
“Where are, where are you go-going?” She stutters.
“Where I can’t hurt you.” I say, shutting the door behind me.
As shocking as it may seem, I don’t know exactly where I am going. In fact, I have no clue. It’s colder than I realized and it’s sprinkling lightly.
I feel like I’m in a movie and sad song should be playing.
Like Breathe Me by Sia. Or something.
Goosebumps appear on my arm and I shiver like I’m being possessed.
I can’t go back now. I was all dramatic, going back in saying, “Hey ya know its cold out there so I’m gonna sit over here and brood like I’m Batman. Don’t talk to me” Yeah, I don’t think so.
Suddenly I’m caught off guard, and my mind begins racing.
Why didn’t I just tell her? I mean would it really have been that bad? Charlie is an understanding person, she would have probably given me a bear hug and say that we would “get through this together” or something.
She’s kind of a modern-day hippie like that sometimes, just missing groovy glasses and some bellbottom pants.
I kick a rock.
“This is stupid.” I sigh.
I haven’t been walking long, but somehow, I seem to end up in a grove of trees. I don’t see any point in continuing, so I just kinda sit down.
What if I screwed this up forever? This friendship is all I have. I should have just told her. I should have just said “Hey just fyi I’m addicted to my pain medication, what’s for lunch?”
That sounds ridiculous.
What if I had just told her the truth though, in all seriousness.
I could have sat her down and just talked to her.
However, there are things about her I don’t know either.
Things I know she has never told me. So why am I the bad guy?
My mind fires back at me, and I look down. Tears well up in my eyes and everything goes blurry for a moment.
I’m the bad guy because I didn’t just keep something to myself. I lied to her. Point blank.
Tears fall, and I feel like I’m falling with them. My heart drops and I find my mind wandering to places it shouldn’t be.
Stop.
I look at the ground again, trying to find my footing.
I notice that there isn’t grass, but there are, ya know dead leaves, and bugs and stuff. Heck I’m probably sitting on the remains of an animal right now…
And now I’m standing.
“Well, this has been real,” I say aloud, volume and pressure building with every word “A great outdoor activity, connecting with nature, and all the dead things. Really just perfect.”
“Thank you for ruining my peace nature.” I scream into the emptiness.
“What peace?” I whisper.
I sigh and start walking back, pushing every thought aside. I don’t want to think right now. It hurts too much to think.
I laugh.
All those times people told me not to think because I might hurt myself, they were right.
The rain starts to pour, and I pull the blanket over my head like I’m wearing a cloak.
“I’ve walked about the same amount of time back, so, where am I?” I say to myself.
I don’t see the car.
I actually don’t know where I am.
The rain goes from drizzle to torrential in a few seconds and I find myself scrambling for shelter.
Now I get why those two kids left a trail of breadcrumbs behind them. I wish I had read more fairytales, maybe I could have learned more useful skills. Like turning straw to gold.
My heart starts to pound and my already shaking body begins to tremble.
It’s freezing. I don’t know where I am, and the sun is setting. Soon I’m going to be left in the dark, no way of getting back to the van.
I grab some sticks while I can still see them and make a little lean-to against one of the trees.
Looking at my finished work, I can safely say I have never been, nor ever will be, a boy scout.
I climb inside and try to lay down.
Somewhere in between complete fear and awful cold, I fall asleep.
But not for long.
I wake up freezing, everything hurts, and yet I’m sweating. I’m no doctor, but I’m pretty sure that isn’t good.
“I need to get back to Charlie.” I whisper. Not quite sure who I’m talking to, but okay.
She has some med training, so if somethings wrong with me, she could figure it out.
But maybe she’s still mad at me.
I don’t have time for this.
I struggle to my knees and do what any really desperate person would do. Pray.
As a person who isn’t religious, I don’t really know how to pray. My family hasn’t ever been that way, so I’ve never done this before.
Not on my own anyway.
Charlie did pray with me once. She told me it isn’t about what is said specifically, but what you mean to say, what your heart wants to say to God. She held my hands and I remember her saying a bunch about God. He is merciful, he is kind, he is loving. She asked him to bless a bunch of things and thanked him for stuff.
She said sometimes God gives us what we ask for, and sometimes he gives us what we need at the time. The concept in itself confused me, so she explained. She said she had a dog when she was younger, which she lovingly named Prometheus. As she got older, to about the age of 7, Prometheus got cancer and became really sick very quickly. She prayed and prayed that her dog and beloved best friend would be okay, but for some reason, he passed away regardless.
For a long time, she explained that was mad at God. Years in fact. How could he betray her like that? But she came to the realization that her Prometheus would have suffered even if he had survived, so he needed to pass on.
Hopefully big man up there thinks I need to live, or when I see him, we are going to have quite the convo.
I start saying stuff out loud. Please help me to find my way to the van, please help Charlie to be okay. Thank you for being such a good heavenly guy, I guess. Amen.
The air smell fresh and clean, like clothes after getting them from the dryer. The air brushes against my skin and I’m covered in goosebumps.
I try to stand, and I fall, my head spinning. My hands are shaking, and my chest feels tense. Hesitantly, I try again and this time I am able to walk a few steps before stumbling.
I continue this for a while. It’s still dark so I stumble here and there, then eventually I fall from exhaustion.
I attempt to stand but it’s futile. The cold rain hits my face as I slip into unconsciousness.
No one ever talks about how scary it is to feel death coming. Probably because most people die after feeling it. I know that, if not found, I will die. Then no one would know how terrifying it is.
It’s like when you’re in a meeting for work, but you are so tired, so you start to fall asleep. You try so hard, forcing your eyes open, attempting to wake yourself up, but nothing works.
That’s how I feel now, as I draw what might be my last breath, I shut my eyes, and say a final prayer, thanking God for Charlie, my best friend.
Then it goes to nothing.
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