by Nicole Wells
I ease forward and get into the business of driving. As I turn around the block, reality sinks in. It's as if physical tethers are breaking: my plans for college and med school, my old relationship with my mom, my identity with my car. I'm a big girl now, driving a big rig. I'd toot the horn but, well, I'm still a stickler for rules and it just seems too disruptive in my quiet neighborhood this early in the morning. Observing all the motions and signals, even though there is not a soul in sight, I come back to a halt alongside the driveway.
Jacob jumps out and starts taking my stuff from my mom, popping it into the storage area. I get out and peek around. He has a large duffel bag, a suitcase, and a computer bag. There is also some camping gear, cookout supplies, and other paraphernalia the owner left in for us to use.
I turn around as Jacob slams the compartment shut. My mom is coming out of the house again, this time carrying a grocery bag and a folder. "Some treats for the road," she says, heaving the grocery bag up a little as she joins us at the front of the RV. She passes the hefty bag to me on the downswing and I take stock of all the packaged goodies I crave — sweet and salty trail mix, BBQ chips, those fluorescent orange peanut butter crackers, chocolate chip granola bars, and even some homemade chocolate chip cookies along with a jug of raspberry lemonade. I also spy some sandwiches tucked to the side, and I figure we'll dive into those soon. I hear her shuffling beside me and look up.
"And this is for you when you're ready. The flash drive has all the research your dad did on it. Your dad had printed out the section on quotes. That was what he would reread to get inspired." She hands me the folder, with a plastic pocket on the inside for the flash drive. I appreciate that I'm bringing something physical of my dad with me. Something I can hold on to.
"Thanks, Mom. For everything."
The fact that we have talked candidly about it all helps me know she's going to be alright. In fact, she's been alright. I'm ready to leave now, no strings attached, free to find the new me. Or maybe what's left of the old me? Maybe the me that never dies, the true me.
We hug tightly, and I promise to call every day. Well, at least in the beginning. Jacob smiles at me as we climb into the car. Here we go.
——— ———
YASMIN TAKES THE FIRST LEG, even offering to drive the whole way there. There's something symbolic to her driving away from this town and into a future that she's carving out for herself.
As she settles into the driver’s seat, I say, “Okay, Belinda, don’t worry, you’re in good hands,” as I pat the dashboard.
“Belinda?” Jacob repeats.
“What, you got a problem with girl cars?”
Caught off guard, he just looks nonplussed. Then he says, “I didn’t know it was a girl.”
I throw a look at Yasmin, like Hmph, this guy!
She shakes her head in disdain. “Obviously,” she tells Jacob.
“What have I gotten myself into?” he grumbles.
Jacob gets shotgun and I'm relegated to the back, with the concession that my playlist is up first.
The bass and staccato notes trill as both Jacob and Yasmin fake groan.
"Oh, come on! It's perrrfect!"
The Twenty One Pilots song "Lane Boy" must be turned up for this momentous occasion and I squeeze forward to adjust the volume.
Words of highways and daring to defy expectations fill the air as we merge onto the ramp for the Beltway, all three of us crooning along.
And I have the odd thought, I could die in this moment, in a car crash with my friends, and it would be ok.
chapter 8
ABOUT 350 MILES IN, some of the newness has worn off. I'm slowly adjusting to what my life will be like for the next two weeks. It's helped that we've pulled off for each of Yasmin's prayer times, and I get to stretch my legs a bit. We're between Cleveland and Toledo right now and the scenery is monotonous. The road grays, tree greens and sky blues are all blurring together. We've burned through a good portion of my road trip treats, satiated from the turkey sandwiches my mom made. Yasmin is still driving, and Jacob is snoring on the sleeper sofa behind us. He doesn't do mornings well. He could have crashed in the bedroom, but since this was our first leg, he wanted to stay close by, even if asleep.
Late afternoon sun winks at me between tree trunks as I stare out the window. I hold my flint in my hand. I didn't unpack yet, but I needed to free these sentimental rocks. Rolling them around in my palm, a frequent soothing gesture of mine, I put my other hand to my heart. I try not to think about Dad. Or, rather, I try to think he would enjoy this; he would think this was a wonderful idea. I try to convince myself he would tell me everything would be alright, that things have a way of working out. My thoughts drift, and I let myself be lulled by the sway of the RV and drone of its tires. I close my eyes, the blinking of the sun repeating behind my eyelids.
Dad tosses a stick into the fire, releasing a spray of sparks. His movements are so natural, he is in his element when we go camping. I continue watching the smoke rise, mesmerized by the sinuous trails.
“It feels so good to be back out in nature, back to the basics.” We are sitting side by side, and he speaks into the fire. The weather is perfect, with just enough bite to appreciate the flames.
“I’ve always loved camping. It's a great equalizer. It strips away all the pretensions, even from yourself. You can find out who you really are out here in nature.”
I murmur my agreement, even though I don’t fully understand.
We both stare at the flames dancing, listening to the music of hisses, crackles, and pops, content with the moment and with each other.
“My acupuncturist says I’m Fire. The Heart, to be exact.”
My dad harrumphs. He doesn't get integrative medicine, but he's open-minded for my sake.
"No, really. It's actually quite flattering. Every organ has a role in the kingdom of the body. She says the Heart is Ruler. Her main job is to be peaceful. When there is a peaceful ruler, everyone else does their job better. So, she leads her people with love, compassion, and unselfishness."
He turns and looks at me.
“You know how I want to be a doctor. I think it fits. I’ll unselfishly guide people through their illness with love and compassion.”
He reaches out and ruffles my hair, “Yeah, I guess she’s got you pegged then.”
The light of the fire dances on his skin and sparkles in his eyes as he stays turned, still looking at me.
“You’re gonna wow ‘em, Enya. I’ve no doubt about it. I heard once that your kids are supposed to surpass you. The next generation and all -- take things further than you did.”
He turns away and I hear the clink of glass as he roots around in the cooler behind him. Facing forward again, he tosses me a soda can while he pops the cap off his beer. After taking a swig, he studies his beer, the amber glass glowing, the beads of sweat sparkling.
“When I look at you, I see all that is good in the world. You help me have faith in humanity.”
He turns to me, a sheepish smile bringing youth to his face, "That'd be pretty awesome if you led the world, kiddo. Acupuncture Heart or not, you've got love, compassion, and unselfishness in spades." He raises his bottle in a toast and swings it towards me to chink my can, but I feel the glass impact my forehead instead.
My head bounces again against the window. I wake up, stretching the crick in my neck, feeling like I didn’t doze at all. The dashboard clock testifies that only a few minutes have passed. Macklemore's “Good Old Days” is playing now and the visage of the endless trees does not manage to replace the images from my dream, inviting my mind to wander places I don't want it to go.
I look over to Yasmin, who hasn't moved. Her navy blue hijab, which matches her top perfectly, hasn't moved either. If she didn't have a killer streak of telling it like it is, I'd suspect between her achievements and her perfections, that she was a robot. As her best friend, it's my duty to enliven things and keep her grounded in my own way. Or at least, that's how I j
ustify my restlessness in my head.
"Hey, Yasmin, can I switch it up?" I whisper as I gesture to her iPod.
She spares a look at me with her keen eyes and reads my intentions.
"Sure, but keep it quiet so Jacob can sleep."
I switch the audio to my phone and pull up my "Road Trip!!!" playlist. The consummate road trip song, Butterfly Boucher's "Another White Dash" starts playing, the volume still low.
"Hmm. It's a little upbeat for sleeping music..."
"Maybe, but it is perfect for our monumental interstate trek and I want you to hear it before we get there."
The song plays on and I think she's dropped it when she whispers, "And I want you to know that I'm here to hear you out too. You can tell me anything. No pressure. I'm fine if you're not ready to share. Just remember, things can fester when you hold on to them."
I look at the trees flying past, trying and failing to focus on a single feature before it zooms by. I sigh. She’s right.
"I got tested."
She turns the music off. The ambient noise in the vehicle makes me strain to hear her response, but she just keeps driving. Her shoulders stay relaxed and her face under her hijab is peaceful. She's waiting for me to continue.
"It's positive," I whisper.
The tires continue to rumble. We're in the middle lane, going slower than the surrounding traffic. It feels like the world is passing us by. We are in our own little pocket, in a slipstream where there is more gravity, more significance, and the air is thicker.
"I’m so sorry."
Her words are like pebbles dropping in a pond. They sink while their effects ripple out.
"Yeah," I sigh it out, the word caught in the thickness between us, the molasses of this moment.
Her quiet acknowledges it... me... this.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” there’s hurt in her voice, but also a hardness.
“I dunno, I just had to process,” I whisper.
“Enya, I’m your best friend. That's exactly what best friends are for. It hurts that you wouldn't let me be there for you. I mean, were you not even going to tell me? We’re almost to Michigan.” She pauses. “You’ve known for a while haven't you?”
I can’t lie. “Yeah, it’s been a few weeks.”
She exhales harshly, one hand coming off the steering wheel to slice the air in exasperation. “Enya, you know you can trust me!”
“Please, don’t be mad.”
“I’m not mad at you. I’m mad for you. You didn’t need to go through that alone. You can open up, Enya.”
She’s almost yelling, and I don’t hear her words for her shout.
“Yasmin, don’t yell! You’ll wake up Jacob!”
“Enya, don’t you think that’s why your dad died?” Those words come through loud and clear, like crystal shattering. “He didn't open up. He tried to deal with it on his own.”
She swipes aggressively at a tear. “Don’t try to handle this alone, Enya. Promise me.”
“Yasmin, I’m sorry. But I won’t do anything stupid.”
“Yeah, I’m sure your dad would have said the same thing. You know, I read up on suicide when that happned. It's not like you can predict it. It's not rational.” She clips her words and grips the wheel, like she’s holding herself back.
“I’m here for you, you know?
“I do, Yasmin, really.”
“And you’ll reach out to me next time?”
“Yes, I promise.”
She looks like she wants to hug me, and I want that closure too. “Verbal hug?” I offer, scrunching my shoulders and arms in a hugging gesture.
“You have the world’s worst timing.” She slants me a look, and its big sister personified-- exasperation, indulgence and love. “Hug,” she returns.
She drives for a bit before saying, “What are you going to do?”
“What can I do?” That’s the whole problem. I stare aimlessly out the windshield.
“You’re right. There’s nothing to do. It's how you choose to be,” she says.
I look over at her.
“Look, this sucks. It’s undeniably horrible news.”
“Wow, my timing may suck, but your pep talks blow. Maybe I should have kept it to myself,” I grumble, joking but not joking.
She looks at me like, “Too soon.” I think she would roll her eyes if it wasn't so serious. Then, she says, "I’m saying it sucks, kinda like having your family disown you sucks. Or having your cousin die from alcoholism before his sophomore year, sucks." I think back on Jacob's grief and remorse at his cousin’s passing. Alcoholism, among other troubles, is so rampant in Native communities.
"We can't choose the cards we're dealt. We can choose how we react, though, what we make of it."
"You think I should cheer up?" I ask, incredulous and forgetting to whisper again.
"No. I think however you handle it is fine. It's just how you handle it. It's who you are and what you need right now. I do also know what it's like to get consumed by your anger and grief, to lose yourself. And it's okay when that happens, too."
I'm surprised and it must show on my face because during my silence she glances at me and shakes her head.
"Of course it cut me to the core when my parents rejected me. But I brought it to God. And I would have brought it to you too if I needed to. So it's fine. Take your time, do what you need to do. I'm not judging, Enya. I'm loving. I love you and I suspected and know you are hurting now. And when I was hurting and I prayed, I got perspective. I realized I didn't choose my cards, God did, and that it's okay. That this is painful, yes, but it doesn't have to be wrong."
She pauses here, and we’re back to that silent bubble. It's several more miles before it all sinks in. And in that space without words, I feel her loving me and not judging me, not expecting me to act any certain way. That however I act and feel is okay, so long as I don’t keep it all to myself.
"You know, I've always wanted children. Since I was a little girl myself. I'd carry my doll around like she was my baby, and feed her her bottle and everything. I wish, someday when I'm lucky enough and meet my other half, I wish we could have children together. Maybe science will make that happen by then. But until then, I have to be satisfied that the child can be part of only one of us, God willing. Do I give up on my dream of having a little one that is the best of both of us? No. But I've also made peace that this is who I am, that this comes with the territory."
I can picture her grief and mourning over a child she will never see. She's going to be an awesome mom.
"This sucks, Enya. It does. But it's not the end of the world, right? I mean, we could die right now, and all this talk and worry and angst would be for nothing."
I exhale. I nod and then realize she doesn't see me. Tears fill my eyes as I say, "I know. Sometimes I'm mad at myself for how I'm acting."
"It's ok. I get it. I do. Just try and keep the perspective. Don't cut yourself short. Things happen for a reason. And we're not giving things we can't handle. You were given this because you are so strong. You might not feel it now, but you are. Strong and amazing. Let your light shine, don't let some uncertain future dim it."
Now I'm all-out crying. I'd reach out and hug her if I could, so instead, I offer another verbal hug. She sends a verbal hug right back at me, and we both turn forward to the road ahead of us, smiling brighter.
chapter 9
There is a girl. People stop her on the streets and recognize her. She has been on TV. The people crowd her, but she doesn't shy away. I feel such a sense of love and pride. I do not know who she is though. Is she a daughter? A stranger? A partner? A celebrity?
I let go of the images and the confusion they bring, and return to semi-conscious peace.
——— ———
WHEN WE ARRIVE IN ANN ARBOR, I feel like I'd left a lot of my heaviness on the road behind me. I've had a lot of time to peruse what Yasmin has said, and I finally feel able to come to terms with my eventual termination.
&nb
sp; Yasmin is still driving, good on her promise to drive the whole way, as we pull into Detroit Greenfield RV Park, in Ypsilanti, next door to Ann Arbor. We've made good time, probably because it is a Saturday. I'm again thankful for Jacob's thoroughness in planning this out and making all the arrangements, like the RV park reservations. The plan was to leave the RV here and take Uber to U of M to see Yasmin off. Then Jacob and I would set off again in the morning for Chicago.
The weather has been great all day and I feel like wearing something special to Yasmin's campus. I pull on a floral spaghetti strap summer dress paired with cute but comfy lace-up ankle strap sandals.
We have our driver drop us off at her dorm and Jacob takes charge of Yasmin's luggage. There's not much to her dorm, and Jacob drops her things off for now, as we're all excited to tour her campus. It's a weekend, so we don't run into many people as we explore the pedestrian channels that carve through the campus. It's a bittersweet time for me, both knowing she's started a new phase of her life without me, and knowing I won't have an analogous experience.
We eventually find ourselves back at her dorm building, and we're all reluctant to have her unpack and the permanence that entails, so we go out to eat instead. Yasmin finds a restaurant near campus with good ratings, but not too good that it will be crowded. I look around as we walk to the hipster restaurant, taking it all in. This whole area has an eclectic vibe, and I'm so happy for Yasmin. I can envision her making her home here.
At the restaurant, I order a grass-fed burger from the blue-haired waitress with a bob cut and nose piercing. I split my sweet potato fries with Jacob and give my pickles to Yasmin. She's having a cranberry quinoa dish, sitting up straight and eating in that refined manner of hers. Jacob is sprawled into the bench, hogging it for himself, claiming to need it for his long legs. He tucked into his quesadilla so fast, it's already gone and he's just waiting for us.