The Voice in My Head

by Dana L. Davis

  “Full speed ahead, Pastor.” Violet laughs, wiping tears from her eyes. “Right, Indigo?”

  I grin. “Definitely full speed.”

  chapter ten

  “Whatcha reading?”

  “You’re God. Shouldn’t you already know?”

  “Humor me? I do enjoy a good conversation.”

  “The thesaurus.” I turn the page.

  “Is it good?”

  “It’s not good like a regular book or anything.” I shift in my seat, trying to find some sort of comfortable position. Michelle was right. It has been a bumpy ride so far. I stretch out my back and yawn. “I know it’s weird, but I like finding new ways to say things. Like, you could call someone smart, or you could call them keen, nimble, crafty and resourceful.”

  “Or you could call them sprambly.”

  “Wait.” I flip to the S section. “What’s sprambly?”

  “You won’t find it. I made it up just now. It means keen, nimble, crafty and resourceful.”

  I set the book down on the empty seat beside me. “You can’t be makin’ up words like that.”

  “Of course I can. You do know all language is made up, right? Trust me. I made up a lot of it. Making up words is fun. Try it.”

  “Indigo?”

  I glance up. Alfred is standing in the aisle. “Could I talk to you for a second? I mean...if you’re done talking to yourself.”

  “Uh, sure.”

  Alfred sits beside me as the bus speeds along the highway, forests of evergreens in the distance whizzing by in a blur. He cracks each individual knuckle. Flips his cap forward.

  “Alfred? What’s up?”

  “I have to tell Mom and Dad something, and I don’t know how they’re gonna take it. I’m scared. I need to practice my confession, I-R-L.”

  “In real life? On me?”

  “I need someone who is sort of disconnected from reality.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “No, I mean...you won’t judge me.”

  I stuff my thesaurus into my camera bag on the floor at my feet. “You really think this trip is a good time for an in-real-life confession?”

  “Not really, but...” He cracks his knuckles again.

  Hmm. He looks super tense. What could warrant a practice confession? I drum my fingers on my cast.

  He’s gay.

  He identifies as a girl, wants to change his name from Alfred to Allie.

  He’s certainly not pregnant. That’s a plus.

  Oh! He might have gotten a girl pregnant. Yikes.

  Alfred clears his throat and cracks his neck.

  “Alfred Phillips, if you don’t speak!” I whisper. “This is making me solicitous about your well-being.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means I’m nervous, I think. Just hurry up.”

  “Dang. Fine. Chill.” Alfred licks his lips. “So at school. There’s this boy...”

  All right, great. He’s gay. I can handle this. I love gay people. I’ll be excited to have a gay brother. Someday, I’ll have a gay brother-in-law. They can adopt gay children. I’ll go to gay pride parades. I’m already named after a color of the rainbow. It all fits.

  “His name is Mikey.”

  “Nice. Did you guys have sex?”

  “What?” Alfred flips his cap forward. “What the holy hell?”

  “Sorry. I thought you were gay.”

  “Why did you think I was gay?”

  “I dunno. You licked your lips and then said, ‘There’s this boy named Mikey,’ so I assumed.”

  “So to clarify—” Alfred neurotically applies ChapStick to his lips “—I said, ‘There’s this boy named Mikey.’”

  “And you licked your lips. Don’t leave that part out. I thought you were...you know. Thinking about him.”

  “No offense, Indigo.” Alfred shakes his head. “But I worry about you. A lot.”

  “Fine. Whatever. You’re not gay.” I lean back in my seat. “But if you ever become gay, I’m cool with it.”

  “How progressive.” He rolls his eyes. “Can I finish my practice confession?”

  I mime zipping my lips.

  “Okay, Mikey—a friend I never have nor ever will have sex with—he had the answers to the algebra test. And he was selling them for forty-seven dollars.”

  “Why forty-seven dollars? That’s such an odd number. Why not fifty?”

  “Indigo? Can you please listen?”

  “Sorry. Keep going.”

  “I paid him forty-seven bucks on Venmo. And he texted me the answers. Anyway, long story short. The teacher found out. His phone got confiscated, and all the people who he texted the answers to got...expelled. It was six of us total, including him.”

  I sit up. “You’re an idiot!”

  “Shhhh!” Alfred whispers.

  Mom and Michelle turn around.

  “Sorry.” I wave. “I thought I saw a possum running across the highway. Idiot possum!”

  I yank on Alfred’s jersey and pull him down so we’re below the seat and no one can see or hear us. “You got expelled from school? Mom and Dad are going to go apocalyptic on you. How could you be so stupid?”

  “I thought you said you weren’t going to judge me?”

  “You said that. I’m judging the hell out of you!”

  “That makes me feel really bad.”

  My face twists into a scowl. “Good!”

  “Whatever, man.” Alfred stands.

  I grab his arm and pull him back down again. “Do not—I repeat—do not tell Mom and Dad this mess until we get home. Do you understand?”

  He snatches his arm away. “I wish I would’ve told Violet instead of you. She would be calm and rational. She’d help me.”

  I wince. He’s right. She would. She might even know how to fix this. But I can’t exactly ask for her opinion. Not without everybody else finding out, too. And if everybody else knew Alfred was currently expelled from school, this trip would be over. I bite the inside of my bottom lip. “I thought you got a D on your Algebra test anyway?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “So how did you get a D if you cheated?”

  “I think the answers were wrong.”

  “Forty-seven dollars for wrong answers?” I want to call him an imbecile. Idiot imbecile. Imbecilic dimwit. But WWVD. What would Violet do? I don’t want Alfred to feel the pain of having to settle for the least favorite sister. At least not yet. “Maybe something can be done. Maybe you don’t have to be expelled.”

  A small bit of hope springs back to his eyes. “You think?”

  “Maybe. I dunno. Just gimme some time to figure it out. Okay?”

  “I hate to interrupt this warm and touching conversation, but I think something’s wrong with the Jedi Master.”

  “Something’s wrong with Jedidiah?”

  “What’s wrong with Pastor Jedidiah?” Alfred asks.

  “I dunno.” I stretch my neck to check him out at the wheel. Sure enough, his face is pained. He’s shifting uncomfortably. Grimacing. Gripping his stomach.

  “You might wanna tell Michelle. The man needs to be examined.”

  Jedidiah grabs a microphone from off the dash and presses a button. “Goooood morning, ladies and gentle ladies. Fun fact about Oregon—it’s known for having more ghost towns than any other state.” He pauses. The sound of his stomach rumbling can be heard through the mic. “Uh-oh.” He clears his throat as a noise from somewhere deep within Pastor Jedidiah’s rectum erupts like a foghorn. His neck turns red.

  “Ewwww,” Brandon cries. “He farted!”

  “Pastor, you feeling all right?” Michelle stands.

  “I’m...” He hunches over and cries out in pain.

  “Jedidiah, you should pull over!” Dad stands.

 
“Copy that...” Jedidiah still has both hands on the wheel. “You’re still safe in my hands. We declared Divine order, so everything’s in alignment with the universe.” He switches on the blinkers and pulls onto the shoulder of the road. Once he turns off the engine, he doubles over, whimpering in pain.

  Michelle rushes to his side. “Dad, help me.”

  Dad and Michelle each take a shoulder and push Jedidiah so he’s sitting back up.

  “Did you go to the bathroom today?” Michelle asks, kneeling in front of him.

  “I tried. I could only go a little.”

  “Did it smell funny?” Michelle asks.

  “Now that you mention it.”

  Brandon giggles. “Super gross.”

  “Smelly pee.” Nam laughs. “Nasty.”

  Michelle turns and points to Brandon and Nam. “Another word from you and I’ll throw you off this bus. You understand? Right out the window!” She turns her attention back to Jedidiah. “Okay, where’s the pain?”

  Jedidiah points to his side.

  “What about here?” Michelle pushes on his stomach. He whimpers. “And here?” She pushes on another side of his stomach. He groans.

  “It’s kidney stones for sure.”

  “Pretty sure it’s kidney stones.” Michelle sighs.

  Jedidiah lets another one rip.

  Nam and Brandon cover their mouths to contain their laughter.

  “Should we take him to urgent care?” Mom asks.

  Michelle shakes her head. “Nothing urgent care can really do. With kidney stones they have to pass. Plus, he’s...passing...gas. And that’s a good sign. Means things are moving. The stones will pass eventually. We should turn around and take him home, though.”

  “No!” Jedidiah speaks through clenched teeth. “I refuse to abandon this mission.” He points to the small trash can near his seat. Michelle quickly grabs it and hands it to him. He extracts the muffin bag from the café and pukes into it. “So sorry,” he mutters between retching.

  “My Lord.” Mom grimaces.

  Michelle fiddles with her phone. “There’s a pharmacy close by. I can call in a prescription that might help them pass quicker. And get you something to help you sleep and settle your stomach.” She places a hand on Jedidiah’s knee. “You really wanna be on this bus trying to pass kidney stones? You sure you don’t wanna go home, where you can have privacy? It’s gonna be painful. And by painful... I’m putting it nicely.”

  “I can take pain.” Jedidiah winces, still hovered over his bag of puke.

  “That’s easy to say now.” Michelle stares at her phone. “But people say passing kidney stones is as painful as giving birth. And from personal experience, I can tell you I wouldn’t have wanted to give birth on this bus.”

  “When I commit to something, I see it through,” Jedidiah articulates through clenched teeth. “I’m not leaving you. Not abandoning Violet.”

  “We’ll stop at this pharmacy in Urlington, then.” Michelle studies her phone. “Google Maps says it’s five miles away. I’m sure there’s a restaurant nearby. We can eat there, too. That’ll be our first rest stop.”

  “I didn’t research Urlington.” Violet perks up. “The rest stop in Pendleton is better. It’s star-rated with good reviews. How far away is that?”

  Michelle studies her phone. “About twenty miles. I’m sorry, Violet.” She rubs her tired eyes. “We need a pharmacy ASAP. Urlington is closer.”

  “Who’s gonna drive the bus now?” Drew asks.

  “I could certainly try,” Dad says without much confidence.

  “Isaiah, now, you know better.” Mom shakes her head. “Last thing you wanna do is reinjure your rotator cuff. Doc says one more tear and you’ll have to have surgery.”

  “It’s fine.” Violet’s head slumps. “We can forget it...if you guys want. I feel like I’m causing everyone trouble and now... Pastor is sick and—”

  “No, Violet. It’s no trouble at all, hon.” Dad wraps an arm around her, kisses her on top of her head.

  “I can drive.” Mom stands confidently.

  “Babe, you can’t. You don’t have a driver’s license.”

  “So what, Isaiah?” Mom shrugs. “I still know how to drive a bus.”

  “But, Mom, what if you get pulled over?” Michelle interrupts.

  “Oh, pish tosh.” Mom waves her hand dismissively as she sits in the driver’s seat and adjusts the mirrors.

  Nam grunts. “Now we’ll never get to Arizona.”

  “Excuse me, Nam?” Mom’s annoyed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “He might be referring to how—” Drew swallows “—slow...you used to drive.”

  “Drew, I drove the speed limit. Just because you drive like a bat out of hell.”

  “Mom.” Michelle shakes her head. “Drew is a very good driver.”

  “Son-in-law? How many moving violations have you gotten so far?”

  “In my life?”

  Mom unbuttons the sleeves on her red dress shirt and rolls them one at a time to her elbow. “Just this year, for starters.”

  “Maybe two.” Drew shrugs.

  “And like three last year.” Alfred cuts in. I elbow him in the side. “What? It’s true.”

  Drew hangs his head in shame. “And they were speeding tickets. You’re right, Mom. I’m sorry for letting the family down with my irresponsible driving.”

  Michelle rolls her eyes. “Really, Drew? You’re apologizing for driving irresponsibly? At a moment when you’re not driving? That’s absurd. Get a spine! Stop apologizing all the damn time.”

  “Right. Sorry,” Drew says.

  Michelle groans.

  “Transporting people was my profession for thirty years,” Mom explains as if we don’t know that. “And I was good at it. Never had one write-up. Never had one ticket. Never missed a day of work. I know what I’m doing. Driver’s license be damned.”

  “Driver’s license be needed,” Alfred whispers to me.

  Michelle helps Jedidiah stand. “C’mon, Pastor. Let’s get you to the back of the bus. I’ll sit with you if you need.”

  Jedidiah snivels in pain as Michelle leads him to the back and helps him into the two seats Alfred was sitting in.

  “I was actually sitting there,” Alfred explains.

  “Not anymore.” Michelle snaps her fingers at me. “Indi, grab me a few blankets so the pastor can lay down. And grab me my phone so I can call the pharmacy.”

  I run to the front, dig around Michelle’s large bag and retrieve the two small blankets stuffed inside. When I go to grab her cell, an email loads on the screen. I don’t mean to pry, but I mean, it’s on the screen. From someone named Nathan Marshak:

  A few papers left to sign for you and Drew. We might be able to have your divorce finalized before the New Year. Mazel Tov.

  They’re getting a divorce?!

  “Everybody sitting down?” Mom looks at me through the rearview mirror. “Indigo? Do you think that you need to find a seat?”

  Another nonrhetorical rhetorical. “Yes, Mom. I do.” Violet’s staring at me quizzically. Does she know? That Michelle and Drew are in the middle of a divorce? That Alfred’s been expelled from school?

  Pastor Jedidiah starts hurling into his paper bag again.

  “It smells in here!” Nam mumbles. “Can we open a window?”

  Brandon uses two fingers to plug his nose.

  I press the side button on Michelle’s phone so the email disappears and shuffle to the back with the blankets as Mom revs up the engine. Her silver bun the only thing you can see at the top of the driver’s seat as she inches into traffic. And I do mean inches. I could get out and run faster than this.

  I hand Michelle the phone and the blankets. She covers up the pastor as he winces in pain, laid out across the two seats, sandals hangin
g out into the aisle, face hidden inside a bag of puke.

  Michelle calls out to Mom. “Take Exit 21C.”

  “Copy that.” Mom continues her crawl down the highway.

  I slide around Alfred and plop down in my seat, peeking through the eyeballs on the window. Cars whiz by us in a blur. An elderly couple in a pickup truck zooms past. The wife on the passenger side sticks her head out the window and screams:

  “Get off the damn road, you damn buffoons!”

  I shake my head.

  “Arizona?” Alfred huffs. “We might not even make it to the next exit.”

  “Helen.” Dad leans forward. “You can speed up a bit.”

  “I’m driving fifty-five, Isaiah!”

  “The speed limit is seventy.” Dad’s speaking softly but we all can hear. “You’ll get pulled over driving this slow. And then we’ll really be in trouble.”

  “Isaiah, please let me do what I do. Safe driving is the key to a long life.” Mom continues at a snail’s pace.

  I look back out the window as a school bus packed with young children zips around us.

  I raise an eye to the ceiling. “I thought you said nothing could go wrong?”

  “I meant wrong wrong. Trust me. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

  chapter eleven

  It feels like years since Mom took the wheel. Brandon and Nam are literally banging their heads against the window, Alfred is frenetically coating his lips with strawberry ChapStick and Michelle, Drew and Dad all look like they’re about to scream: Get me off this damn bus before I jump out the window! When, at last, the bus inches off the highway.

  “Man, I feel like I aged a thousand years since Mom took the wheel,” Alfred declares.

  “I know, right? Welcome to Burlington.”

  “Urlington.” He stands, stuffs his tube of ChapStick into his back pocket. “I gotta talk to Drew.”

  I grab the bottom of his Seahawks jersey. “Not a word about the expulsion.”

  “Not even to Violet? She’ll know what to do. Violet always knows how to fix things.”