Once Upon A Road Trip

by Angela N. Blount

  Umm...about that. I know what I said, but I kinda didn’t ask my mom yet. And I don’t see her taking this well, so you might want to have a backup plan.

  -Zak

  Stunned, she’d written and re-written several replies before deleting them. She decided to call Zak the following day to sort out the issue.

  This wasn’t good. She was supposed to spend four nights in Ottawa, and it was too late to rearrange her arrival times at other destinations.

  Why would he tell me his family was fine with me visiting? What kind of jerk is this guy?

  She thought back to the many playful conversations she’d had with him in the past. Zak had always been friendly, even borderline flirtatious at times. He was one of the first from the online community she’d seen a picture of. She’d gotten the sense that the nineteen-year-old wasn’t quite as mature as his appearance would suggest, but she’d never thought that he might leave her stranded. She had half a mind to chew him out when she did call him.

  Frustrated, she swiveled around and stood, scanning the entertainment room behind her for any signs of Mark. At his insistence, she’d spent several hours watching one of his favorite TV series with him. Anything that warranted Mark’s interest also seemed to require his exhaustive understanding of it. As a result, along with the watching came his frequent, although unsolicited, background commentary. He’d seemed content to continue watching for as long as consciousness would allow, but Angie had finally been forced to pardon herself.

  It wasn’t that the show was uninteresting. She simply didn’t have his capacity for devoting so much time to a single activity. Now it seemed, in the absence of someone to share it with, Mark had given up and gone to bed.

  She hoped she hadn’t hurt his feelings, but at the same time, she couldn’t imagine how it would help his social skills if she were to encourage his every excess. From what she understood, Mark had spent his entire educational life attending a private school for the gifted and talented. She was beginning to wonder if that sort of environment had been artificially tolerant toward certain areas of weakness. Not that she could imagine public school resulting in anything but total immersion in the opposite, soul-sucking extreme.

  Quietly, she made her way across the lower level of the house. Godot laid curled up on the welcome mat at the front door. The contented animal only bothered to half-open his eyes when she passed.

  As she rounded the corner to the base of the darkened stairs, she was suddenly able to make out the seated form of a person. Had she noticed any later, she would have tripped over them. The abruptness of that revelation caused her to jump back in reflexive alarm. She wasn’t sure what had unsettled her more, the stillness of the form, or the oddness of the location given time of night.

  Her body relaxed then, a moment before her brain caught her up to the recognition that the statuesque figure was Rob. The man had apparently fallen asleep there, his right shoulder inclined against the slatted wooden railing of the staircase. His elbow rested against his thigh, forming the support for his palm to hold up his chin. She remembered Sandra once mentioning that Rob had never been able to spend more than three or four hours in bed before having to roam the house. Perhaps he hadn’t made it to the roaming part yet.

  That’s going to take some getting used to.

  Angie managed to slip past without disturbing him, continuing up the stairs to the guest room.

  June 13,

  I got into the city without any trouble, and I’m doing fine so far. Tired, but fine. I enjoy Mark’s family very much. Although, Mark himself tends to leave me a little intellectually exhausted. I appreciate the stimulus, but it’s a bit too much sometimes. I always feel like I’m fighting to remain on an equal level with him. I’m probably just trying too hard. I need to focus more on having fun.

  I’m not sure how this will all pan out anymore. Zak sent an email that made it sound like there’s a big problem with me coming to Ottawa. I keep thinking it’s early in the trip...I could still go back home. But giving up so soon would feel like a huge failure. We’ll see how I feel after a little longer in Detroit. Maybe I’m going about this all wrong. My attitude is pretty pathetic at the moment.

  I haven’t heard from Don at all. Part of me wonders if I should just leave him alone. All I can do is pray for the best. But for once, I’m going to try choosing hope over realism. Since my personal sense of realism tends to be nothing but thinly veiled pessimism, I figure I’m not losing anything in the venture. But for now, I sleep.

  Mileage Log: 890 miles

  ~Ang

  Chapter 5

  Angeli heaved a sigh as she set the house phone back into its cradle on the nightstand. It was late in the morning, and Mark had been fidgeting in the doorway for the last five minutes of her conversation with Elsie. He was clearly more determined than she was to make it to the zoo before any animals had been fed.

  “I don’t know why I thought talking to her might make me feel better. She’s all excited that she just got another letter from Anne Rice. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise.” Angie griped to herself as much as she was explaining the reason for the delay.

  “Anne Rice? As in… ‘Interview with the Vampire?’ That Anne Rice?” Mark gaped at her, seeming to have forgotten the schedule he’d plotted out for the day.

  “That’d be the one.” Angie nodded, pushing off from the edge of the bed where she’d been sitting. “And I wouldn’t have believed it either, if I hadn’t seen the lockbox under her bed with each letter sealed in its own little plastic bag. Elsie claims that they’re pen pals, but I figure the lady must just be really nice to some of her fans.”

  “That’s impressive,” Mark said, still marveling.

  “Well, you know, Elsie is a pretty great writer. She wrote her first fan-fiction novel when she was fourteen. Maybe her talent is just being recognized and encouraged.” Angie paused to consider before admitting, “Or, she’s become so dedicated to a fantasy that she’s forging letters to herself from a famous author. I can never be completely sure with her.”

  Mark emitted a low chuckle. “Well, if anyone could manage to get the attention of a respected author, I suppose it would be her. She seems like quite the character herself.”

  Understatement of the year.

  Glancing to the oak dresser beside the door, Mark grabbed Angie’s journal off the top of it and began inspecting the tome. “Speaking of writing—”

  Before she’d fully processed the impulse, Angie lurched forward and snatched the slim book out of his hands. “That’s…personal.” She kept up a light tone in an effort to counter the defensiveness of her action. While she didn’t believe she’d written anything negative about him, she didn’t want to risk hurt feelings.

  Mark looked all the more intrigued. “You keep a diary?”

  Angie shook her head, removing the pen that marked her last page. “It’s just a journal, for keeping track of things while I’m on this trip.” Hoping to satiate his curiosity, she flipped it open to the back page where she’d maintained a record of identifiable road kill using categories and tally marks. “See? So far, the raccoons are winning. But the deer aren’t far behind.”

  Mark peered over the list for a long moment. “Well, it’s not exactly something out of Robinson Crusoe, is it?” he said, unabashed in candor. He groomed his fingers through his beard in an exaggerated gesture of contemplation. “So then, does your journal have a title?”

  “I hadn’t really thought about it.” Angie shrugged. She snapped the book closed and tucked it under her pillow.

  Mark snapped his fingers. “Oh, I know! You could call it: The Chronicles of Peril,” he said, looking proud of himself. “…You see the double entendre?”

  “Yes, that’s very clever.” She sighed, miming a courtesy applause before shooing him out of the room. “But I think that would be right up there with naming my car ‘Oh no’ — just asking for trouble.” She pulled the door closed behind them as an additional measure, having observed Mark
to be somewhat oblivious when it came to personal space.

  She was glad to be getting out and about. A good night’s sleep hadn’t done as much to improve her outlook as she had hoped.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  On the whole, Angie was impressed with the Detroit Zoo. The grounds were lush and expansive, offering hours of self-paced sights and educational activities. Although, in Mark’s company, she struggled to keep any sort of casual pace. The young man flitted from one exhibit to another, reading aloud from the plaques and offering an array of accompanying details he recalled from previous visits or books he’d read. She was reasonably sure that anyone overhearing would think that he was vying for a position as a tour guide.

  At one point they passed through a tunnel-like construct overgrown with leafy vines and other foliage, supported by a grated iron frame that allowed sunlight to filter through. She called for Mark to stop for a moment while she took a picture. Angie hadn’t noticed the hedges along either side were filled with white roses, until Mark spontaneously broke into a short musical number over them.

  “ . . .everything’s coming up roses!” His rich voice carried as he did a tight spin and gestured to the flora. The outburst briefly drew the attention of a half dozen people nearby, who didn’t seem to know what to make of it. If Mark noticed the stares, he didn’t acknowledge them.

  “What’s that from?” Angie asked quickly, concerned he might progress to a full-fledged production if he wasn’t redirected.

  “Gypsy: A Musical Fable.” He appeared momentarily aghast at her lack of recognition, clawing his upturned hands before himself. “It’s only considered to be the -greatest- American musical of all time!”

  Angie watched out of the corner of her eye as a passing woman steered her two small children by their shoulders, giving Mark an excessively wide birth. “Okay, sure. Gypsy,” she said and then paused. “You know what? I like the sound of that.” She gave Mark’s shoulder a firm, congratulatory pat. “Thank you. You just found the perfect name for my car.” She continued walking, taking the lead on their way to the Penguinarium.

  Mark lifted a finger in a look of confusion before hurrying to catch up with her. “You’re welcome?” He glanced at his watch, falling in line with her stride. “We ought to be right on time. This is my favorite habitat by far, even though they only have three of the seventeen existing species—”

  Angie kept her camera in hand as they stepped into the cooled air of the rounded, concrete building. Her attention was immediately drawn to the cylindrical structure filling the center of the room. The rocky, three-sided habitat rose up surrounded by a glass-encased pool that stood well above waist level. As they moved closer, she could see the pool was continuous, flowing in a rapid counterclockwise motion around the central habitat. Penguins of varying sizes plunged into the water to swim against the current, taking on the characteristic underwater flying pose she’d often seen on television.

  “Huh. It’s like…a penguin treadmill,” she mused aloud.

  “Precisely.” Mark shuffled to her right, watching as the largest of the penguin species were tossed small fish by their handlers. “It’s one of the few zoos in North America to utilize this form of containment.”

  A sprightly young girl pointed toward the most sizable of the flightless birds. Too small to see over the top of the pool, her pigtails bobbed freely as she bounced up and down. “Look mommy! It’s an Emperor Penguin, like from my book!”

  “I wish it were.” Mark bent slightly at the waist, coming closer to the child’s level while giving her a singular pat on the head. “Actually, that’s a King Penguin. It’s an easy mistake to make, they’re very closely related.” His tone was pleasantly authoritative, as it tended to be regardless of who he was speaking to. He also appeared unaware of the irritation that soured the face of the little girl’s mother.

  “Oh,” the child said, giving Mark a confused look before turning her attentions to a smaller penguin nearby. Her mother eased to her side, placing an arm around the girl while subtly positioning herself as a buffer between her offspring and Mark. Mark, however, showed no signs of recognizing this. He’d already moved on to another section of the habitat.

  Angie followed after him. She was becoming convinced that her friend had no idea of when his behavior or choice of words could be considered off-putting. She knew he meant no harm whatsoever, but she also knew the general public wasn’t privileged with the kind of background knowledge she’d accumulated about him. If today was any indicator of a “normal” outing for him, she had to wonder if his future would hold to a pattern of unwitting alienation. She also wondered if it would do any good for her to obey the urge to talk to him about it. After all, when it came to social graces, she was a far cry from savvy herself.

  Several feet away, a boy she guessed to be around the age of six was staring intently at a section of information on the wall, struggling to sound out the scientific name for the Macaroni Penguin.

  “E…you…youdip…youdipits cris…sol…pus…” The boy dragged his finger along underneath the word as he attempted the pronunciation.

  Mark clasped his hands behind his back and leaned aside toward the boy. “Eudyptes chrysolophus,” he amended, gesturing to a set of smaller penguins that were swimming past behind the glass. “They’re closely related to the Eudyptes chrysocome, but you can see the difference in their crests.”

  Angie sighed at her friend, thinking he sounded a little too much like the character he most favored using for storylines in their online writing community—a mad scientist. She then noticed that a gruff-looking, middle-aged man standing a few paces behind the boy had frowned and shifted his stance.

  Undeterred by the correction, or simply ignoring Mark, the young boy stepped aside to the next plaque and repeated his stumbling efforts with the King Penguin. “Ap…ten…odits... Pat…ago…nice…”

  “Aptenodytes patagonicus.” Mark piped up again, matter-of-factly.

  “Excuse me...do you work here?” asked the man Angie had deduced was connected to the little boy. His tone was demanding and laced with agitation. He was tall and thickly built, wearing an old Harley Davidson t-shirt that must have started out black but had faded to gray. The scruffy start to a beard showed a salt and pepper mingling, which could have placed him as either an older father or a younger grandfather. Either way, he made for an intimidating figure.

  Mark smiled as he looked back at the man. “Oh, no. But I have thought about applying for a seasonal position. I’m here nearly every week as it is.” His expression brightened. “I highly recommend the membership program. It comes with a magazine subscription that I’m sure could improve his familiarity with Latin pronunciation,” he said, gesturing to the boy.

  The man folded his arms across his chest as he stared at Mark, his face darkening into what Angie interpreted as mounting hostility.

  “Mark! Come on, I need to show you something,” Angie blurted out, unable to come up with a better excuse for ushering him away. She gave the angry looking man an apologetic smile, grabbed a handful of Mark’s shirt, and pulled him along toward the door.

  Mark allowed himself to be led, but appeared thrown off over having his one-sided conversation interrupted. “What is it? This was supposed to be our last big exhibit.”

  Angie released him once the door of the building closed behind them. “Okay, so I don’t actually need to show you something. I just didn’t want you to get hit in the mouth.”

  Mark gave her a bemused look. “And why would you be concerned over something like that?”

  She sighed, wracking her brain for the best way of illuminating the situation for him. “Because…you were starting to piss that guy off with critiquing that kid. I know you thought you were being helpful, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t seeing it that way.”

  “What other way was there to see it?” Mark gave her an incredulous look as he smoothed out the crinkled spot on his arm where she’d gripped his shirt.

  “That you w
ere being an arrogant know-it-all?” she said, bluntly.

  “Nonsense! I was only—”

  “Hey, you asked.” Angie held up a hand to halt his brewing logistical argument. “I know you don’t mean to sound that way, but you do sometimes.” She held up her other hand to fend off the interruption. “People who know you know better, but in the rest of the world, people tend to make snap judgments about strangers. And when it comes to their kids, they’re going to be protective and even less willing to try to understand where you’re coming from. You need to be more careful. Establish a rapport with people first, you know?”

  Mark considered this for a moment, his bright gaze bouncing over directional signs and passersby without any clear focus. “I thought I was being sociable.” His insistence began to sound wounded.

  “I know.” She smiled in sympathy. “But being sociable includes showing that you’re interested in other people, not just inviting yourself in on a topic you think you have in common. What you have to say doesn’t tend to mean a lot to people, unless -you- mean something to them.”

  Mark frowned slightly. “That sounds…reasonable.”

  Though Angie wasn’t certain that he’d understood what she was getting at, she decided not to press the issue. It didn’t seem likely a single conversation would be enough to temper how he related to others. At least a potential conflict had been averted. “Come on, ” she said. “I want to stop by the big cats again before we go. Maybe a few of them are done napping.”

  Mark’s amiable expression returned. “I’d say the chances are good. Cats are most active at dawn and dusk, and the sun should be setting soon.” He nodded to the west where the glowing orb was about to sink beyond the horizon. Taking long strides on short legs, he set the pace for them down the cement walkway in the direction of the feline exhibit.

  Angie smirked to herself and shook her head, launching into a sprint to catch up to him.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~