Once Upon A Road Trip

by Angela N. Blount

  “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.

  Yeesh. Trying to cheer this guy up could be a full time job.

  Surveying her friend, she formed a sympathetic smile. Though Kalvin was well over six feet in height, there was nothing imposing about his slim frame or the slumped manner in which he carried himself. At twenty years old, his dark hair was already thinning at the crown. His features were even, long in the nose, and graced with mournful cobalt eyes.

  “Oh, here, Elsie sent a present for you,” Angie said as she recalled the trinket, delving into her pocket until her fingers closed around the thin metal chain. She held out her hand and waited for him to close the distance. She wasn’t about to venture in further and risk setting off a domestic avalanche.

  Kalvin took his time, a skeptical look dislodging the melancholy. “Why would she do that?” He tentatively accepted the dog-tag chain and examined the small, squared charm that hung from it.

  “It reminded her of you.” Angie shrugged. “It’s a pet I.D. tag. She had it made with your real name, and the names of your characters underneath.”

  The barest hint of a smile lit Kalvin’s features as he looped the chain around his neck, holding the tag up. “She spelled my name with a ‘C’ instead of a ‘K’.” He sighed.

  Angie winced at the error. “I’m sorry. I guess she hadn’t seen your real name, she’s just heard me say it—”

  “No, it’s fine.” Kalvin formed a fleeting smile as he tucked the chain under the collar of his video game-themed T-shirt. “That’s the way my name was supposed to be spelled. My dad just didn’t care enough to get it right on my birth certificate.”

  Finding it probable that her friend’s struggle with depression was rooted in paternal neglect and abandonment, Angie stored the deduction away for later. For the time being, redirection seemed like the best way she could help him. “So, what are we doing today?”

  Kalvin frowned. “We’ve got two options, I suppose. I could show you around the interesting places in town. That won’t take long.” Though his voice was mild, the sardonic edge was hard to miss. “Or we can get me ready for the big move. But that’d be boring, too. I just need to pick up supplies and get a haircut.”

  “I don’t bore easily,” she assured. “Hey, I could save you a little money and cut your hair for you. I’ve given a few of my friends haircuts before. I’m not fantastic at it, but it doesn’t look like you do anything too complicated with it.”

  “Sure.” Kalvin shrugged, shuffling around her as he exited his room and headed for the kitchen. “It’s not like you could make me look any worse.”

  “That’s it, never mind.” Angie uttered an exasperated sound as she followed him. “The haircut can wait—we’ve got all week. I think it’d do you some good to get out.”

  “Okay.” Kalvin paused amid dropping a slice of bread into the toaster, though his expression never shifted from a default glumness. “We could check out the new coffee shop,” he said. “Or we could go see Toccoa Falls. But I’ll warn you, it’s not as impressive as it sounds.”

  “What’s not impressive about a waterfall?”

  Kalvin snorted to himself, the closest thing to a laugh she’d heard from him. “It’s more of a glorified trickle. The thing is supposed to be taller than Niagara Falls, but it’s no bigger around than I am wide.”

  “Well, I’d like to see it anyway. I need to stretch my legs, and it wouldn’t kill you to get some fresh air and sunlight.”

  “It might,” he countered with a grimace. “I guess we’ll find out.”

  Angie shook her head, reclaiming a degree of mirth. “That’s the spirit, Kal.”

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Just as Kalvin had claimed, there was nothing particularly entertaining about his small hometown. The week wore on in a largely uneventful fashion, while Angie filled her time with watching movies, running errands, and urging Kalvin to see life from a slightly less dismal perspective. They settled into a comfortable sibling-like way of relating to each other, with Kalvin eventually confiding in her the struggles that he and his mother had faced at the hands of his abusive father.

  As the last full day of her visit waned, she had noted a modest lightening in his demeanor. It relieved her to hear him speculating on the move and his future.

  “Well, I’ve had a lot worse,” Kalvin said, sipping away at the sugar-free frappe Angie had ordered for him. She’d insisted on celebrating his exodus into a new stage of life by treating them to whatever the town’s only cafe had to offer. Despite the fact that they were indoors, he continued to wear a broad pair of sunglasses. Angie had learned early on that he guarded his eyesight well, as the degenerative effects of diabetes threatened blindness for anyone as brittle as he was considered to be.

  She sat down across from him at one of the round tables, beside a line of windows that had once been part of a retractable garage door. The full interior of the one-time auto repair shop had been painted an uninteresting shade of beige, accented by fake plants and paintings that appeared to have been procured from a local elementary school. Between them, Angie deposited a plate piled with triangular slices of chicken salad sandwiches. “Sorry, it looks like just the drinks are diabetic friendly.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me.” Kalvin eyed the sandwiches and reached for the clip on his belt, lifting the rectangular black box that housed his insulin pump. He adjusted the settings on the device, as she had seen him do whenever he was about to
eat.

  Angie decided to act on the opportunity to bring up a nagging concern. “You know, you should educate your new roommates on what to watch out for. In case your glucose levels get too high or too low and you can’t help yourself.”

  “You sound like my mother.” Kalvin huffed. He took a bite out of a sandwich and frowned as he chewed. “I get to start over, someplace where nobody knows or has any preconceived ideas about me. I don’t want to screw it up by telling them I’m medically defective.” He sighed. “I’m not even bringing most of my toys with me, just so I have a chance at seeming…normal.”

  “Normal is overrated.” Angie blew across the top of her steaming latte. “You can always hang out with Jeff if you don’t happen to get along with your new roomies,” she said, reminding him of their mutual online friend who would be acting as her next host in Atlanta. “But at least give them a chance. Out of three other guys, odds are at least one of them is going to like video games and action figures.”

  Kalvin attempted a dubious smile, but it refused to stay on his face for more than a moment. There was a short lull between them while they ate, which he broke without any preamble. “So, you’re some kind of Christian?”

  Caught off guard by her friend’s sudden directness, Angie nearly choked on her coffee.

  “What…gives you that impression?” she asked, stalling as she sorted her thoughts. Faith wasn’t a subject they’d ever broached before, and she wasn’t sure what had sparked his inquiry. Worse yet, with his eyes concealed behind the sunglasses she had little idea where he planned on going with it.

  “You bowed your head before dinner the last few nights,” he said, analytical in tone.

  Angie strained her recollection over his claim. “I guess I did. I’ve been pretty grateful for your mom’s cooking.” She shook her head. “But that could mean anything—”