A Drive

Some absolute, unpolished, unedited, authentic rubbish... how appropriate for one of the first "abortive attempt of lesser men". Please don't hate me forever for this - IR Larson

They were driving and the inside of the car was cool. They had been driving for three days now. He had picked her up just outside of Needles. When he picked her up he had thought she was sort of pretty. But it seemed that the longer they drove, the prettier she got.

One time they had gotten out of the car to look at a wreck on the side of the road. It was in the pan-handle of Texas. After they got back into the car, he thought she wasn’t that pretty. Her make-up had smeared and there was sweat on her forehead. He almost thought of leaving her at the closest town. But at the next stop, she washed up. After that, she just got prettier again as the miles passed beneath the tired wheels of his old coupe.

As the miles took him farther from the west, she thought he seemed to grow older and more anxious. Not that he had been all that relaxed when he picked her up around Needles. Not that he was that young to begin with; not any younger than thirty-five. But it didn’t matter what he looked like or how he acted, she didn’t pick her rides. She wanted to get back to her folks in Arkansas, and he said he was headed out east.

His car looked like salvage from a yard, but it was cooler inside than the truck she had gotten a ride in from the valley. Talking wise he was alright; he either talked just a little too much or said nothing. Said he had worked the mills up by Russian River and travelled the Cascades for the lumber company. He had even worked the mines out east of San Diego, but that didn’t last long. Talked a lot about the mines. She believed him. Why not? But past Texas, after he was all through talking about himself, he didn’t have much to say.

Radio’s broke. Static’s all that’s coming through.

Yup.

I like the radio. Helps pass the time. Though music here’s not like it is back home.

Sure ain’t.

Where you from; born, grew-up, I mean?

Oh, born in one place, raised in dozen others. Don’t account for much; living’s not much different in Ohio as California. Neither is dyin’ for that matter.

Arkansas’s nice place to grow up. Little farm and all.

Why’d ya leave then?

Cause livin’ sure is different in California than Arkansas.

That so? I’ll be damned, not the way I’ve got it figured.

Well, it is, let me tell you.

As the miles added up, he liked her more. He almost thought to hell with his brother in Carolina, just stay with her in Arkansas. He started thinking about what Arkansas could be like. He thought, maybe she’s right, maybe Arkansas is different from California.

There was silence. She didn’t mind too much. He still looked worn and concerned. She didn’t care: she was tired. Her eyes glazed and she stared, watching the road pass by, with the retching of the old engine making a freakish rhythm like her old man playing music. That rhythm could put her to sleep. Like a baby.

She woke up when the motorbike cop pulled them over just west of Oklahoma City. It would have been wiser if he not stuck that little bottle of cognac under his seat in Flagstaff. After a few minutes, she saw more cops pull up in faded patrol cars with some guys in suits. He didn’t argue or struggle. Just answered their questions and nodded his head. They put him in a car and started heading back west. Odd thing was, when they hauled him off with the cuffs on, she thought he looked younger and more relaxed than ever before.

Way they told it, turns out California isn’t so different from Oklahoma. At least not as the Law’s concerned. Figures, if you kill a deputy in Barstow, the cops or Feds in Oklahoma kind of mind. Or at least somebody makes them mind. You’d almost expect that Arkansas isn’t too different from Oklahoma, and so California isn’t too unlike Arkansas; so she was wrong. Maybe that’s why she turned back west. There weren’t any cars going east, but she could have waited. She didn’t. She caught a ride from the first west-bound trucker that passed her by.

They were driving and the inside of the truck was hot. They had been driving for three hours now. He had picked her up just outside of Oklahoma City. When he picked her up he had thought she was sort of pretty. But it seemed that the longer they drove, the uglier she got.