Once Upon a Road Trip (3 page)

“Set the bar any higher and you’d be looking for somebody with pole-vaulting credentials.” Elsie gave a dour nod. “But like you said, you don’t really know what you want. Give it time and some of that adorable idealism of yours might wear off.” 

“Thanks,” Angie said in glib reply. “You should go into counseling one day. I could see you getting paid to tell people when they’re being delusional.”

Elsie formed the thin, crooked smile. “Or, you know, you could always settle for less and end up missing it when the right kind of guy does make an appearance.” 

“I take it back—you should go into politics.” Angie chuckled in defeat before realizing she was no longer the focus of Elsie’s attention.

Her cohort had filled the bottom of a water glass with quarters and leveled off the water at the rim. She then pressed a laminated menu to the top of the glass and, in a swift motion, flipped it upside down with her hand under the menu to maintain the seal. Steadily, she lowered the menu and maneuvered until the table took the place of her supporting hand.

Angie watched the trick with detached curiosity. “And you’re doing this to him because—?”

“He’s taking too long,” Elsie answered without breaking her concentration. In another quick motion she slid the glass, transitioning it from the menu to the tabletop with only a small trail of water lost in the process. “Voila!”

Angie shook her head at Elsie’s flair for vindictive creativity. The motion turned out to be a mistake, as it triggered a painful throbbing at her temples. “As much as I’d like to see his face when he finds that, I think I’m going to call it a night.” She scooted out of the booth and made her way to the front of the diner. Elsie gave a disappointed whine, but followed without a fight. 

Reaching the front counter Angie laid open her wallet, leafing out a few bills and setting them beside the cash register. A weary young busboy emerged from the back and peered over the ticket. As she waited, Don’s picture grabbed her attention from its place in the transparent inner pocket of her billfold. His sandy-blonde hair was crew cut, detracting no attention away from his strong, clean-shaven jaw and keen blue eyes. Arms folded across his broad chest framed the blue AIR FORCE lettering of an otherwise gray T-shirt.

Beefcake Philosopher — Elsie was right.

Regret twisted in Angie’s stomach and she snapped the wallet closed. Pining over something so unlikely was immature, she reminded herself. And this was no time to start acting her age. 

June 7th,

I graduated last night, finally. It was a painfully long-winded ceremony, punctuated by an explosion of screaming and silly string.  …and nothing about it meant anything to me. I took one last look at my 370-some classmates and it was confirmed in my mind that they wouldn’t miss me. At least that’s mutual. But it’s alright. That chapter of my life is complete. At least I made it through without embarrassing myself.

This morning I went in to the doctor and tested positive for Mono. Elsie must have given it to me when she drank from my smoothie a couple of weeks ago. In a way, it’s a relief to know I’m not just lazy and out of shape. At the same time, I know it could take me weeks or months to get over it. I’ll have to take it easy, especially for the first part of this trip. Hopefully I won’t get anyone else sick. *Think healthy thoughts* Now, on with exploring/saving the world! Or…something. 

With the Arkansas part of my trip in serious question, it looks like all I can do is pray and trust there’s a reason for whatever happens. I don’t know yet what I’ll do if it turns out for the worst. I’ll have to play this by ear and hope that Don keeps in contact with me. So far this isn’t going the way I’d planned, but I’m not going to let that stop me. I need to get out of this town.

Three days left, and counting.

~Ang

Chapter 2

In the dim blueish haze of predawn, Angie perched barefooted atop the largest of the granite boulders decorating her parents’ front yard, questioning her sanity one last time. An unfamiliar pairing of excitement and dread swam through the whole of her being in equal measure. It was invigorating. She guessed it to be some lesser form of the sensation skydivers must experience when stepping up to the open door of a plane before hurling themselves into a freefall.

This particular rock was her favorite spot for stargazing, and even now she felt reassured to stare up and watch as the brightly speckled veil of night was lifted. Flanked by thick forest on two sides and several acres of grassy lawn, only a handful of neighboring houses were within eyeshot. It had been a good place to grow up, being outside of town enough not to feel crowded, but not quite far enough out to be considered country.

Her father had bought the land and built their house two decades prior, when the cold war still loomed in all of its uncertainty. Some sense of precaution had convinced him to buy up additional acres that he could potentially convert into a mass garden so that, in the event of a breakdown in organized society, their family would still have a means of procuring food. While Angie understood this motivation to be somewhat paranoid, part of her had always been proud of his forethought and determination to provide for them.

Of course, the hand of the apocalypse had been stayed, and a more conservative use of the land was settled on. Five apple trees hedged the left side of the yard, each of a different variety with harvesting times varying from July through October. To the right along the tree line were beds of tomatoes and strawberries, bordered by thick loops of red raspberry bushes. She would miss most of the strawberry and raspberry season while she was gone, but the apples would still be waiting for her.

“I need you to be with me. I don’t want to do this alone.” She murmured the words aloud as she scanned the fading stars and settled on the brightest point of light that remained, which she absently identified as Venus. From childhood she’d been fascinated by astronomy, and on a personal level, she’d discovered that a clear night sky made it easier for her to talk to God. There was no dogma or ritualistic reasoning behind this. She found it completely natural to pray under her breath at any time as she went about her day, and often did. But there was something profound and awe-inspiring about stargazing that made her feel smaller and yet more connected at the same time.

Angie finally slid off of the rock and waded through the cool grass to her awaiting flip-flops, just beside her pale gold Geo Prism. The car had been a reward from her parents for making good enough grades to get into the Post Secondary program. She had to drive herself to her college classes, and so it made sense that she have her own vehicle.

The car’s condition was too good to be called a Junker, but it was nothing fancy. And that was the way she liked it. She’d come to fondly regard it as an extension of herself, having covered the back of it with whimsical bumper stickers to suit her personality. Her car had all of the things she’d been taught to value in life: dependability, efficiency, longevity, and a Japanese engine. If it held up faithfully through her adventure, she’d vowed to drive it to the end of its life…or hers. Whichever came first.

She popped open the trunk and scanned over her inventory for the third time since she’d loaded up the previous day. Sleeping bag, road flare, flashlight, extra oil, box of non-perishable food, North America road atlas, emergency travel phone, first aid kit, duffel bag of clothes, and an eight-inch Bowie knife. She was fully prepared to sleep in her car, but given her current plans she should only need to for one night, if all went well. It wasn’t the discomfort of urban camping that concerned her, it was the idea of being exposed and vulnerable. That was where the Bowie knife came in.

A quick sifting through the duffel bag produced a black baseball cap, which she donned after twisting her hair up to conceal underneath. For once, playing at gender ambiguity would be a defensive advantage rather than an oblivious social default. Her father had suggested this measure, concerned that being a lone female would make her a conspicuous target for harassment. Or worse.

“You’re still too pretty to pass for a boy.” The warm insistence drifted from a short distance away.

Angie smiled at the remark and all of its paternal bias. She closed the trunk and spotted her father standing a few yards off at the corner of the garage, watching her with a careworn expression.

At forty-eight, Nicolas could have passed for ten years younger. He was in the solid, trim shape that came with a highly active lifestyle, with all of his golden-brown hair still holding its color and displaying little sign of retreat. His eyes shone a clear, light blue, set with creases against skin that had hardly gone a day without seeing sun. His prominent Nordic nose was a distinguished feature that suited him well, though it was also something that Angie and her siblings were quietly grateful not to have inherited. Standing side by side, no one would have guessed him to be her father. She’d taken strongly after her mother — tall, long-limbed and dark-featured. By the time she was twelve years old she’d surpassed him in height, and now stood easily three inches taller.

Despite being vertically challenged, her father had always been an avid basketball player. What he lacked in height he made up for in speed. Being in top condition — combined with his age and the fact that his job as a postal carrier required him to walk six miles every day — made it all the more shocking when he’d suddenly had a heart attack just eight months prior. An unforeseen defect had resulted in one of the major blood vessels in his heart being far narrower than it should have been. A biological ticking time bomb.

Angie vividly remembered the night she’d gotten the news, and the distress it compounded in her just weeks after the Twin Towers had fallen. At the time, it seemed like the whole world was senselessly going to pieces.

The doctors warned of a fifty-fifty chance of stent failure in the first six months after they’d been placed to prop open the vessel in his heart. And for six months, their entire family held their collective breath. Even after that statistical hurdle had been overcome, Angie ceased to view any time spent with him as a given. Her preparations for the trip had been a welcome excuse to sit with him in the garage for hours on end as he went over the basics of car maintenance. Regardless of what happened, that was how she wanted to remember him — as a man who showed love best by working with his hands.

“I think it’ll do just fine.” She pressed optimism into her tone, trying to offset the unspoken worry she read in his face. He’d come to see her off. Her mother had offered her unenthusiastic farewell the night before, and Angie didn’t expect her to bear witness to the start of a venture she didn’t approve of in the first place.

“Here, give this to mom.” Angie withdrew a folded piece of paper from her pocket and held it out. “These are all the places I’ll be staying and the numbers you can reach me at. Every time I hop locations I’ll call when I’m about halfway and again when I get there,” she said, desperately wanting to sound responsible. Her parents had never given much reason to rebel against them — not that she’d been interested in such stereotypical teen displays of angst. This trip was the most risky life decision she’d ever made against their advice.

A calculated risk
, she liked to remind herself and anyone who wanted to talk her out of it.

“I have a present for you.” Nicolas slipped the list into his back pocket before holding up her keys, showing off the small canister of travel mace he’d added to the key ring. “Just be careful with it,” he added. His typical fatherly disclaimer.

Angie allowed her honest delight to show in her smile as she accepted the keys and turned the device over to scan the directions. “Point and shoot. Sounds pretty straightforward.” She laughed and gave him an appreciative hug. It transitioned into more of a reassuring expression when he didn’t immediately release her. “I’ll be alright, Dad. Jesus loves me, and I’m hard to kill.” She repeated the running family joke in a light tone.

That got a low chuckle out of him. “You grew up too fast.” He cupped her shoulders and held her out at arm’s length.

“Thanks…for trying to understand.”

“Not like I could’ve stopped you. You’re an adult now.”

Angie cringed at the title she’d long fought for, but felt she still hadn’t earned. “You know what I mean. The car is still in your name, you could keep me from using it.”

“Well, I don’t think I have a right to hold you back.” He gave a fond smile. “I did my own cross country trip by motorcycle right after I got out of the army. So really, I’m just glad you’re at least using a car.”

“Me too.” She laughed.

“I love you.” He squeezed her shoulders, voice welling with tenderness. “And I’m proud of you. I’ve always been proud of you.”

Looking at him now, Angie marveled at how different he was since recovering from his heart attack. Both simply and profoundly put, this was not the same man she’d known while growing up. Throughout her childhood her father had been a volatile, frustrated, and unapproachable man, as his battle with his own temper seemed to leave him with no patience for his own offspring.

Like most approval-seeking children, Angie had struggled long and hard to impress him and earn his affection. Noting from an early age that quality time spent with him revolved solely around sports and outdoor activities, she’d become a tough-as-nails tomboy; in part out of the misguided impression that her father would have preferred it if she’d been a boy. Alternating between bottled emotions and aggressive outbursts, she’d spent years with undirected rage as her inheritance. She’d only recently come to realize how his angry detachment had affected her self-perception and comfort with her own femininity.

In a way, she was glad she hadn’t come to understand this until after the fact. Rather than considering her father a classic excuse for her own shortcomings, she now could only see him as living proof that people can change. And she’d found an odd eloquence in the notion that it had taken a physical heart condition to remedy an intangible heart condition. As idyllic as it might have been for her to know the man he’d recently become for the first seventeen years of her life as well — she knew him now. Better late than never.