“I’m taking Audrey to North Carolina to her grandmother’s house to see if she can get info on her mom.”
Cline’s eyes go wide, and his head snaps in my direction. “Granny Ruth? The psycho? She won’t even let you near her house. How are you supposed to even—“ He puts both hands up and gives a sarcastic frown. “You know what? I told myself that this was none of my business. I did. I said, ‘Cline, man, this is none of your business.’ But now you’ve roped my roommate into driving you, like, twenty hours to go see someone who won’t even speak to you.” He bounces a little on the word ‘speak,’ pulling his fists against his chest as his voice rises. “So now it’s my business. She’s using you, dude. Just like she does with everybody else.”
“It’s fourteen hours from Tennessee to North Carolina, actually,” I correct him.
“And I volunteered.” Elliot pushes the pressure gauge into his pocket and crosses his arms like that should be it. Final. Over.
But I know better.
Cline bends forward at the waist, his arms crossed and knees bent again before he stands up straight and yells, “Oh! You volunteered. A fourteen hour drive. Okay. That’s makes it okay. Got it. Well, wait right here while I go get my shit because I’m coming, too.”
I think, deep down, deep, deep down somewhere in my subconscious, I knew this was going to happen. It is why I’m not even the slightest bit surprised by the outburst. I’m actually quite amused.
As calmly as I can, I move to the rear of the vehicle and open the back door so I can slide my bag inside. Peeking around the side of the car, I make a “shoo” motion with my hand.
“Hurry up, then. We haven’t got all day. We’re wasting daylight.”
Cline’s anger is apparent in the flare of his nostrils. “I’m seriously coming.”
“I seriously don’t care.”
“I’m coming.”
“You already said that.” I walk around the car and over to where he’s still standing in his pajama pants. “You remember when you were little and your mom wouldn’t let you watch anything except movies from the eighties or before?” His eyes narrow and those nostrils flare again. “You’re like that asshole kid in the backseat of Adventures in Babysitting right now.”
“I watch whatever I want to now.” He says it like he’s so proud. It almost makes me laugh.
“Big man.”
“I’m totally coming on this trip.”
I sigh and wave a hand at the car. “That’s fine, because I didn’t have enough room in that bag for my Box Full of Fucks to Give. So would you go get packed so we can leave? You’re starting to annoy me.”
Elliot has been standing silently off to the side for the entire exchange, and finally he steps between us, placing a hand on my shoulder and one on Cline’s chest. “I can’t do this if you’re going to act like a couple of eight year olds. Both of you need to shut up. And I mean that in the nicest way possible.” He looks at me. “Please, get in the car.” He looks at Cline. “You have five minutes to pack or we’re leaving. I told my mom I’d be home for dinner.” He steps away cautiously then pulls the car keys from his pocket. “If the two of you start fighting, I will pull over and leave one of you on the side of the road. Swear to God.”
The car is dead silent for the first hour of the trip. Every time Elliot attempts to turn on any type of music, Cline vetoes it, so eventually he just gives up. The entire thing has started to give me a headache anyway, so I have taken to staring out the window and counting the numbers on license plates.
Everything must add up to seven. Any way that I can force the numbers to sequence themselves, I do.
HBC6033
6 and 3+3 = 6
6x6=36
3x6=18
8-1=7
An old rusted truck pulling a trailer eases alongside us before picking up enough speed where I can see the plate and start all over again. I don’t even know how much time has passed as I continue to do this, but when Elliot reaches over and places his hand on mine, I realize that my fingers have been busy at work on my shorts. I’ve picked away a large chunk of frayed denim that now lies in a clump on his seat.
He pats my hand and keeps his eyes on the road as he hits the right blinker and pulls into a gas station. “I need to fill up.”
As discreetly as possible, I scoop up the remnants of my destruction and palm them so I can throw it away as I walk by the trash can on my way inside the convenience store. Inside the bathroom, under the unflattering fluorescent lighting, and amidst the smell of years of uncleaned piss, I stare at my reflection. There’s a huge possibility that I’m going to find out who I am. That I’ll finally know whose brown eyes these are. Who this round nose came from. Whose lips in some lineage caused a cupid’s bow to be so deep?
There’s a possibility that I’ll find out that the stuff inside my head isn’t just mine alone.