1: In the Wild
Steph cranks the volume.
“Drivin’ to the middle of nowhere,” she belts, arms thundering out an air drum solo, “with peaches on my plate.”
The urge to add my air guitar to the mix is overwhelming, but I keep my hands on the wheel and find something else to focus on. The trees stand tall and still as we fly past, skies clear and air blowing hot through the window.
“You know what that song is about, right?” I ask.
Steph keeps the drums going and smirks at me. “Ass, obviously.”
“Pretty sure the peach emoji didn’t exist in 1985,” I grin.
“Were you there?” she asks, jumping back into the lyrics with, “A plateful of peaches, and someone to share them with.” And winks at me.
“Too much,” I giggle. I can’t help it. She’s so goofy. “So, for real, do you know this song’s origin story?”
This was one of the first songs my brother Gabe and I heard on our dad’s record player. It sat in the living room for so many years before Gabe asked to dust it off and try it out.
I miss him so bad it hurts. Still.
Steph rolls her eyes. “Yes, I do. Some guy took too much of something, squeezed a bunch of peaches, and wrote a song about how horny he was. The source of all great songwriting.”
I’m afraid to ask.
“Horniness? Or ‘too much of something?’ Or… peaches?”
“All three. When we get to Fort Collins, we need to find something to smoke, and squeeze some peaches.”
“Stop,” I laugh. “I will tuck and roll right out of this car.” My cheeks feel hot. My whole head feels hot.
I glance at her again.
She’s smiling at me, an aura of golden light glowing around her head.
“What?” she asks, knowing very well what. To know Steph is to be constantly embarrassed as hell, and also delighted. I can’t believe I’m really here. With her.
I shake my head and turn back to the road.
“You’re reading me again, aren’t you?” she asks.
“You know I can’t read you unless I reach my hand out to you.”
“But you can see I’m happy. At least, I hope you can. And that I’m excited.”
Of course I can. And I soak in every beautiful, tingly, warm ray of gold.
“For Fort Collins?” I ask, our first destination.
“For the world,” she says, reaching over and squeezing my knee. “With you.”
If she had my powers, she would see I’m glowing too. I’m not even sure with what. Gold for joy? Purple for the tidal wave of butterflies I’m feeling right now? I look down at her hand on my knee and quickly turn my attention back to the road.
“So,” she says, turning down the music and nestling cozily into her seat, “when we get there, what are you going to do first?”
I breathe, and think.
“I, um…” What does one do there? Fort Collins is so… big. Compared to what I’ve gotten used to, anyway. Foster homes used to be my whole world, each one the size of a cardboard box. I caught glimpses of Portland on nights when I could sneak out for acoustic shows and underground raves. I never really got a sense of the whole city. And then there’s Haven Springs, which is no city at all, but a tiny community in a big wide world of mountains and open sky. I don’t know how to calibrate anymore.
As if she can read my mind: “See a farmers market? Rent a bike? Smoke weed?”
“All three.”
“At the same time? I like it.”
I chuckle. But I have to agree. All three sounds nice.
“You glad we left?” she
asks me.
“Of course! Haven Springs was great to both of us, but… it’s time we moved on. Did what we want, you know?”
“Rockin’ out on stage,” she dreams aloud.
“Playing whatever.” I’m surprised to hear the dreaminess in my own voice too. This feeling of the open road, literally and, I guess, metaphorically, feels… free.
She pulls something out of her pocket. From the corner of my eye, I can see that it’s purple, and fits in her palm. She shakes it.
“Of course you brought a shaker egg.”
“Can’t go nowhere fast without rhythm,” she sings, tapping her free hand on the dashboard, her occupied hand shaking the egg in tandem. “Can’t go nowhere at all without time.”
I join in, lending my vocals, my fingers itching to strum my guitar along with the shik-shik-shik of the egg.
“Can’t go nowhere good without you, babe. You’re the rhythm to my rhyme.”
I study Steph, all aglow as she sings with me, like we don’t have a care in the world. New city, new careers, new dream.
But, we’ve got each other.
My mind drifts back to the word babe, and I realize how effortlessly it rolled off my tongue. Off both our tongues. Could I… call her that one day? Would she let me? Or would she say it’s cliché?
Then, suddenly, something deep and dark settles into my stomach, something that twists and coils. Something’s… wrong.
What’s the color of feeling like you’ve forgotten something?
“Holy shit, the oil!” I exclaim, just as a soft clicking sound starts tick-tick-ticking away under the hood.
“The oil? Didn’t you check it before we left?” exclaims Steph. She takes her feet down from the dash, so I know shit just got serious.
“I-I thought I did! I guess I forgot!” Ugh, I had literally one job. Steph had to load our instruments and backpacks in the car after buying this junker from her friend Hector. All I had to do was keep it on the road, keep all four tires on it, and check the oil.
“What do I do?” I panic, feeling my breathing spiral into something I don’t recognize.
“Stop!” screams Steph.
I slam on the brake way harder than I needed to, and the car lurches. Everything in the back seat and trunk flies forward—our instruments and most things we own. My guitar case slams into the back of my seat, and falls back down and hits the center console sticking into the back seat, letting out a sour twangggg.
Steph and I sit frozen in this car for what seems like forever, just catching our breath.
I can’t look at her.
How could I when this was her dream? Our dream. Taking our music on the road, performing for new people in new places, the Fort Collins Lamplighter Festival up first. We were finally starting the lives we’d dreamed of for months after getting a taste of the world. We were finally doing the thing.
And now we’re stuck somewhere on the way…
Wait, where the hell even are we?
As if we’re both thinking the same thing—and I’m sure we are—we look around. Down the road ahead of us, as far as we can see, there are zero street signs. Not even a speed limit.
I glance at the rearview mirror. No street signs back the way we came either.
“What’s the last city sign you remember seeing?” I ask her, praying for something, anything.
“Um… something like… Barbell? Bar something.”
“Had enough of bars lately, thanks.”
And then she surprises me by laughing.
I look at her, confused.
“I’m laughing at how right you are,” chuckles Steph, leaning back against her seat and pressing her hand to her forehead. “Anywhere is better than the Black Lantern, huh?”
She sighs, content. “Can you believe we made it all the way out here?” she asks.
I’m already feeling the effects of the A/C having been off for twenty seconds. But no, I can’t believe it. It’s only been weeks since I lost Gabe, since Steph and I lost a friend in Jed. No, more than a friend. A father.
It was right for us to leave. What else would we do? Stay in Haven Springs and put on shows for the few dozen people who live there?
I guess that wouldn’t have been so bad… I look at Steph, and I realize all over again that I’d go anywhere in the world, as long as she’s there with me. I’ve never had a best friend before. Not like this.
Not even the words “best friend” feel right.
I look around. The trees definitely look like they’re turning their autumn hues. So why is it so hellishly hot out here?
“All by ourselves,” she continues, swinging the door open. “Welp, time to find
Barbarella. Maybe they have peaches.”
* * *
We walk forever.
Well, not forever, but long enough that the gold aura around Steph’s head has disappeared.
“Walkin’ to the middle of nowhere,” she reprises, panting as she slings her duffel over her other shoulder for the fiftieth time.
“With peaches on my plate,” I jump in, my guitar heavy on my back. What can I do but lend my voice? She needs to know she’s not alone out here in this sweltering heat. But I look back for only a second, anxiety welling up as I wipe away beads of sweat from my forehead.
I can feel my hair sticking to my face. Some is plastered to my glasses.
“Um, hey,” I say, stopping and pulling off my guitar case for a moment of reprieve, setting it down on the pavement as gently as I can. I still feel the need to apologize to it. Putting it on the ground, even in these circumstances, seems… callous. I pat the top of the case to ease the guilt.
“Yeah?” she answers me, stopping and turning around. “Whoa, you trying to fry your case?”
She gestures to my instrument, and I quickly pick it up again. What’s the color of guilt?
“That’s… actually why I stopped,” I say, unable to hide the exasperation in my voice. I gesture over my shoulder. “You don’t think your drum kit might melt in the car? Shouldn’t we, you know, stay close and open the doors for it? Maybe a car will drive by eventually.”
A smile plays at the corner of Steph’s mouth, and she drops her duffel full of both our clothes and rests her hands on her hips. I notice the sweat glistening on her neck. A droplet runs over her collarbone, and I swallow.
“You really want to turn around and walk twenty minutes back to the car?” she asks, her voice playful. “When we haven’t seen a car all this time?”
She has a point, because of course she does.
I stay silent. There’s not much else to say.
“Maybe… the sun will set soon?”
“You wanna be out here when night falls?” she asks.
Would it be such a wild suggestion?
“I mean, we have granola bars, and crackers.”
“And coyotes?” she asks. “We had those in Seattle too. Trust me, they’re scarier than you’d think. Creepy as hell, and they travel in packs.”
That’s enough to keep my ass walking. But she continues anyway.
“Besides, Alex, we came out here for an adventure!” she exclaims, fists in the air. “And dammit, we’ve found one! We’ve got three days before we have to be in Fort Collins. Let’s, you know, see the sights. Even if it is just trees.”
“And pavement.”
“And pavement.”
She turns and walks on, and I look ahead at the heatwaves shimmering in the middle of the road.
We walk until the car shrinks to a dot behind us, and a tiny green highway sign appears in the distance before us.
“Look!” exclaims Steph. “That has to be a sign for Barbarella.”
“That has a Z in it,” I say, squinting to read it. “Beelzebub?”
“Ah shit, we’re walking into a demon cult,” she jokes. “Or a demon sex cult.” But I’m not fucking joking.
“Yo, what if B-town is a bad idea?” I ask. “A place with no cars coming in or out is… maybe not somewhere we want to be?”
Steph is looking past me.
“Prayers answered.”
I follow her gaze and spot a car in the distance behind us, flickering with the heat of the road. I find myself hoping that even if this person doesn’t stop for us, maybe they could spare some water?
“Hey!” calls Steph, jumping up and down and flailing her arms. The duffel drops to the ground beside her. “Hey, help, please!”
“Steph, we don’t even know who this is!” I whisper. I don’t know why I’m whispering. This person is still too far off to even see us, probably, let alone hear us. “What if they’re a serial killer?”
“Then we have a chance to solve a murder,” she says, without missing a beat.
What?!
“And what if they really do run a sex cult?”
Steph smiles at me, a laugh threatening to pour forth.
“Then let’s hope they’re hot.”
“What the hell?!” I laugh.
“Hey, help!” hollers Steph, stepping dangerously close to the road. The vehicle is near enough now to make out that it’s a little blue pickup. An old one. Probably older than me.
The truck pulls up, slows, crawls to a stop, and a guy leans out the window looking exactly how I imagined he would. Forties. Slightly disheveled. Checkered shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He looks like one of those guys from the sun exposure experiments where half the subjects’ faces are scarred from constant UV, and the other half is mostly pristine, because he’s been driving the same sixty-mile stretch of road all his life.
“You ladies lost?” he asks. His voice doesn’t match his face. It’s… soft. Gentle.
I study him, but he’s looking at Steph. Steph glances at me before turning
back to him
and stepping up to the truck.
“We could use a ride to… uh…” She looks down the road and squints at the street sign, in a last-ditch effort to say the actual name of the town.
“Barb-zal?”
“Yeah…” She hesitates, looking at me again. “Barb-zal.”
The man smiles. I don’t know if it’s a friendly smile or a knowing smile, which is only contextually different from a sinister one. Maybe if I could read him…
A glistening golden aura grows around his head, warm like summer winds in Midwestern fields, soft like cotton balls. Nostalgia floods me, lifts my insides ’til I’m so light I feel like I could fly. This man loves the thought of Barbazal.
“That’s my home. Born and raised. Name’s Silas.”
“How’s it hanging, Silas?” asks Steph, picking up the duffel full of our few belongings, and—to my horror—heaving it into the back of the truck.
I catch her hand just as she lets go of the bag.
“What are you doing?!” I hiss.
At first, she looks startled, then her mouth curves into a grin as she glances down at my hand, still around her wrist.
“Do I look afraid?” she asks.
There’s no gold halo around her, but I study her eyes, beaming with hope. All peace. No fear.
“No,” I admit, “but maybe you should be? You wanna climb into a random truck with a random guy?”
Just because he’s all warm and fuzzy about Barbazal doesn’t mean he’s warm and fuzzy.
“He’s not a random guy. He’s Silas.”
But before I can jump in with just how unhelpful it is to know his name—if that’s really his name at all—she continues.
“And besides,” she says, breaking away from my grasp and reaching for the guitar strap slung over my shoulder, “the sooner we get to ‘Barb-zal,’ the sooner I can get us more oil. The sooner we get more oil, the sooner we get back on the road. And the sooner we get back on the road…”
She lifts my guitar up over the truck door and lays it in the bed as gently as a newborn baby.
“The sooner we can get to Fort Collins,” I finish for her.
“And then onto the rest of the world,” she smiles, her eyes sparkling.
She winks and walks up to the passenger door as casually and cozily as if this were Ryan’s truck.
I sigh, because she’s right. She’s charging ahead into the Colorado wilderness to find motor oil and sustenance, because it’s our only way forward. Maybe if I suck it up and pretend we’re choosing to get into this strange car with this strange man and drive to a strange town we’ve never heard of, it’ll feel like a choice. But as I stare at our duffel and my guitar case in the truck bed, and I rub my wrist to quell this unsettling wriggling I feel in my
stomach, I can’t help but think…
“You comin’, Alex?”
…this doesn’t feel like a choice.
And now Silas knows my real name. I take back what I said earlier. Knowing someone’s name suddenly feels very personal.
I look up at the driver’s side, where Silas’s head turns and I hear him say something softly. Steph laughs, that gold aura glowing around her head again. Silas has one to match. He’s still happy.
That means we should be safe, right?
2: Barbazal
The truck smells exactly how I expect it to.
Like ass.
But Silas is warm. A goofball. He’s in the middle of an improv session right now, which he claims are world famous.
“Had my bacon, had my eggs, had my coffee today. Got my energy drink and I’m on my way.”
Steph glances over her shoulder at me with a face that asks, Where else could you find free entertainment like this?
I smile at her optimism. I stare out the window, getting lost in the scenery, and notice the first sign we’ve seen in a while.
Jonah Macon for Senate, it reads.
I’ve heard of that guy, but I don’t know much about him.
Jonah Macon will bring home the bacon!
I roll my eyes. Whoever he is, he’s not afraid of doing the expected.
“Got my liquid sunshine and friendly faces,” continues Silas, “Um…”
Silas goes quiet, and Steph jumps in for him. “We’re all piled in this truck, and we’re off to the races!”
“Woohoo!” whoops Silas. “You’re a natural! Y’all musicians or something?”
“Actually, yeah!” replies Steph.
I glance over my shoulder through the back window of the cab at my guitar case, happily nestled in the bed of the truck. I wish I’d brought it in here with me. My fingers itch to pluck the strings, to sit cross-legged back here, shut my eyes, and let the music carry me away. I think of Gabe, whose arms would have been long enough to reach through the window and get it for me. He’d insist I play.
He’d insist I do what makes me happy.
I’m facing my fears, Gabe. Finding new spaces, I continue the song in my head.
I watch the trees go by as I let Silas’s truck take me to wherever Silas decides. He doesn’t have to stop in Barbazal. What if he does and Barbazal’s not safe anyway?
You know how I feel about brand new places.
“Hey,” comes Steph’s voice. I’m yanked back into the conversation. “Alex, you okay?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m just, um…” I look around for a distraction and my eyes find the crate of water on the floor beside my feet. “Silas, mind if I have a bottle of water?”
His eyes find me in the rearview mirror, and they narrow so slightly that at first I wonder if I’m seeing things.
“Yeah, uh, sure! Go ahead,” he says. But the aura around his head fades from brilliant gold into a sad, ever-bluing cobalt.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I ask. Steph cocks an eyebrow and looks from me to Silas.
His adjust his hands on the steering wheel and lets out a long, deep breath.
“I don’t mean to be inhospitable,” he apologizes. “We’re just… short on water, is all. Mind keeping it to one bottle each?”
Steph nods. “Sure,” she says, reaching into the back and finding one. I reach down and do the same. They’re warm. Of course they are. It’s approximately five hundred degrees out here, and if this truck has A/C, Silas isn’t using it.
“So,” I begin, too curious to let the question go unasked. “Why is Barbazal short on water?”
I take a swig, letting the clear liquid slake the thirst I didn’t realize I’d been carrying. I immediately want three more bottles. ...
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