Once Upon A Road Trip

by Angela N. Blount

  Somebody like me. What does he mean by that?

  Angie made slower progress on her bread. She savored each bite, finding comfort in the familiar smell and taste. “Well, I know life is short. For some, incredibly so.” She looked off down the path for a moment. “And I know no one’s guaranteed to have a tomorrow. So, to me, it’s worth doing a lot of thinking on it.” She stopped herself from any further rambling, afraid of sounding preachy. She wasn’t sure if Zak was genuinely curious, or just thinking out loud.

  “So is that what getting run over by a truck did for you—?” He gave her an amused half-smile. “Made you all deep?”

  Angie mustered a small smile. “It did have a pretty significant affect on the way I see the world.” Finishing her bread, she dusted off her palms and eased back onto her elbows, mimicking him in reclining.

  “Eve keeps talking about looking for a church once Obie finally gets here. I might go with them, if they find one.” Zak said, after an extended pause in which he seemed preoccupied with a passing cloud. “You know…maybe becoming a mom is having the same affect on my sister as being in a car accident had on you.”

  Angie gave a light chuckle. “That’s an interesting theory. You might have something there.” Perhaps his astuteness rivaled that of his sister.

  As cloud watching brought a return to silence, Angie found herself weighing an impulsive idea.

  If he actually wanted to, this would be a great time to hold my hand.

  She glanced down at their hands — there was less than an inch between them where they rested. She debated working up the courage to brush her fingers against his, if only to see his reaction.

  I could make it seem like an accident…

  After several failed minutes of willing their hands to touch, she made an inquiry in her mind. What do you think, God? Should I just suck it up and grab his hand? That ought to make it perfectly obvious I like him.

  As if to answer her question, she abruptly recalled a conversation she’d had with Zak several months prior. He’d complained to the online community that he was skipping his prom because no one had asked him to it. Still sore over her own disastrous prom experience, Angie had questioned why he wasn’t the one doing the asking. He’d teased her about being old fashioned, and then asserted his preference for not being the one to ‘make the first move.’

  That made sense. If he did like her then, in all probability, he was waiting on her to do something about it. All she had to do was work up enough nerve—

  She cut the thought short when another consideration surfaced. Her mother had always assured her that she should never have to chase after a guy. Rather than citing it as a matter of tradition, it was explained as an adage that now latched onto her mind like the jaws of a indomitable pitbull: “Don’t expect a man will try any harder to keep you than he did to get you.”

  If the mom-ism held true, then she had to consider if she wanted to set a precedent for being the one in pursuit. It was enough to dampen whatever power her fluttering stomach held over her logical mind.

  And then, of course, there was the possibility of being outright rejected. What would he want with a plain-looking, impossibly weird American girl, anyway? her cynicism demanded.

  Finally settling on inaction, she rocked forward and sat up, pulling her hands into her lap.

  Zak broke off his fixation with the sky and gave her a lazy smile. “Ready to head back?”

  “Sure.”

  Angie returned the smile, silently hoping she wouldn’t end up regretting the opportunity she’d just let slip away.

  June 22,

  Another enjoyable, fascinating day. I was introduced to Zak’s oldest sister, Eve. Not wanting to be stuck home alone, she stayed here today. I liked her right away. Despite being in the early stages of labor, she was remarkably pleasant. And if she thought I was crazy, she at least did a masterful job of keeping it to herself.

  Zak and I did some hiking along the Canadian Shield, followed by lunch at a historic little village. When we got back, we made nachos and just hung around watching late night comedy shows. Eve went home in the evening. I doubt now that the baby will be coming while I’m still around. I guess I’ll have to find out over the phone how Zak handles becoming an uncle.

  Zak has been great company. Even though I think we’re both still a little unsure about each other, he’s been nothing but sweet. It’s probably for the best that I’m leaving tomorrow. I think it would be easy for me to get too fond of him. I know, I know…there’s something cliché about that. The heroine initially wanting to clobber a protagonist male, but later realizing that he’s grown on her and she actually really likes him. Technically, I’m not supposed to find that appealing. But maybe real life is a lot more cliché than anyone wants to admit. Or maybe there’s just a fine, subjective line between the cliché and the poetic.

  I really wish I didn’t have to leave tomorrow. I never expected Ottawa to become one of my favorite places. I’m honestly going to miss it here, but I know I have to keep going.

  New York awaits.

  Status: Still sleeping more than usual, but I haven’t noticed a fever since I crossed into Canada. Maybe the worst is behind me.

  ~Ang

  Part 2

  “An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered.”

  – G. K. Chesterton

  Chapter 11

  June 23,

  A Fond Farewell

  I’m sitting still in line for the border crossing right now, and the wait looks pretty bad. So, I might as well write.

  I attempted to leave Ottawa after dropping Zak off near his friend’s house. After he left, I realized that I couldn’t find my keys. I had myself a little freak-out moment (like the pansy that I am) and went looking for Zak. Since I didn’t know for sure where he’d gone, I ended up disturbing his still very pregnant sister, who happened to live close by. She called him back along with his friend, and we looked all over the place for those keys. Finally, Eve figured out I’d dropped them in the engine while I was checking the oil. I don’t think I had any pride left by then.

  Zak and his friend took off right away, but Eve was kind enough to invite me into her home for drinks and a nice chat. She even showed me Zak’s baby pictures. (He was adorable, of course.) When she wasn’t putting up with contractions, she was witty, perceptive, and all around fun to talk to. I think I’d be doing all right if I ended up more like her one day. She’s happy, and she has a functional life. No minor accomplishment there.

  Before I left, Eve told me that Zak had gotten into a big argument with his family a few days before I came into town. They were all understandably upset that he was planning on meeting some strange American who he only knew from the internet. But evidently, he was convinced that I was trustworthy and wouldn’t back down, despite the concerns of his sister and mother. Eve sounded like she was proud of him for it, since he isn’t usually assertive about much of anything. It warmed my heart to find out he’d thought well enough about me to defend me to his family... and before we’d even met in person.

  I left Eve, promising to pray she not need a C-section. I can’t blame her for not wanting them to take the baby out through the emergency exit. But with how exhausted she’s been, I’m pretty sure she’ll just be glad to be holding Obie... regardless of how he gets here.

  ~Ang

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles ached, Angie slowed to make out another street sign. She’d pulled into the small town of Oldwick, New Jersey, well after dark, and her written directions had ceased to be of any use.

  Four hours prior, she’d called her next host from a gas station to warn him she would be late. Since then, she’d gotten lost twice while trying to navigate a poorly-lit construction detour. She was stressed to her limit and desperately tired. Her shoulders felt like they were strung together by overstretched rubber bands.

  The road to her right
looked promising, but she couldn’t be sure. The second half of the street name was covered by a tall bush.

  Don’t people around here know how to use hedge clippers?

  She turned down the dark lane, straining to read the house numbers as she crept past each dwelling. She was looking for a “weekend home” — whatever that looked like. When Scott told her about it, she had pictured a cabin in some rural setting. But this was clearly a suburban street with average-sized houses. All very nice houses, from what she could tell.

  Okay, so they could afford to -hire- someone who knows how to use hedge clippers…

  Further along, Angie came across a lone figure walking on the right side of the road. She wouldn’t normally have paid much attention, but it was late for a stroll and the person’s attire wasn’t well suited for the activity. A pair of baggy beige pants stood out as the most headlight-friendly part of the ensemble, while the dark T-shirt blended into the darkness. The vigilant part of her brain suggested she hit the door locks. Catching a glimpse of the young man’s face as she passed, recognition tingled at the edges of her mind. She’d gone on several yards before a muffled sound from outside of the car provided the last clue.

  “AAANNNGGGEEELLLEEEEEE!”

  The bellowing cry caused Angie to stomp on her brakes. She put the car into reverse and backed up to pull alongside the lone figure. Her passenger side door opened and Scott’s strapping frame slid into the seat beside her.

  “I was about ready to call Elsie and see if you’d checked in. You seriously need to get a regular cell phone,” he said, though he wore an easy grin that softened the scolding. “You couldn’t have found another pay phone and thrown me an update?”

  “I’m really sorry,” Angie said, awash in relief over having been found. “The highway disappeared on me and I kept getting off on the wrong road—” Her excuse sounded weak. The truth was, she’d been so frazzled over getting lost it hadn’t occurred to her to call him again.

  “Hey, I’m just glad you’re okay. You are okay...right?” Scott asked, a vague look of concern lighting his swarthy features.

  “Yeah. Just tired is all,” Angie said. Scanning his face, she understood what had thrown her off in identifying him on the road. In all the pictures she’d seen, Scott had been wearing his shoulder-length hair down. Presently, his dark, unruly mane was tamed back into a blunted ponytail — it suited him better, she thought. His hair had called attention away from his face, which was smooth, save for the soul patch that wrapped under his strong, angular jaw. He bore almost no resemblance to his cousin, Elsie.

  “Well, let’s get moving.” He gestured ahead. “The house is down here on the right. My dad and stepmom left a couple hours ago to head back into the city, but my friends are still hanging around. We can catch a ride with them.” Scott’s voice came out low and decisive, just as it had in countless phone conversations they’d shared in the last year since Elsie introduced them.

  Angie nodded, following his instructions until they’d pulled into a broad driveway. They got out, and Scott transferred her duffel bag into the back of a black Lexus SUV that shared the drive.

  “Lock up,” he said. “Your car should be safe here for the week.”

  Angie secured a wallet-chain she’d brought along for this part of the trip, then double checked the locks and patted the trunk affectionately. “Thanks for not making me drive into the city. I’m not sure I could handle that.”

  “No problem.” One corner of Scott’s mouth tugged upward as he looked from her to the vehicle. “It’s easier this way. Don’t have to worry about you getting stuck in traffic or finding a place to keep your car.”

  “Exactly.” Angie nodded.

  Scott gave her a curious look and pointed to the link on her belt. “You know, I didn’t picture you as the wallet-chain type.”

  “I remember you talking about how tourists get targeted by pickpockets,” she said. “I just thought I should come prepared. I don’t really carry anything valuable—I just can’t afford to lose my driver’s license.”

  “Huh.” Scott mused. “It’s kinda punk. I like it.” He flashed a grin, projecting the confident bearing she’d come to expect. “Let’s get the guys and get out of here.” He led the way and Angie followed, the cool evening air reviving her.

  The back door deposited them in a warmly lit kitchen, where polished oak cabinets overlooked black granite countertops. A pristine set of copper-bottomed pots and pans hung on display along the wall, and in combination with the studio lighting, made Angie think the place belonged on a gourmet cooking show. The space was open, with only a half-wall separating it from the living room. A sizable island bar sat in the middle of the stone-tiled floor with a trio of tall brass chairs pulled up along one side.

  The middle chair was occupied by a bored looking young man, whose attention was fixated on the television mounted over the refrigerator. Like Scott, he was somewhat above-average in height and well built. His complexion was fair, however, and further washed out by the white designer T-shirt and matching baseball cap he wore with the bill cocked to the right.

  “Hey James, I found her. We can head out,” Scott announced as he trudged across the kitchen, his nylon track pants making a swishing sound as he moved.

  A game controller in hand, James’s focus barely deviated from the first-person shooter he seemed enthralled with. “Kay. Lemme finish this round,” he answered vapidly.

  Not waiting for an introduction, Angie followed Scott to the living room. She caught a blur of movement as a figure went sprinting in front of them, hurdled the brown leather sofa and disappeared behind it. A moment later the agile young man popped back into view, craned his arm, and pitched something brightly-colored across the room. The object, which turned out to be a miniature football, was captured just short of its impending collision with a bay window by the bulky form of another young man.

  “Guys! What’d I say about throwing stuff in here?” Scott barked.

  “Try not to hit the breakables?” The big one offered in a deep voice, tinged with a faint accent Angie couldn’t identify. A mocking grin spread across his rounded face as he feigned a snap throw, which would have been aimed at Scott’s head. His expression ebbed then when he caught sight of Angie. “That the girl?”

  Scott, seeming to know the hefty fellow well enough to predict his behavior, didn’t flinch. “Yeah, this is Angie,” he said, looking back at her with a lingering smile. “Angie…Tonga.”

  “Your name is Tonga?” Angie asked, uncertain if she’d understood correctly.

  “No. Tonga is the country I come from.” The young man beaming smile stood out against his rich, dark skin. He was dressed more formally in a blue button-down shirt with gray pinstripes, paired with black pants. His hairline came to a pronounced widow’s peak above his brow, and his tight, black curls were trimmed to a clean half-inch in length. “My name is long and hard to pronounce. It’s easier to call me Tonga, trust me.”

  “Tonga’s a diplomat brat—just like Yosh over here.” Scott motioned to the considerably smaller young man who was crossing the room toward them. “We all went to the same school.”

  “Hideyoshi.” The diminutive young man amended the introduction, tapping his fingertips to the center of his chest as he sauntered closer. His face was ovular, with almond-toned skin laid taut over stoic features. Around his head he wore a white bandanna with a red disk imprinted front and center, which Angie recognized as the Japanese flag. His baggy jeans hung low enough to make her wonder what mysterious force was preventing them from falling down around his ankles. His chin jutted upward as he gave her a scrutinizing once-over. “But, I’ll let you call me Yosh-sama.” His dark brows arched and fell as he made the offer, a smirk curling his lips.

  “And why would I do that?” Angie asked. “I thought ‘sama’ was a suffix used for addressing someone of higher rank or age.” She was reasonably sure she recalled the cultural morsel correctly, but glanced to Scott in hopes of verification.
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  Scott broke into a snicker at Yosh’s expense. “I told you, man. She’s smart.”

  “It would be either ‘san’ or ‘kun’, wouldn’t it?” Angie went on, quietly pleased that something from her collection of random knowledge had proven useful.

  “San’s too formal.” Yosh looked disappointed but nodded once, begrudgingly. “Nice find, Scottie. Tits with wits.” He looked Angie over again before turning back to Scott. “Get her a little makeup and some decent clothes, and she could be a seven.”

  It took Angie a moment to grasp that Yosh had not only insulted her, but in the same breath managed to rate her as though he were the judge at a dog show. Even in giving him the cultural benefit of a doubt, she was no less astonished. She had known several Japanese students in her Aikido classes, and had always found them to be significantly more respectful than American students at large. That left her to conclude Yosh was some sort of vulgar anomaly.

  “And that’s why he can’t keep a girlfriend.” Tonga rumbled out a laugh, shaking his head as he moved into the kitchen.

  “Yeah, don’t mind Yosh.” Scott chimed in after clearing his throat. “He talks first and thinks later.”

  Having accepted that she was an outsider, and therefore unlikely to be defended, Angie folded her arms before herself as she sized up Yosh. “Well, since it sounds like you’re actually younger than me, maybe I should be calling you Yosh-chan.” She injected an artificial sweetness into her tone for the suffix, which she knew to be most appropriate when directed toward small children or cute animals.

  Scott laughed, and Yosh shot him a sneering look.

  “Call me that again, and we’ll see how long you last riding back on the luggage rack.” Yosh cocked his head to one side as his gaze snapped back to Angie.

  “Touchy.” Angie clicked her tongue. But when it occurred to her that the Lexus parked in the driveway might belong to Yosh, she decided it wasn’t in her best interest to perturb him any further.