I listened to the sounds of the engine and the road. When I rolled down the window, it was all wind and woods. Window up or down, it was white noise either way. It was like having my ears stuffed. Between the roar of the wind and the trees, I started to feel claustrophobic. My headlights didn't seem to reach far enough ahead of me. If a deer ran out into the road, would I be able to see it in time? What would happen if we had an accident out there in the middle of nowhere? I could always walk or run somewhere. What if I broke a leg? What if I was bleeding? Mile markers were sparsely placed at best, not to mention road signs, exits. The trip took on a dangerous edge when I let my mind wander far enough.
I glanced down to check the speedometer and noticed the fuel gauge for the first time in hours. We had enough gas to keep driving for a while, but it seemed like it'd been a long time since we'd passed the last station. “Shit.” Why hadn't I filled up back by the bridge? We'd left the highway that led toward Canada almost immediately, and the country here had a rough feel to it. The modern world didn't seem to leave much of a footprint, and I reasoned out that not enough people used these roads to make gas stations profitable. The locals, if there were any, knew to plan ahead. I began to wonder if we'd make it. I reduced our speed to something a little more efficient and tried not to think about getting stranded. We had a couple gallons, and worrying wouldn't make the fuel last any longer.
I started to relax half an hour later when I saw a sign for a gas station ten miles away. We would've been fine if it had been thirty. I had gotten nervous for nothing. I checked my pocket and found my credit card with a sigh of relief. What if I'd accidentally left it at home? God, that would've been rough. I could've called in the morning, but how would I have explained such a stupid mistake? It was okay. We were already coming up on the station and I had my card in hand. I pulled off at the exit, but had to drive several more miles toward town to find the station. The further I got from the highway, the more my anxiety grew. Each mile was more gas, but I reminded myself that we were going to be fine. I was sure of it.
My confidence melted away when I saw the station. There were no lights on inside. I couldn't tell if they were closed for the evening or closed forever. I had to talk myself down from the ledge.
“It's okay. They must leave the credit card readers on overnight. Why wouldn't they? It's a gas station. They have to take whatever business they can get.”
My heart was in my throat as I parked next to a pump. I couldn't see what I was looking for from my seat, so I got out to check. I realized immediately that I had forgotten we were in the upper peninsula.
There were no credit card readers on the pumps.
A wave of dread washed over me as I got back into the car. The only consolation was that my passenger was still asleep. She had no idea we were about to be stranded in the middle of the north woods with an empty tank. Meanwhile, I had no choice. We had to keep moving. The next gas station had to be closer than the last one. We'd never make it back with what was left in the tank. Maybe if I had turned around immediately the moment I'd looked at the fuel gauge, but now? It was no use worrying about what decisions I could've made. I thought we would make it to a gas station, and we had. I had been right. We were sitting at a gas station. How could I have known they wouldn't have twenty-four hour pumps?
We headed back toward the on ramp. My eyes flicked back and forth between the fuel gauge and the road as we traveled along the deserted highway. A couple times I thought I heard the engine misfire, like we were about to run out of gas. I'd never run dry in that car. For all I knew, we were running on fumes. I reduced speed again. The car's slower progress added to the suspense as I peered ahead into the darkness, searching for a sign pointing to the next gas station. Every mile marker had my stomach in knots. With my window down at our reduced speed, I could hear the noises of the woods over the wind. I started to feel sick as I ran through the list of things that could go wrong at that point.
The needle on the fuel gauge reached E, but the car kept moving. I felt a final surge of hope when I remembered that some reservoirs held back half a gallon of gas in reserve, beyond the limit of the fuel gauge. We weren't safe yet, though. I breathed a little easier when I saw the next sign for a gas station appear on the shoulder of the road. Could we make it? Would the station be closed like the last one if we did? The engine sputtered as we hit the exit. I wasn't imagining it this time. The tank was dry, and that was final. I gritted my teeth and let the car fly around the off ramp in neutral, touching the brakes as little as possible. I had no idea when the engine would cut. I wasn't thinking about the fact that the car would lose power steering if the engine died, but we made it around the curve before that happened. Skidding off the road into the trees in the middle of the night would've ended more than our road trip at the speed we were going.
As we made the narrow two lane road and the trees blocking our view cleared away, I saw the flood lights of a gas station parking lot in the distance. The engine was giving one last gasp as it choked on fumes. I slid the car back into gear and floored the accelerator, but nothing happened. There was still hope, though. The station was in sight. The lights were promising. The road was flat and straight.
We were going about forty-five miles an hour when the engine died. I put the car back into neutral and began to pray. We covered half the distance faster than I had reason to hope. In the panic of the engine cutting, I had overestimated the distance in my head. I realized we might just make it. Our speed dropped more rapidly than I'd expected, but we were still moving. At that point, I probably could've gotten out and pushed if I really had to.
In the end, there was no reason to worry. It took some muscle to turn the wheel, but we coasted to a stop right next to a pump. While there weren't any lights on inside the building, this station had automated credit card readers. Thank god. I left the pump running and excused myself to pee in the grass next to the parking lot. I'd been so preoccupied with having an empty tank, I hadn't noticed my full one. The road trip gods had smiled on us. I swore to myself that I'd buy a gas can as soon as we got home. I'd never go anywhere without a couple of extra gallons in the trunk. I steered us toward Copper Harbor both relieved and re-energized.
It began to get lighter as I drove. The black of night turned into a deep black blue, then navy. The stars were less clear, but I could begin to make out the trees that lined the road outside the sweep of our headlights. My passenger shifted positions, sat up, stretched.
“Good morning.”
“What time is it?”
“About five in the morning. We've still got a couple hours to drive, give or take.”
“When is the sun supposed to come up?”
“I don't know. Around eight? I assume we'll see it when it does.”
We drove the rest of the way without talking much. The sky grew lighter. I got a little bit lost around Houghton, but we made it to Copper Harbor before sunrise. I think we both noticed the color of the sky as the moment drew closer, but neither of us said anything. I'd been so wrapped up in my spontaneity, I was so excited to see the sun come up from the northernmost part of Michigan, I hadn't even bothered to check the weather. It was going to be an overcast day.
She was a good sport about it. I don't think seeing the sunrise meant as much to her as it did to me. I hate to say it, but I was disappointed. Still, the colors of the leaves were spectacular. We made it to a high point where we could look out over the woods and the lake. It was nice. We tooled around the area for a bit. We splashed in some freezing cold water on a rocky beach. I don't think Lake Superior ever gets warm, and I doubt it's ever been less than bone rattling in October. We found some little waterfalls tucked in and around the scenic spots that made for good pictures. It wasn't what I'd left East Lansing to find, but it was still good. We managed to lose a couple hours enjoying the morning. The trip didn't feel like a waste. I only had a little regret left by the time we got back in the car and I realized I was about to repeat the entire drive in the o
pposite direction. Neither of us would have minded sharing the driving responsibilities, but she didn't know how to operate a stick shift and we had to get back on schedule. Fortunately, the return trip was immediately more pleasant. With the sun up, even behind the clouds, we got to take in the scenery.
After the tenth sign advertising them, she finally asked.
“What are pay-sties?”
“Not pay-sties. Past-ies. You wouldn't want to eat a pay-sty.”
“Fine, what's a pasty?”
She pronounced it correctly that time.
“They're sort of a yooper thing. You know, come to think of it, they're actually a lot like potstickers, except they're bigger and an entire meal. The outside is like pie crust, and they're filled with meat and potatoes and all kinds of vegetables. Good stuff.”
“I want one!”
We'd only been back on the road for an hour, but we stopped and got pasties for lunch. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I'd had one. Even with a schedule to keep, I didn't feel the same sense of urgency to get home that I'd felt to get out of town. In the light of day, the woods seemed prettier and less ominous. I didn't once think about the car breaking down or running out of gas. Instead, I enjoyed spending the afternoon with the girl next to me. Sometimes we talked, but the silences weren't uncomfortable. Unfortunately, I started to feel the effects of having stayed up all night as the afternoon dragged on.
I knew we were more than halfway home when we got back to the bridge. It felt like it'd been days since I'd seen it lit up the night before. It was fun watching her reaction as we crossed. She wouldn't look out the window while we were over the water. I only teased her a little before we were safely on the other side. We stopped in Mackinaw City for dinner and fudge. The sun was nearly down again when we got back in the car. The last three hours of the drive, at the least, would be in the dark.
We'd exhausted most of our conversation and traffic was light. There are more people in the lower peninsula, even up north, than in the upper peninsula. Still, the towns we passed weren't just small, they were few and far between as I drove. I was getting bored, and bored is a bad thing when you're warm, well-fed, and sleep deprived...when you're behind the wheel, anyway. All I wanted was to get home. I fantasized about taking a hot shower, changing my stale clothes, and climbing into bed as the lines on the road zipped by. I could see it in my mind. The street with my apartment building was etched on the inside of my eyelids when I closed my eyes. I was feeling more fatigued and tired of driving with each passing minute. My muscles were sore and cramping from sitting up all night in the driver's seat. I began to focus on making it home as motivation to stay awake. My eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
I blinked, and the car jumped a mile down the road through space and time. I shook off my disorientation as I realized what had just happened. I'd teleported a mile toward home and taken the car with me. I tried hard to stay sharp, to keep my eyes open, but it was a losing battle against weariness. I managed it for fifteen minutes before I blinked and felt the car teleport again. I'd traveled even further down the road this time and landed on some rumble strips, to boot. I was angry at myself for letting it happen and insisted I wouldn't jump the car again. Extra-dimensional travel was a dangerous game to be playing at seventy-five miles per hour. I shook myself. Slapped myself in the face. Rolled down the window. It wasn't enough.
“Hey – talk to me.”
“Sure! What do you want to talk about?”
“Anything, just talk to me.”
I tried to pay attention to what she was saying.
“Um...what kind of music are you into?”
It didn't work. I blinked. We shot further down the road, into the night. She wasn't speaking.
“What kind of music are you into?”
“I just asked you that.”
“Hah! Right.”
Silence fell again. My mind started to race. What if I lost control? What if I blinked and we teleported again? The roads were empty, and we'd gotten lucky up until now. What if we rematerialized midway through another car, or a billboard? Where does displaced matter go when one object teleports into the same space as another? If we wound up in a stationary object, would the momentum of the car continue? Maybe it would look like a wreck, except a road sign or a tree would be enmeshed with the body of the car and there wouldn't be any tire marks leading up to it. Maybe we'd just stop dead in a tangled mess. If the matter displacement didn't kill us, would I be able to teleport us free again?
I felt my eyes begin to close.
The whoop of a siren and a red light in the rear view mirror brought me around to our current position. I hit the brake and pulled off onto the shoulder. I checked myself and looked around the car. It didn't look like we'd reappeared in the same space as anything else. Everything was still intact. All the same, my heart was pounding as a state trooper with a flashlight ambled up from behind us. A spotlight from his cruiser shone in through the rear windshield and blinded me in the rear view mirror. I had to squint and duck to avoid it. I turned off the engine and rolled down the window.
“License, registration, and proof of insurance?”
I handed over my license and registration and started to dig through the glove compartment for my proof of insurance. I stopped when the officer spoke again.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“I'm sorry, I don't. Was I speeding?”
“Have you had anything to drink tonight?”
“No sir. Not a drop. I've been driving for about twenty-four hours straight.”
“I pulled you over because you were drifting all over the road.”
“I'm sorry officer, I'm just really tired. All I want to do is get home and go to sleep.”
He seemed to believe me.
“Alright, you just sit tight.”
He took my documents with him when he returned to his squad car. I guess I would've had to leave my license behind if I'd wanted to make a run for it. I squirmed a little under the blinding spotlight. I felt a bit embarrassed about getting pulled over for suspected drunk driving, even though I was cold sober. I heard the door of the police cruiser slam, so I straightened up. He handed my license and registration back to me with a slip of carbon paper.
“There's a place you can stop and get some rest about a mile down the road. Drive safely, sir.”
“Thank you.”
I rolled up the window and started the car before gently accelerating from the shoulder of the road. Traffic picked up as we got closer to home, and I managed to finish the trip without blinking us through time and space again. I guess the ticket was the adrenaline rush I needed. We got back into town a little later than anticipated, in part because of my brush with the law. I still felt like the walking dead when we made it back to her apartment building.
“Thanks for coming along. Sorry it didn't work out quite the way we expected it to.”
“Thanks for inviting me.”
“Alright. I gotta get some sleep!”
“Yeah, I think you need it.”
I was too tired to laugh.
“Talk to you later.”
“Night.”
SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS
I'll come right out and admit it. I was drunk. If I wasn't, either technically or officially, then we're getting into the weird territory where we try to pick between words that mean more or less the same thing. Quibbling. Semantics. Whatever. I was drunk. I'd lost track of how many times I'd been to the bathroom as I made my way back to the table. Sitting there were two old friends and one person who looked familiar, but who I didn't know as well. The bar was loud and festive from the mass of students who either didn't have finals or were trying to forget that they did. I was not in a celebratory mood. I only caught a bit of the conversation going on at our table as I got closer, but it was enough to make me want to change the subject
“You are not talking about religion at the bar.”
They glanced up at me as I sat down, but c
ontinued their conversation like I hadn't said anything.
“Then why are there child soldiers? If there's a god, why are there so many horrible things in the world? Why are there terrorists and wars? Why has there been fighting in the middle east since forever? Why do children die at birth? Why are there miscarriages? It's terrible and meaningless, and it's all bullshit. There's no reason for those things to exist. They're senseless suffering. If individuals need to be taught lessons, there must be ways to learn that don't involve the deaths of children. Killing kids is barbaric no matter how you look at it. There's no excuse. No justification. If you had the power to stop it, you would, and so would any reasonable person.”
“Look -”
“No. There's absolutely no excuse for an all knowing, all powerful god to allow crimes against humanity.”
“That's not the best argument.”
I said it unintentionally. It slipped out, but thankfully no one seemed to hear it. My idealistic friend took up the challenge.
“Look, life isn't simple, and neither is God. You're right, all the things you mentioned are awful, but we can't understand how they fit into a greater plan. We're incapable. The lord works in mysterious ways, and every action or inaction... There's a grand scheme to life that incorporates every living thing. It's not our job to understand. It's our job to have faith and accept the life we're given. If God chooses to test us, then it's up to us to rise to the occasion. Even when things don't seem to make any sense, God has a plan. Who knows what lessons people might learn, what greater good might come out of even the worst situation? If bad things happen, they are God's will. Because God is good, there must be a reason at the heart of things that we just don't appreciate. Yes, it's hard to understand. Yes, it's complicated. Yes, the will of God might seem cruel at times. But there is more to the world than we see with our eyes and hear with our ears. It's not for us to judge.”
Telemachus Rising Page 6
