Thou Shalt Not Road Trip

by Antony John

  “You’re thinking about her right now, aren’t you?” Matt asks.

  “No,” I say. It’s not even a lie, because that version of Fran doesn’t really exist anymore.

  “I’m just saying, you of all people ought to be able to look past the hair—”

  “The purple hair?”

  “Yeah, the purple hair. And the piercings—”

  “All of them?”

  “Yeah, Luke, all of them.”

  “Do you know how many there are?”

  “No, I don’t.” Matt sighs, but then a smile creeps across his face. “But if you do, you might want to think about what that means.”

  I ignore the challenge in his voice, and play my trump card: “What about the tattoos, huh? She made crazy lines along her forearms, Matt. Tell me: Who does that to herself?”

  Matt shrugs. He looks tired. “I don’t know, Luke. But you would, if you’d ever bothered to ask.”

  He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but it’s late and I haven’t got the energy to argue anymore. So I brush my teeth and say my prayers—thanks that my parents love me; thanks that my plane arrived safely; thanks that I didn’t have a fatal heart attack running across Los Angeles—and try to find a position on the lumpy bed where the springs don’t dig into my ribs. Finally, exhausted, I recall this evening’s event, and everyone’s words of support and appreciation. For some reason, though, my mind keeps returning to another image: a shy girl with long blond hair and an irresistible smile. And as I fall into sleep, my brain runs wild with thoughts you won’t find anywhere in Hallelujah.

  SUNDAY, JUNE 15

  Mishaps 9: 15–17

  15. But the boy barely recognized her, for though she was similar, yet did she appear strange, as though winged messengers had taken the ends of her hair and flown upwards and outwards with it. 16. And the girl responded not, even though he was staring at her with both his eyebrows furrowed tightly. 17. And though he was silent, the boy was wise, and wondered to himself if indeed she was not the same girl. But she was not.

  8:10 A.M.

  Freshman Residence Hall, University of Southern California, Los Angeles, California

  “You snore.”

  I hear the words, but my eyes won’t open. I don’t even know where I am; only that something is digging into my back.

  “Seriously,” the voice continues, “you’re like a freakin’ foghorn or something.”

  I stretch and my calf muscles cramp up. The pain is so sharp that my eyes snap open. Matt towers over me. He doesn’t look happy.

  “We are so not sharing a room on this trip, understand?”

  I nod vacantly.

  “Fine. As long as we’re agreed on that.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his cell phone, and drops it next to my head. “You’d better call that Colin guy to let him know.”

  That really gets my attention. I don’t want to ask Colin for more money already. Besides, it’s Sunday morning. He’s probably at church.

  “Why didn’t you wake me?” I ask.

  Matt narrows his eyes. “You’re the star of the show, Luke. I’m just the chauffeur. Plus…” His voice trails off.

  “What?”

  “I feel bad about my car breaking down. I called Mom and Dad earlier to say you got here okay, and they asked about the signing. I probably should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I told them we were late and… well, let’s just say they didn’t exactly see the funny side.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Maybe not. But the mechanic warned me my car was on life support. I just couldn’t afford to get it fixed. I should’ve gotten us a taxi.” He shrugs. “Anyway, it won’t happen again. This tour is a big deal, so we’ll get a rental car with the top AAA coverage and everything.”

  “Thanks, Matt. That’s really… Hold on. Who’s paying for the rental car?”

  Matt reaches down and presses a button on his cell phone. “Go ahead. I’ve already got Colin on speed dial.”

  I grab the phone, and hear Colin’s husky voice: “Luke, is that you?” He doesn’t sound as patient as he did last night. I can even hear a voice in the background—probably his pastor giving the sermon. Or perhaps it’s more than one voice—a choir singing. “Luke?”

  “Uh, yeah. Look, I’m really sorry to bother you, but my brother says he won’t sleep with me.”

  There’s silence on the other end. I overhear Colin telling someone to go ahead without him. I can’t believe he might be missing Communion because of me.

  “He won’t sleep with you?” repeats Colin slowly.

  “That’s right.”

  “Are you sure it’s me you should be calling?”

  “I think so. Who else can give me permission to get separate hotel rooms? He says I snore.”

  “Oh!” Colin chuckles, a sound like dislodged phlegm. “Yeah, yeah, Luke. Sure, whatever, that’s fine.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. I take it you slept well though, right?”

  “I guess.”

  “You guess? Finest room in Pasadena and you guess?” Colin clicks his tongue. “Well, just don’t go all diva on me, okay?”

  I wonder if we’re having different conversations, or if he just has a weird sense of humor.

  “Uh, okay. Although… well, there’s something else too. My brother’s car broke down last night, so we’ll need to rent one.”

  Colin pauses. “Oookay. That’s fine. Yeah, that’s completely fine.” Another pause. “Seriously now: Are you sure your brother’s up to this?”

  I glance at Matt. He’s slouching in his desk chair, sleep-deprived because I kept him awake. “Yes,” I say. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

  “Well, I’ve already heard you were late to yesterday’s event. Looked like crap too—I’ve seen the photos. If it weren’t for that miracle, I’d be giving you an earful right now.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. It was your first event. But you’ve got to arrive early from now on. An hour is good; gives you a chance to relax and chat to the booksellers. And whatever happens, stick to the schedule. We already factored in a free day tomorrow, but after that it’s one event per day. It’s a tough itinerary. And I still feel bad for bailing on the original plan—”

  “You shouldn’t. I know you’re heading out on tour tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, but I told you and your parents I’d be going on your tour, not Martha McCrawley’s.”

  “She’s a top author.”

  “And so are you. So if you’re worried, tell me now. None of the other publicists are available, but I’ll find you an escort in each city. It’s the least I can do.”

  I hadn’t really considered myself a top author before, and it’s true that someone with knowledge of the tour stops would be helpful. But I’ve already asked for so much from Colin. Besides, everything that has gone wrong so far has been an accident.

  “We’ll be okay, Colin. Really.”

  “All right. Then get the car, reserve an extra room, and make sure your brother knows that schedule by heart. If your events continue to be overcrowded, I might have to do some last-minute venue switching too, in which case I’ll call you on this phone, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Good. One more thing: While I’m on the road, I won’t always be available. So as far as these expenses go, I trust you to keep them reasonable.” He laughs suddenly, so loud that I wonder what the rest of the congregation thinks. “You wrote Hallelujah, for Christ’s sake, you know?”

  I expect to hear outraged cries from Colin’s fellow churchgoers, but there’s no sound at all.

  “Well,” he continues, “I’d love to stay and chat, but there’s three guys waiting for me to tee off. And we’ve still got sixteen holes to go, plus a date with José Cuervo, so…”

  “Oh, sure.”

  He hangs up without saying good-bye.

  Matt crosses the room and sits on the edge of my bed. He taps Colin’s credit card against his palm. “This
is going to be a busy week, Luke. So why don’t you leave all the crap to me? Buying food, paying for gas, checking in with the parents—I can take care of it.”

  “Okay. I’d appreciate that.”

  Matt gives me a thumbs-up and heads for the door. I’m dozing again before it closes behind him.

  10:55 A.M.

  Freshman Residence Hall, University of Southern California, Los Angeles, California

  I have a signing at one p.m. Two hours ought to be enough to get anywhere in L.A., but after yesterday’s debacle, I’m not so sure.

  Matt strides in carrying a box of doughnuts and a cup of coffee. Sweat glistens on his forehead. When he opens the box, I can see the residue of the four doughnuts he has already eaten.

  “Man, it’s hot out there,” he groans. “And don’t get me started on finding a rental car on Sunday morning. Seriously, everywhere was closed. We go on and on about separation of church and state, then shut down half the country for religious stuff.” He looks up suddenly. “No offense.”

  “What do you mean, no offense?”

  “I’m just saying… Here, have a coffee: white, one sugar. And a doughnut. You must be hungry.”

  I am hungry, and I’m dying for the coffee. But I can’t help glancing at my watch.

  Matt tsks. “I’ll get you to your signing, all right? I’ve taken care of everything now, so there won’t be any hold-ups.”

  “What did you need to take care of?”

  “The rental car and stuff.”

  “What stuff?”

  “Just… stuff.”

  He pushes the box at me, so I take a doughnut and wash it down with the coffee.

  “Good, huh?” he says. “Right, so now the bad news. I went to pick up your cases, but someone had broken into the car and taken them.”

  I choke on the doughnut. By the time I manage to stop coughing, Matt’s already heading toward the door.

  I grab my backpack and follow. “What do you mean—taken?”

  “Stolen.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know—probably jimmied the locks.” He pulls the door closed behind us. “I’m not thrilled about it either, but it was just books, right? Worst-case scenario, we’ll claim on your travel insurance and buy some more copies. It’ll make your sales look great.”

  “So you’re a business major now?”

  Matt ignores the sarcasm and hurries along the corridor. He takes the stairs two at a time, and it’s all I can do to keep up with him. At the bottom of the staircase I see a Camry parked outside. It’s decadent, but at least it’s not the hulking yellow Hummer in the neighboring spot.

  The car reminds me of the previous evening, and running several miles. I glance at my watch again.

  Matt stops beside the Camry. “Will you please stop looking at your watch? Anyway, what are you worried about? On The Pastor Mike Show you said this was a pilgrimage.”

  “What? No. Pastor Mike said that.”

  “Uh, no. Definitely you.” Matt looks puzzled. “You have seen the interview, right? I mean, you said some pretty interesting things.”

  “No. Mom and Dad only get basic cable.”

  “Ever heard of YouTube?”

  “We don’t have Internet access either.”

  “Still?” Matt shakes his head. “Do they have any idea how weird that is?”

  “It’s not weird. They just like to keep things simple.”

  “Pretending the twenty-first century hasn’t started doesn’t keep things simple.”

  If I weren’t so hung up about my bags being stolen, I’d probably agree. “It’s fine. I just use the computers at school.”

  “During summer break?” He’s got me there. “Listen, bro. It’s okay to criticize Mom and Dad. Sure, they love us, and they’re supportive and stuff—doesn’t mean they’re right about everything. They wouldn’t let me play football because it’s too violent, but they’ve sent you off on tour without even giving you a cell phone. In some states, that constitutes child endangerment.” He pulls out the car key. “You appeared on national TV, bro, and you haven’t even been able to check out your Oscar-winning performance yet. That’s just wrong. Hey, maybe you can watch it on Alex’s laptop when we pick you up from the signing.”

  “What do you mean, Oscar— Wait! Alex will be at the signing?”

  “No. We’ll meet you after, once we’ve packed all her stuff into the car.”

  “Alex is coming on tour with us?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t Mom and Dad tell you?”

  “No. I thought it was just us.”

  I turn away to hide my disappointment. When I pull the passenger door handle, I set off the alarm.

  “What are you doing?” Matt cries.

  “Opening the door,” I shout over the wailing alarm.

  “That’s not our car. You think all Alex’s stuff is going to fit in there?”

  “So which one is ours?”

  Matt presses a button on his key and the Hummer’s doors unlock with a click.

  12:05 P.M.

  Somewhere in north Los Angeles, California (I can see the Hollywood sign)

  The Hummer has leather seats and an interior that’s more luxurious than any vehicle I’ve ever seen. It is quite possibly the most inappropriate form of transportation Matt could have chosen.

  It’s also quiet, but I won’t break the icy silence. I want Matt to know I’m annoyed about the Alex situation, and my cases being stolen. Even though the coffee he gave me was excellent.

  After twenty minutes, Matt pulls up at a large store with a bright neon sign proclaiming that this is THE CHRISTIAN WAREHOUSE.

  Matt points at the sign. “The Christian Warehouse, where you can buy new and used Christians at or below invoice price.” He busts out laughing.

  “Have some respect, Matt,” I say quietly. “It’s Sunday.”

  “I know, Luke.” He’s serious again. “The Sabbath. The Day of Rest,” he says in a deep voice like he’s narrating a movie trailer. “So what the hell are you doing selling your books on a Sunday? Or is this a ruse? Maybe you’re planning to hop in there and overturn a few tables instead, huh?”

  “I didn’t make the schedule. I asked Colin not to arrange anything for Sunday, but he said I should think of it as kind of like a Bible study group.”

  “And you bought that?” Matt shakes his head and points to the handle on my door. “I’ll be back in a couple hours. Break a leg.”

  He takes off as soon as the door latches behind me.

  I’m early, thank goodness, but that doesn’t mean I’m first to arrive. Large groups are congregating in the parking lot, exchanging hugs and kisses as though a Sunday event is the social high point of their weekend. Come to think of it, I’m kind of jealous—that’s how church used to feel to me.

  I keep my head down and push through the main doors. As I approach the help desk a middle-aged guy darts forward and clasps my right hand. It still aches from all the autographs last night, but I try not to grimace.

  “Luke, Luke, Luke,” he says. “My name is Bradley, and I am humbled by your presence.”

  I’m not exactly comfortable about him being humbled, but I nod and extricate my hand. Meanwhile, people are gravitating toward me like I’m the last remaining human in a zombie movie. “Is there somewhere I can sit?” I ask.

  “Sure. Follow me.”

  Bradley leads me to the staff room, and then disappears for half an hour. By the time he returns, I’m getting nervous.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  I smile ambivalently and follow him through the door. The crowd is staggering: At least two hundred people are crammed into a corner of the store, and only half of them are sitting. Thunderous applause accompanies me all the way up to the tiny stage.

  Bradley begins by telling everyone who I am (“as if you don’t know”) and reminding them to get a copy of my book (“a life-changing read”). When it’s my turn to speak, I have no idea what to say.

  He only waits a mome
nt before throwing me a lifeline. “So, Luke, can you tell us how you came to write this wonderful book?”

  Okay, this I can answer. As long as I remember to breathe.

  “Yes, um… so, Andy—he’s the pastor at my church—asked everyone from the youth group to write modern-day parables for the kids in Sunday school…”

  A lady at the front is adjusting her hearing aid. I need to slow down.

  “And so I wrote a few, and some longer passages too, and before long I’d filled a hundred pages. It only took a few days. And Andy really liked the first few pages, and said I should keep going. So I did. Well, until church retreat, anyway. It was harder there. But I still kept going until I had nothing left to say…”

  There are a lot of furrowed brows. People look as though they’re being asked to follow the complex plot of a psychological thriller. I really should have rehearsed this.

  “At the end of the retreat I gave the first part of the book to Andy, and he made all these great comments. So I gave him the rest. But what I didn’t know is that Andy went to theology school with Pastor Mike. Well, he mailed a copy to Pastor Mike, who said he liked it too, and told me about some publishers that might be interested in it. Turns out he was right, because one of them offered to publish the book, and they even gave me an advance—”

  “How much?” someone calls out.

  No one approves of the interruption, but no one tells me not to answer either.

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “My parents put it in a trust fund for me. They said it’d pay for most of freshman year if I go to Mizzou… most of the first month if I go to Duke.”

  Everyone laughs. I hadn’t meant it to be a joke—it’s what my parents actually said—but the laughter takes the edge off the atmosphere.

  “Anyway,” I continue, “Hallelujah is out there now, and it seems as though people like it. It’s kind of amazing, actually. I hadn’t expected any of this.”

  There are several raised hands, so I guess my introductory remarks are officially over. Bradley passes a microphone to the woman nearest him.