Bodacious

by C. M. Lally

  I’m freshly showered and dressed when she walks into the trailer. The smell of bread toasting is heavy in the air. It’s one of my favorite smells in the world. “Good morning,” I greet her, determined not to let last night be awkward between us. “I’m ready to leave. Did you want to ride up front or stay back here?”

  “I think I’ll stay back here this morning. I can drive after we stop for lunch if you want?”

  “No one drives Colossus but me, but thanks for the offer. I appreciate it.” She narrows her eyes, and I swallow my toast along with the dread that forms in my throat.

  “What the hell does that mean? A woman can’t handle your big, manly truck with your backwater noisemakers in the muffler? I don’t need a penis to drive a truck. It’s just a truck— another vehicle with a steering wheel, an engine, and four wheels.”

  “Whoa, Doc. What the fuck?”

  “Don’t curse at me. I deserve better than that.

  “Jesus Christ, Noa. That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Where is this coming from? Last night gave me whiplash from your moods changes so quickly. Is this what your family does to you? I heard you talking to your sister. No wonder you left.”

  “Leave my family out of your macho issues. I can drive your stupid truck; the same as I can reconstruct a knee and repair a herniated disk in your back. I’m not ignorant.” She tightens the ponytail holder in her hair like she’s bracing for a fight.

  “Damn it, Noa. I never said you were. You’re the most intelligent woman I know. Where is this coming from?” Her eyes sear into mine. Tears are forming and threaten to fall like when my older sister gets really mad. Noa swipes at one of the tears as it dares to roll down her cheek.

  “Don’t curse at me. Be a better man than that.” She drops her yoga mat onto the floor by the table and uses her heels to push off her tennis shoes, kicking them to sit next to the mat.

  “Be a better man?” I place my plate in the sink and run some water over it to keep the smeared butter from sticking. I’ll clean it later. Right now, I need to leave before I say something I’m going to regret. I grab my coffee mug and open the door, turning to face her before I leave. “I don’t have you on my insurance. That’s why you can’t drive the truck. I never meant any disrespect to your skills as a female driver.” I click the lock and slam the door, effectively ending the argument for now.

  Maybe she’s tired or hung-over. Maybe she’s hungry, but there’s no doubt in my mind she’s been mentally abused. Hell, we’ve all got issues we need to work through.

  I know she’s running from her family and experiencing life on her own for the first time. It seems awfully late in the game for her to finally be adulting, but Hollywood families are dysfunctional and controlling. I’ve seen the Kardashians; that family is crazy.

  Be a better man? If only she knew I strive for that every day. I’m a work in progress, but hell, I thought everyone was.

  I reset the GPS for our final destination, pull out of the lot and drive— numb to the world from our morning fight.

  The beautiful drive through the Wyoming foothills clears my mind. A sense of guilt overwhelms me as I think back over the words we said to each other this morning. I still don’t know how it all went so wrong, but I feel the need to apologize. It’s obvious that whatever was on her mind was grinding her words and actions, but did I do enough to try to listen?

  The answer screaming in my brain is no. I just wanted to hurry up and get past it to the happy part where we’re laughing again. The first lesson learned is Noa has been hurt. Lesson number two is she cannot handle her alcohol. The third and final lesson for today is she doesn’t like cursing, so I’m going to have to mind my words.

  I fiddle with the radio buttons, trying to find some good music that will take my mind off her. It seems the radio stations only want to play commercials; fucking car insurance commercials that only remind me of our fight.

  Maybe some Eminem. I slide in my Recovery CD and punch track 11 for ‘Cinderella Man.’ The song ends, and I push the repeat button; letting it play a few times before I worry that I’m going to warp the disc on that one song. I hit eject and play the radio again, shaking my head at the stupid shit I worry about.

  I finally find a good station outside of Rapid City, but every commercial still seems to be car insurance. Maybe I’m overthinking this, but it seems like fate is talking to me and I need to listen.

  I pull out my phone and dial the 800 number for my insurance company. After a short wait for customer service, I connect with an agent and get Noa added to my policy. It’s only for a few short weeks I explain, and thankfully, they don’t ask me any questions that I don’t know the answers to. She’s added. Just like that.

  I hope she’s prepared for the monstrous rush of adrenaline she’s gonna feel when driving Colossus. I can’t wait to see her face light up when I hand her the keys. That alone makes me smile for the next eighty miles anticipating our lunch stop.

  Chapter 11 – Noa

  WHAT A WASTE OF THE past four hours. I sat down with the intention of reviewing the medical records of those riders who scheduled appointments with me in Sioux Falls, but instead, I’ve spent the time analyzing the heated exchange between Braxton and myself. I was such a bitch to him, and the sad part is that I don’t know why.

  He didn’t deserve the attack I started. I woke up with every intention of becoming re-centered today in my thoughts and actions. I was fine through my morning yoga, and then when I saw him, I ended up going more off-course with my biting accusations. Geez. I’m disappointed in myself.

  I need to focus. Maybe some coffee will help.

  One of the great things about Braxton’s trailer is that he loves coffee too. He’s got one of those cool automatic drip makers where you can choose your brew strength, and it drips into a stainless steel carafe to keep it warm away from the base. It also grinds the beans right into the mesh filter.

  I pour water into the reservoir and push the button to grind the beans, inhaling deeply. A body comes into my peripheral view, making me jump a little. It’s Braxton, staring at me with an impish smile on his face as I inhale the aroma of freshly ground coffee.

  “You scared me. Don’t sneak up a girl while she’s brewing some focus and determination.”

  “Ahh, is that what you were doing? Because it looked to me like you were inhaling all of the oxygen in the atmosphere as part of your wicked plan to rule the universe.”

  “Ha ha ha, very funny. My wicked plan to rule the universe would involve hypnotizing everyone through their social media. Oh, wait, Facebook and the iPhone have already done that. Plan B needs a few tweaks. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

  I pull two mugs from the cabinet and fill them both with a dab of butter and a little bit of MCT oil. They call it Bulletproof coffee. I know he likes his coffee just like I do, a funny coincidence we discovered when I saw the oil next to the coffeemaker. I push one towards him, making sure the handle is turned right for drinking.

  “You’re funny.” He sips his coffee, closing his eyes as it winds its way down past his bobbing Adam's apple and into his soul. “We are parked behind a Subway if you’re hungry. It’s well past lunchtime, I’m afraid, so I thought we’d make it a quick meal to stay on schedule.”

  “Sure. No problem.” I hand him a travel mug, and he dumps his coffee in it, placing it in the cab of the truck for our return.

  We return a short while later, and he stops at the camper door hesitating, his feet do a little nervous shuffle. He looks up at me and then back down, digging his hands into his front pockets like he wants to say something and doesn’t quite know how to word it.

  “What is it, Braxton? What’s on your mind?”

  “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier. You’d think I’d know how to communicate with women since I have an ex-wife, a mom, and four sisters, but I don’t.”

  “The female mind is not such a mysterious place, you know. It takes two people to communicate. I’d rather argue
with someone and let them know where I’m coming from than sit in silence and have to guess their thoughts.”

  “Noted.” He jangles his keys in his hands, rolling the metal ring around his index finger. “Listen, I got to thinking, and you’re right. As long as we are sharing this journey for the next few weeks, I can’t be expected to control the mode of transportation. So I called and had you added to my insurance temporarily.” He tosses the keys at my hands, but I’m still in shock from his words, and they fall to the hard pavement.

  He bends down to scoop them up, but I do too. Instead of bumping heads though, I end up kissing his cheek. Ah great! Now I look like a weirdo. “I’m so sorry.” A nervous laugh escapes my lips, and my hands rush up to cover them. “I didn’t mean to kiss you again.”

  “Noa. It’s okay. It was a sisterly kiss, as it should be.”

  “Well, thank you for the kind gesture. I’m also sorry about earlier. For lack of a better explanation, I meant to zig when I zagged. I do that. A lot. It’s a work hazard from being one of the few women in my office.”

  His face lifts to mine, and the sun catches the light brown tint of his hazel eyes. His eyes crinkle and that smile...oh, that smile. It widens, and I can’t help but smile back. Damn it— he’s glorious. And he’s also off limits. These next few weeks are going to be torture.

  “I know you were working earlier. I saw your computer open with what looked like medical records.”

  “Yeah, I was reviewing some records for my Sioux Falls appointments. I wasn’t getting very far though.”

  “Do you want a break to drive or not? I can still drive if you don’t want to.”

  “Are you kidding? It isn’t often that a girl from LA gets to control that much power at her fingertips. I’m all in.”

  “He’s 280 horsepower and nothing but grit and determination.”

  “Hmm, just like his owner. Hand me those keys.”

  I scoop the keys up from his open palm and practically run to the driver’s side. Colossus is a big boy. I hop up onto the running boards and propel myself into the two-toned cushioned leather seat. The seat slides forth easily, adjusting it for my leg length. I move the mirrors, as well, to accommodate for the blind spots. He sits in silence waiting for me to acclimate to the cab.

  “Wow. Those are huge side mirrors. I hope they’re still intact when we get to our destination.” I hit the left blinker and press the gas to move on out, not giving Brax a chance to panic at my last comment. He playfully makes the sign of the cross over his chest as I straighten the wheels out and enter the highway.

  We go about twenty miles before speaking. I think we both silently agreed that I need to familiarize myself with this truck. It is quite massive, and those damn glass packs, or whatever he calls them. They scare the crap out of me every time they go off. Boys and their toys.

  “So, I have an appointment with Wes first thing in the morning.”

  “Be careful around him, like I told you. He’s not right in the head most of the time. That’s probably because he’s been dumped on his head too many times.”

  “Why do you do it? Is it the adrenaline rush? It can’t be for the health benefits.”

  “I think everyone has their reasons. For me, it’s simply because I can. I’m good at it. It’s like when people say they’ve found their God-given talent. That’s exactly how I feel up there on the back of that bull.”

  “So, it has nothing to do with ‘controlling the beast within’ as some might guess?”

  “Not for me. I’m not much for controlling beasts. Now situations, that would be right up my alley, but that’s also not my talent, or I’d be higher up in the ranks.”

  “So, you believe in karma? Or fate is probably more like it?”

  “I believe in mind over matter. I also believe that I am the only one who can place limits on me. Ultimately, God controls this ball of dirt and water we all inhabit, but he also gave us the free will to control ourselves. He shares that power with us so why would we limit ourselves to small ideas.”

  I release a small laugh under my breath at his philosophy of life. I bet he doesn’t even realize he’s a Zen master of mind and spirit already. That’s probably why he’s always so calm in a situation. “You would be great at yoga if you ever wanted to try it with me.”

  “Nah. All that contorting makes me nervous. I’d hate to pop a tendon doing the Warrior Pose and not be able to ride.” A deep rumble of laughter rides up from my belly at the picture he painted in my mind.

  “ Contorting? I think you twist yourself on the back of that bull way more than you’d ever contort in a yoga pose. After last week, I’m surprised you guys aren’t wrapped like pretzels coming off your rides.”

  “There are nights where my spine feels like a pretzel twist.”

  “Those are the nights where it’s essential to do some yoga before sleeping. I promise. It will help immensely.”

  “You’ll have to show me some beginner moves so I don’t pull something I might need later.” He rubs his hand as close to his balls as possible without appearing lewd. He’s talking from experience and needs some guidance. My smile broadens as I re-focus on the road ahead of us and bite back some very inappropriate comments.

  I wonder if he plays games while traveling. Probably not since he’s usually driving alone, but who knows. He might do it when he travels with his son. I think about all the car games my sister and I used to play on our family vacations. Oh geez, the memories I have of her trying to cheat and me calling her out on it. Yep, that’s Monty.

  Should we play the license plate game? No, that’s no fun unless you're in a big city. We’ll probably never run into anyone from an A state here in South Dakota. Hmmm.

  We ride in silence a little longer, and it’s just about to kill me. I start to squirm in my seat causing the leather to creak. I better stop or a crack will form. I sneak side glances at him, but he’s playing some game on his phone with constant swipes up then down and side to side. I hope those aren’t Tinder swipes. I wonder if he uses Tinder? Jesus, Noa. Focus.

  In the distance, a bright red convertible has its top down, and both of the lady’s hair is blowing wild in the wind. Neither one of them is trying to contain it. Oh, to be that free someday! As the car gets closer and eventually passes, I see that it’s a Volkswagen Beetle and my impulses take over. I grip the steering wheel with my left arm firmly and punch Braxton in his arm with my right fist shouting “Slug Bug Red.”

  “Ooowww.” He rubs his bicep with his hand while I shake out my fist. How could I forget this arm is a rock wall? “You’ve got a strong arm on you for a doctor. I’m gonna have to change your nickname to Slugger.”

  “I like that better than Nosey Rosey.”

  “Why did you do that?” He’s still rubbing his arm like a bruise is going to form any second now and his rubbing will prevent it.

  “You’ve never played Slug Bug? You know, see a Volkswagen Beetle aka ‘Slug Bug’ and punch your sibling or whoever you’re riding with while shouting out the game and the color of the car?” He’s looking at me like I’m insane.

  “No, I haven’t. We didn’t travel or go on family vacations growing up. And where I’m from, people mostly drive trucks. I don’t think Volkswagen makes those.”

  My eyes drop from his as I read the lost little boy sadness on his face. I get the impression that Braxton raised himself, and suddenly I want to cry for that little boy who had to grow up too soon. Poverty sucks. It’s a thief to the human experience, and no child should have to live that way.

  “I’m sorry Braxton. I saw the red convertible bug coming at me, and it brought back a good childhood memory for me, and I thought I’d share the game with you.” I swallow the sadness and regret that built up in my throat as his eyes meet mine again. Tears form and I widen my eyes, forcing them back up into my eye sockets. Please don’t fall.

  “Hey.” He reaches out and touches my forearm. The heat of his one fingertip causes my flexor muscles to jump and twi
tch. “It’s okay. You just caught me off guard, that’s all. Not many people can do that, but you keep surprising me.”

  And the tears fall with that one statement.

  I drive for a distance looking to the left, not wanting him to see my wet cheeks until they’ve dried and cooled. I hate that about my face. Every time I cry, my skin turns the most embarrassing color of red. It’s not pretty, nor sexy and makes my freckles look like brown saucers hovering over angry, red mud.

  I look down at the GPS and see that we only have a few more miles to go. Sadness sweeps through me at the thought of this trip ending until after next weekend.

  There it is again. That feeling of falling too quickly. No matter how hard I try to put the brakes on, they seem to be failing because I keep falling for him. Just stick to the plan Noa. Finish the year. Help him become the Champion, then he’ll retire, and your contract will be up.

  ‘You have arrived at your destination” blares through the speakers at us, and both of our shoulders fall, neither one wanting the ride to end.

  I gently turn our long truck and trailer into the designated parking lot and see a few camps already set up. “Where should we park, Braxton?” I come to a complete stop, blocking the entrance/exit to the lot to take in the available spaces and decide on the best spot.

  “I usually park near the Harkins’, but I don’t see them here yet.” He stretches out his neck looking to the far corners of the lot for his friends. “Let’s park over there to the left. They’ll find us when they arrive.”

  It takes me a few minutes and a couple of times inching forward and then backing up again to get in-between the yellow parking space lines, but I did it. I’m proud of myself; this thing is a wing and a prayer to park.

  “There. I didn’t kill us.” He looks up at me from gathering his phone and charger cords. I slap my fingers together making a hashtag sign and say, “#badassdoctor” to which he rolls his eyes at me and smiles.