Ren: The Monster's Adventure

by Sarah Noffke

  “That isn’t your size at all,” Dahlia says with a laugh, holding up a suit jacket that would fit a penguin.

  Adelaide grabs the jacket and checks the tag. Her and Lucien’s room is just adjacent to ours and apparently being in a closed-in space for hours on end isn’t enough for the girl.

  “That’s Lucien’s size,” she says.

  “What did you tell your shopper?” I say to Dahlia.

  She’s giggling now. “I might have said the monster got all his clothes eaten by goats, but to my defense that’s how you’ve often referred to yourself. She must have thought I meant Lucien.”

  “Oh, and why be bloody specific when it’s me benefitting,” I say.

  “I’m sorry, Ren. I didn’t think she’d mix it up when I ordered a batch of suits, not onesies,” she says.

  “And I didn’t get my clothes eaten. If I remember correctly, which I always do, the mistake-maker left the door to the automobile open,” I say, pointing to Adelaide.

  She’s giggling now too because she obviously wants to die.

  “Well, I’m now on day two and no clean clothes,” I say, my rage like a bull about to charge.

  “Well, this is an adventure,” Dahlia sings.

  “Yes, and how do those clean clothes feel?” I say, pointing at her crisp linen pants and silk shirt. “If you want to join the adventure then you should go roll around in the dirt.”

  I’m still wearing the wrinkled button-down sans tie and my trousers refuse to relinquish all the sand from the beach.

  “We will just stop at a store and buy you clothes,” Dahlia says.

  “I don’t want a tie-dyed suit or whatever other rubbish they sell in this granola town. I want Armani,” I say, and catch the eye roll Adelaide releases at my demand.

  “Well, I’m afraid they probably don’t have Armani in San Luis Obispo. This place is nicknamed SLO for a reason,” Dahlia says, trying to sound sympathetic but it’s just making me more livid.

  “Fine. Call your personal shopper again and this time be fucking specific. I want those clothes sent to our next hotel room first thing,” I say and Dahlia, who is more and more not acting like herself, salutes at me.

  “Here,” I say, shoving the box of clothes in Adelaide’s direction. “Go ahead and take these for Lucien. He’s the only other intelligent person in this lot and now he can look it.”

  She’s suppressing a laugh but I don’t care at this point.

  I stare around. “Where is Lucien, by the way?”

  “I thought you had him,” Adelaide says, staring around the floor of the hotel.

  “What?” I almost yell.

  Then she burst into the laugh she’d been repressing. “I put him in the closet with some toys so I could get ready,” she says, combing her fingers through her long red hair.

  “You did what?” I say and I do yell now.

  She waves me off. “He’s fine. I left the light on and he likes small spaces.”

  I march through to the room adjoining ours and whip open the closet door. There I find Lucien sitting on the hotel floor and chewing on the holy bible, probably the one the hotel leaves in the bedside table to try and convert all us heathens.

  I tug the bible out of Lucien’s reluctant grasp. “Toys,” I say, holding the bible up in front of Adelaide’s face.

  She laughs. “Yeah, it’s like one long joke. And it’s the only the thing I could find for him to play with.”

  “Have you tried a ball or an action figure?” I say.

  “The toys were in the snack bag that someone forgot.” She says the last part loudly and in Dahlia’s direction.

  ***

  We are on the road for two bloody minutes when I turn to find Dahlia eggshell white. Her hands are clutching the steering wheel like her life depends on a sharp grip.

  “Dahlia,” I say, leaning forward and taking her in. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she lies and then tucks her chin like she’s trying to hold something in.

  “Dahlia,” I say, my tone cautious.

  Then she wraps one arm around her stomach and says, “I might be feeling a bit ill.”

  “Oh, for fuck sake! I can’t say I’m surprised after you ate fish tacos served by a half-naked surfer,” I say.

  “That’s why I didn’t want to say anything. I don’t want you gloating about being right,” she says.

  “But I am, aren’t I?” I say.

  “I feel fine,” Adelaide chirps from the back.

  “Shut up, you poor decision maker,” I yell back to her. “Now go ahead and pull over,” I say, angling to the side of the road.

  “Why?” Dahlia says, but as dutiful as ever slows the car and guides it onto the shoulder.

  “Because you’re in no position to drive,” I say.

  “So what are we going to do?” she says, throwing the car into park.

  “I’m going to drive,” I say, opening the door. “Trade me spots.”

  “But Ren, you don’t know how to drive,” she says.

  “I’m a fucking genius who has been watching you do it for a whole day. I dare say I have the science of driving down better than most by this point,” I say.

  She nods, looking greener now.

  ***

  As I suspected, I figured out how to drive just fine by watching Dahlia yesterday. I’m a master of observation and my photographic memory catalogues everything. I have the car easily speeding down the highway in no time. It’s not a fun experience but there is a charm to the whole thing. Probably makes a lowly Middling feel powerful to operate a giant machine. For me, it’s rather dull. I’ve actually driven one other car in my life. When I was fifteen I stole a Bentley. However, because of Jimmy’s incessant cackling I wrecked the thing into a pile of hay on the side of something that hardly classified as a road in Peavey. A small smile surfaces at the long ago memory. That chap and I had a lot of fun together in our almost seventeen years as friends. But then, as I always joked, he went and got himself killed.

  “Ren,” Dahlia says, grabbing my arm. “You’ve got a cop on your tail.”

  “What?” I say, looking in the rearview mirror. There just behind me is another SUV, but this is one white and black with red flashing lights going off on its top. “What the fuck?”

  “You’re going ninety,” Dahlia informs me.

  I spy the speedometer. “So it looks like I am,” I say.

  “That’s illegal,” Dahlia says.

  I shake my head. “Oh, I’ve got this covered,” I say, slowing the vehicle and pulling it over.

  A police officer who has no discernible features approaches on Dahlia’s side. He has the most forgettable face. Regular everything. Nothing unique about his nose, mouth, or chin. It all just is. Dahlia rolls down her window.

  “I clocked you doing eighty-five back there, sir,” the guy says.

  “I think it was over ninety,” I say.

  “Well, then that will increase the fine,” the guy says. “Now I’ll need your license and insurance.”

  Dahlia looks from me to the police officer, who is studying the life-ruiners in the back seat.

  I’m just about to tell him that Adelaide is a runaway I picked up when Dahlia opens the glove box and hands over the insurance paperwork.

  It’s only fun to use mind control on the bloke if I first get myself into a real bad predicament.

  “Here you go, sir,” Dahlia says.

  “I don’t have a driver’s license. This is actually my first real experience driving,” I say.

  “And the girl in the back I picked up in San Luis Obispo. She said she stole the baby and offered it to us in exchange for money for meth. I think you should frisk her.”

  The guy peels off his glasses. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to step out of the car.”

  “And I’m going to have to tell you to fuck off,” I say, actually enjoying this. The whole trip has lacked this opportunity to berate someone. And it’s been entirely too long since I’ve used my cont
rol or hypnosis. Like an addict, I’ve been trying to cut back. Just so I can say I’m able to.

  The policeman lays his hand on his gun, pinned in the holster.

  Finally a little fun.

  “Sir, again I’m going to ask you to step out of the vehicle,” Copper says.

  I’m just about to turn on the mind control when Dahlia plucks off her large black shades.

  “Oh, Officer, I’m sorry, my new chauffeur has an awful sense of humor. He’s British and fresh off the boat. Reynold doesn’t get how poor his jokes are to polite Americans,” she says.

  “What?” I say, gawking at Dahlia as she commences to remove her disguise by pulling off her large hat. She still looks ill but beautiful and definitely recognizable.

  “W-w-wait,” the guy stutters. “You’re Dahlia.”

  Oh, here we go. “You’re Dahlia,” I mock in a childlike voice to the steering wheel.

  “I happen to be, and you are?” she says, extending a hand to the guy.

  “I’m Officer Hodges,” he says, throwing a dumb finger to his name badge.

  “That’s a repugnant name,” I say, now realizing there’s no fun to be had. Dahlia had to intervene and use her celebrity status.

  “Pleasure to meet you, Officer Hodges,” Dahlia says. “And thank you for your service to our community.”

  The guy pulls his police officer’s hat off his head and giggles like a dumb school girl. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  “Now I’m just on my way to an appearance,” Dahlia says.

  “No, she’s not,” I say. “Dahlia is lying. She’s on vacation.”

  “Reynold,” Dahlia says. “I’ve told you before that your job is to drive and my job isn’t to make you a comedian.” Then she turns to the officer. “Everyone is always trying to use me to break into the business. This guy wants me to introduce him to an agent,” she says, pointing to me.

  “Oh, I’m sure you’ve got all sorts of people riding your coattails. You’re Dahlia,” Officer Nobody says.

  “You’re Dahlia,” I mock again. “Dahlia happens to be smuggling a bunch of illegal marijuana in the back.”

  Dahlia turns to the cop. “It’s true, but it’s just so I can deliver this medical-grade drug to a bankrupt nursing home up north. Most of the residents suffer from an ailment and the pain can be relieved by the drug.”

  The man smiles widely. “A wonderful artist and a humanitarian,” he says. “I believe it and I will keep the life-changing drugs a secret between us,” he says, putting a finger to his lips with a repulsive wink.

  She glides a finger to her own lips. “Between us, Officer Hodges.”

  “Well, you all better be on your way. An important mission awaits you,” he says, stepping back away from the SUV.

  I consider telling him there are dead bodies in the back but Dahlia will find a way to have him dismiss that too.

  “Bye now,” he says and waves us off.

  I peel out, screeching the tires and clouding the guy in a dust storm. When the vehicle is at ninety I turn on the cruise control.

  “Are you happy now?” I say to the road but it’s directed at Dahlia.

  “One hundred percent,” she says.

  “Well played, my dear,” I say.

  “I wanted you to realize that in some ways I’m just as powerful and manipulative as you,” she says.

  “Oh, I know, believe me, I know,” I say and smile at the woman beside me who never stops giving me reasons to love her.

  Chapter Nine

  “Can you stick a cracker in his mouth or something?” I yell back to Adelaide. Lucien has been blabbering on for an hour alternating between sounds bordering on crying and incoherent ramblings. Toddlers really are daft with their inexperience and lack of communication skills. They all need to fucking grow up.

  “I’m trying. He’s tired of being locked in the car. There doesn’t seem to be any way to appease him. He keeps chucking all my distractions back at me,” she says, holding up a magazine.

  “Shocking, he doesn’t read Time magazine,” I say, wanting to ram Adelaide’s side of the car into the vehicle I’m passing. Now I know why mums in minivans are such bloody awful drivers. They are being driven insane by their passengers who are probably talking nonstop, dripping juice all over the upholstery, and thinking of ways they can waste more of their parents’ hard-earned money.

  “Look, there’s a turn-off just up ahead. It seems like a popular stop,” Dahlia says, pointing to a parking lot adjacent to the ocean.

  We’ve been winding our way along the PCH, the girls taking the liberty of telling me the view I’m missing on the left.

  “I’ve seen the whole fucking world,” I finally informed Adelaide after she tried to describe the Pacific Ocean to me.

  “So does that mean there’s nothing that excites you anymore? There’s no new sights for you?” she said, always trying to find my buttons.

  “Pretty much. I’m fairly certain I’ve seen it all,” I said smugly.

  “Well then maybe you should off yourself. You’ll be leaving some resources on this earth for the rest of us who have yet to take in every experience this world has to offer,” she said.

  “Nope,” I said. “This world would spiral into a black hole without me on it.”

  “That’s the elephant seals sanctuary,” Adelaide informs us. She’s reading from a map and along with describing the landscape has been telling me of each upcoming road and point of interest based on her map. She’s lucky I’m such a tolerant and patient man.

  I pull the SUV off the road and find a parking space without nearly killing anyone. “You see, that’s how it’s done. That’s how you park a car,” I inform Dahlia.

  “Thank you, Reynold, my chauffeur,” she says, sliding out of the car.

  The smell of seal shit is strong in the ocean air, overwhelming the usually salty breeze.

  “Elephant seals stink,” Adelaide says, pinching her nose.

  “You should hear what they say about you,” I say.

  “You’re so immature,” she says to me, taking Lucien’s hands and leading him a bit from behind. His unsure feet wobble over the rock parking lot.

  “You keep doing that and he’s going to figure out how to walk,” I say.

  “Well, it is kind of a life skill so excuse me for bestowing knowledge on my son,” Adelaide says.

  “Oh, now you’ve decided to be a real parent. No more locking him in closets, is that it?” I say.

  “You two are ridiculous,” Dahlia says, sidling up beside me, wrapping a shawl around her head and then neck. I’m not sure who she thinks she’s fooling with her disguises but we will have to hope that the crowd of people peering over the fence up ahead are dumb as seals.

  “Well, that’s not what I expected to see. Those things are ugly,” Adelaide says.

  “They’re probably saying the same thing about you,” I say, staring over the fence at the creatures which are prehistoric in appearance. Some are huge, easily the size of a car, and others more the size of a motorcycle. Their bodies resemble seals but they have small trunks on their faces and make enough racket to wake the bloody dead.

  “Have you ever seen anything like that?” Adelaide says, her focus on me and not the three dozen seals lounging on the beach. Nor is she paying attention to the child who is reaching through the chain-link fence and pulling vegetation from the earth.

  “No, I haven’t actually,” I say, realizing it’s true. I’m having a rare new experience and it’s been so long that I feel the neural pathways making new networks. Wow, it kind of feels exhilarating after everything I’ve experienced lately to witness something new.

  “Well, looky there, there are things that you’ve yet to see and experience. You may not be a know-it-all after all,” Adelaide says smugly.

  “It’s true. Like I’ve yet to experience you keep your trap closed for more than a few minutes,” I say.

  A nearby family catches our banter. The mum turns, giving me a displease
d look. Then her gaze shifts to Dahlia and I instantly notice recognition dawning on her. She hasn’t figured it out yet but the pieces are starting to lock together.

  “We are going,” I say, tugging Dahlia’s arm.

  “But we just got out of the car,” my obtuse daughter says.

  “And now we are going,” I say, angling my head at the crowd. Thankfully she catches my hint and nods. “Unless you want to stay and make a life as an elephant seal. You’d fit right in. You’re loud, funny-looking, and lazy as bloody hell.”

  Dahlia has slid into the driver’s seat by the time I arrive at the car, after delivering a few more insults to Adelaide.

  “You’re driving?” I say. “Are you up for that?”

  “I’ll make it work. Otherwise your driving is going to give me a heart attack,” she says.

  “Whatever,” I say. These women are thoroughly ungrateful.

  Chapter Ten

  “Ren, you’re supposed to be on vacation,” Trey says when he picks up the phone, confusion in his voice. “Is everything all right?”

  “It’s fine. But you and Dahlia have the same poor education in vocabulary. Vacations are supposed to be relaxing and that is not how I’d describe this hellish excursion,” I say.