20. Not a Tourist Trip
1198 Words
Sally-Anne
Year: 1983 1st of August around 1:30am Monday, Summer.
Guy filled the car, used the restroom and had a smoke before bringing two big cups of coffee back to the car. He handed me one, putting his in the cup holder. I gave my thanks before taking a sip.
“Why don’t you smoke in the car? I can tell you normally do.”
“Another gateway question, huh? You know you don’t have to do that.”
“I’m not doing anything.” I shrugged, sure it wasn’t the main question I wanted to ask but I was curious.
“Don’t f*****g lie to me, I’ve been a real gent answering all your questions Sally-Anne so I think it’s only fair you spare me a little honesty here. Why do you keep starting conversations with some dumb ass bullshit that don’t mean squat? You’re on a count down to the end of your existence and you want to know why I’m not f*****g smoking in the God damn car? Because you’re f*****g in here. Jesus Christ it would be like holding your head over a bonfire and I’m trying not to be a d**k!” His knuckles had turned white gripping the steering wheel and he sounded really angry. Guy had turned a vivid shade of red as he practically snarled each world at me.
“Am I in trouble?” I asked quietly leaning away, I could taste his anger in the air and I didn’t understand why he was so mad.
Guy looked at me then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. With his eyes still closed and in a calm voice he said “You’re not in trouble, so please stop crying, and just answer me.”
I couldn’t help but look down, nervously fidgeting with the coffee cup.
“Some of the questions I want to ask are hard.” I mumbled. “Hard for me, it’s nice to ask a simple one every now and then, makes me sort of forget why I’m here ya know, pretending that I’m normal.” I glanced at him only to find he was watching me.
“Thanks ‘ppreciate you sharing.” He said flatly.
“You curse a lot.” I told him, pouting a little. I'd never heard anyone curse so much, I was pretty sure he had been trying his best not to as well, for the most part he had succeeded and I had to give him his due.
“Ye.” He snorted. “I do curse a lot.”
We sat in silence outside the gas station. I drained my coffee cup much quicker than I intended but couldn’t bring myself to put it down. It might have only been my imagination that it still held a semblance of warmth but it was comforting nonetheless. Additionally it felt like holding it was some weird buffer for the awkward quiet inside the car. I was thinking of saying something when Guy wordlessly handed me his untouched cup of coffee and got out of the car. I watched as he walked back over to the kiosk and bought another two coffees. Internally I couldn’t help debating what to do, I wanted to down the one in my hand so I was ready for the fresh one but what if it wasn’t for me? What if they were both for him then I would be sitting here with no coffee, lusting after his. It seemed such a stupid concern and so petty; except that it almost wasn’t coffee I was thinking about even though I was trying very hard for it to be exactly what I was thinking about.
By the time I had processed these mad thoughts Guy was back at the car. He had left the door open but didn’t get in; instead he stooped down, holding one cup out to me and putting the other in the holder. Guy gave me a calculated look before pointing at the one in the holder.
“Mine.” Was all he said before he went to the driver side passenger door and started shifting some of the things on the backseat around. I didn’t look at what he was up to but focused on the two tantalising beverages before me. When he was done doing whatever he was doing, Guy got back in the car starting the engine before even closing the drivers’ door.
We had been back on the road for around 20min and I was halfway through my third cup when Guy cleared his throat.
“You out of questions now?” He asked sceptically.
“Umm not really.” I scratched at my head under the bandana.
“Well?!” Guy pushed when I said nothing else. I looked out into the night tapping the side of the cup, I could feel the remaining liquid reverberating inside. Nervousness seeped through me feeling like a spear of ice in my brain. I opened and closed my mouth a few times, not quite settling on how to say what I wanted to say but conscience time was running out.
“It’s a hard one.” Was all I could say in the end.
“Figured as much.” He stared out into the night watching the road intently.
“I, err, maybe we, um, perhaps,” I just had to get it out. I needed to say it before I couldn’t. “Can we make a stop?”
“You want me to pull over?” Guy looked seriously confused. I shook my head.
“You’ve been really nice to me and I know I don’t deserve it but I was hoping maybe...” I trailed off the rest of the sentence catching in my throat. Lord, this was hard.
“Spit it out Sally-Anne I’m losing patience here.”He said somewhat annoyed at my dithering.
“Would you take me to visit my parents? At the graveyard?” I clenched my jaw and stared straight ahead suddenly panicky over what his answer would be, I hated that I kinda wanted him to say no.
“No.” He replied resolutely.
“But why? Can I not like enter sacred ground or something?” Despite my appalling relief that he had denied me the questions still leapt right out.
“Because Sally-Anne this ain’t no sight seeing trip, I’m not driving outta the way and breaking into a graveyard at almost three in the morning so you can stare at some dirt.” Guy was firm in his words and a little exasperated but not entirely unkind.
I couldn’t help but start to sob, relief or grief or both. I wasn't sure but the deep seated misery had me tearlessly bawling. I brought my legs up, feet on the seat, hugging my knees.
“Shoes off the upholstery.” Guy reached over and tapped my ankle, his voice emotionless. I obeyed and continued sobbing the rest of the way, the well of misery becoming deeper with each mile closer we got to the place that had once been home but was now the foundation of my anguish.
- Writer
