17.
Grod woke me up the next morning before dawn, and led me into the kitchen. I was still half-asleep, and began to teeter as Grod rummaged through the cupboards, my eyelids drooping back closed.
"Here, drink some of this stuff, it'll help you wake up." I floated back to consciousness to a strange poking in the middle of my back, and turned around. Grod was pointing at a blurry coffee-maker on the counter, and I stumbled over to it. "Yeah, man, I can almost taste that badass tequila already. Can you taste it, Paul?" He said, opening the fridge then opening all of the drawers to survey the contents. I shook my head. All I could taste was cold two-day old coffee.
Grod pulled out a granola bar and a diet coke. "Your stuff's in the car," he said as he brushed past me, "Let's go." I went back to my room to grab my bag, which was a laundry basket in which I had just thrown all of my possessions, but I couldn't find it.
I heard the horn honk and wasn't sure if it would be better to tell him I lost my stuff, or just forget about it. Grod hit the horn once more, this time letting it moan with his annoyance for several seconds. I gave up and ran out the kitchen entrance, still holding my cup of coffee. Grod was sitting in the car with the engine and lights on, and he beeped the horn again as I ran over to the passenger's door.
"My bag..." I began, hoping I wouldn't need to finish the sentence. I was lucky.
"It's already in the trunk." Grod's face lightened a little. "Better get comfortable, I plan on making it to the border by midnight." He backed out of the driveway and we started out in silence.
As usual, Grod drove with the pedal to floor for hours at a time, stopping only at my request for food or to piss. I awoke in the car around ten that evening to hear Grod screaming. At first I tried painfully to put my thoughts in order and figure out what I was doing wrong, but it soon became apparent that he was neither angry nor directing his words at me.
"What do you say, baby?" he yelled, looking past me to the right. Before I could follow his gaze our car bolted left, off the road, as Grod swerved to barely avoid an oncoming car. He pulled back into the oncoming traffic lane, driving beside a yellow convertible going just as fast as him. The beautiful young blond who was driving it looked slightly annoyed. She shook her head no, in the manner of someone who has been shaking their head no for a long time. Grod pounded a fist on the dashboard. "Come on," he shouted, weaving closer to her car and taking his attention off the road completely again. "I'm a god, I can give you money, infinite life, whatever you want!" The woman ignored him, and began to speed away from us. Grod pulled back into the normal lane behind her and cursed. "Fine, bitch," he yelled at her vehicle, and began to accelerate, but she had too much of a head start, and he gave up, settling back down to 100 miles per hour.
I didn't make any comment, and for awhile Grod drove silently, glaring ahead over the car's hood as the yellow convertible faded to a dot on the horizon, then disappeared.
"Here, drink some of this stuff, it'll help you wake up." I floated back to consciousness to a strange poking in the middle of my back, and turned around. Grod was pointing at a blurry coffee-maker on the counter, and I stumbled over to it. "Yeah, man, I can almost taste that badass tequila already. Can you taste it, Paul?" He said, opening the fridge then opening all of the drawers to survey the contents. I shook my head. All I could taste was cold two-day old coffee.
Grod pulled out a granola bar and a diet coke. "Your stuff's in the car," he said as he brushed past me, "Let's go." I went back to my room to grab my bag, which was a laundry basket in which I had just thrown all of my possessions, but I couldn't find it.
I heard the horn honk and wasn't sure if it would be better to tell him I lost my stuff, or just forget about it. Grod hit the horn once more, this time letting it moan with his annoyance for several seconds. I gave up and ran out the kitchen entrance, still holding my cup of coffee. Grod was sitting in the car with the engine and lights on, and he beeped the horn again as I ran over to the passenger's door.
"My bag..." I began, hoping I wouldn't need to finish the sentence. I was lucky.
"It's already in the trunk." Grod's face lightened a little. "Better get comfortable, I plan on making it to the border by midnight." He backed out of the driveway and we started out in silence.
As usual, Grod drove with the pedal to floor for hours at a time, stopping only at my request for food or to piss. I awoke in the car around ten that evening to hear Grod screaming. At first I tried painfully to put my thoughts in order and figure out what I was doing wrong, but it soon became apparent that he was neither angry nor directing his words at me.
"What do you say, baby?" he yelled, looking past me to the right. Before I could follow his gaze our car bolted left, off the road, as Grod swerved to barely avoid an oncoming car. He pulled back into the oncoming traffic lane, driving beside a yellow convertible going just as fast as him. The beautiful young blond who was driving it looked slightly annoyed. She shook her head no, in the manner of someone who has been shaking their head no for a long time. Grod pounded a fist on the dashboard. "Come on," he shouted, weaving closer to her car and taking his attention off the road completely again. "I'm a god, I can give you money, infinite life, whatever you want!" The woman ignored him, and began to speed away from us. Grod pulled back into the normal lane behind her and cursed. "Fine, bitch," he yelled at her vehicle, and began to accelerate, but she had too much of a head start, and he gave up, settling back down to 100 miles per hour.
I didn't make any comment, and for awhile Grod drove silently, glaring ahead over the car's hood as the yellow convertible faded to a dot on the horizon, then disappeared.
Imagine how surprised I was forty five minutes later when we passed her burning, upturned vehicle on the road. Grod noticed my interest in the scene and put his hand on my shoulder to draw my attention away from it. He pointed to the empty road ahead. “Won’t be long now, kid."
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© 2006 Ian Blake & Marshall Scott
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