I nod, willing my mind to ignore how far apart we are. I need a break from myself, and this is the closest I’ll get to taking one. We pick up my car from the parking lot at Arnie’s without stopping in to say hi. I think we both know our getaway plan will fade fast if we lose momentum.
Back at Justin’s, he throws things in a duffle bag, quickly, like the house will burn to ashes around us if we don’t get out.
And then, we’re gone.
— Chapter 36 —
Justin has terrible taste in music. I’m almost offended he likes my songs so much. The broken tape deck in my car wasn’t even a problem for him, because he brought his boom box, so we could listen to his ten thousand mixtapes that are a jumble of songs by the same five shitty college radio bands in slightly different order. He can’t read a map. He won’t pee on the side of the road, and he’s an endless pit of hunger. He’s the opposite of practical.
Here’s what Justin gets at our first gas station stop: pork rinds, a jumbo bag of pizza-flavored Combos, two giant slushies （blue and red, because why should we have to choose）， couple Cokes for later, Fruit Stripe gum, and a Zagnut bar with a wrapper that’s sun-faded and dusty, because he’s never seen one before. He swears he’s not going to eat it. It’s just because the word Zagnut is funny.
Here’s what I get: thirteen gallons of gas.
Most of what I eat is convenience store food. It’s not amusing. It’s just convenient. I have a hard time holding my tongue about how he chewed up good daylight laboring over his junk food choices. But then he smiles between bites of fossilized Zagnut—“Want some? It’s disgusting!”—and I feel like I have to play along and pretend all of this is novel and fun, the way you don’t tell other kids the truth about Santa after you know. It’s not fair to ruin the end of the movie for everyone else. But the end of his movie is better than mine. It’s not something I have to think about when I leave after one night, but it’s sad to see up close. I feel like I’ve found a new kind of lonely.
“That’s okay,” I tell him, shrugging off the Zagnut. “I’ll let you keep that all to yourself.”
“It’s so stale!” He laughs, and crumbs of decaying chocolate spray from his mouth. This is an adventure to him, and I will myself to feel the same way. I want to believe there will still be newness in the world for me. That it’s not all faded and dusty. A few miles later, I look over, and he’s rocking out to some horrible shouty song with a pseudo-Egyptian riff, grinning like a dog who escaped the pound. Knowing I’ve made him so happy helps tame the churn in my stomach and kills the urge to leave him in the next rest stop bathroom. I like him. I swear, I do. But it’s hard to like someone. It’s a job that’s never quite finished.
* * *
“Hey,” Justin says, pointing toward an exit sign. “Do you think the water is warm enough in New Jersey?”
I laugh, thinking he’s making a joke, but when I look over, his face is serious.
“No,” I say carefully. “I don’t think that’s south enough for swimming in spring.”
“Oh.”
And then, “Do you think we can stop? For a restroom?”
After we get back in the car, he falls asleep. His mixtape runs to the end and I’m left to my thoughts and the road noise.
I glance at him from time to time. There’s something sweet about someone feeling comfortable enough to sleep in front of you. The light from the setting sun makes his eyelashes glow. He doesn’t even stir when I hit a pothole. He has so much peace. He believes the life ahead will work out in his favor, and it probably will. In the grossest of thoughts, I wonder if I could go with him. If I could piggyback on his life, the end of his movie would be mine too. I could stay in Binghamton while he finishes school. Arnie could get his knee surgery, and I’d take care of the bar while he recovers. I’d be safe and warm and clean. Maybe, if this trip goes well, Justin would want me there. Or maybe, at least, I could visit him more. I could rest.
The sun goes from a sliver to nothing. Justin snores.
— Chapter 37 —
It’s easier, I think, to plunk down in the middle of romance. Or lust, or whatever it is. Justin and I know what roles we’re supposed to play, what goes where. There’s a script. A way to act. Friendship is so much harder. It needs time and I never have any. I don’t ever stay long enough to be a friend. The one time I tried to make a friend on the road, it turned upside down, and I never saw it coming.