Joy Ride

“It’s not a big deal.” I sighed.

“It is a big deal!” Janine retorted. “This is the third class you’ve flunked! You’re not only wasting your time, you’re wasting your money! Jesus, Brandon! You’re almost 22 and you have nothing to show for it. Your GPA is terrible, and you’re in danger of getting dropped out if you don’t get your shit together!”

She was right. Deep down, I knew she was. But I didn’t have it in me to admit fault. I hated being wrong, and I really didn't like being told I was wrong. So instead of arguing her point, I went for personal attacks.

“Why do you even care? It’s not like you’re my mother…”

But I’d used that one so many times she already had a response ready. “Just because I’m your Step-mother doesn’t mean I'm not allowed to care about you.” She breathed a hefty sigh, her voice shifting to a more sanguine tone, “Don’t you get it? I don’t have to care, but I do. Shouldn’t that amount to something? I could just stand by and let you get drunk and stupid and piss away your potential and opportunities, but I’m not gonna do that. I want what’s best for you.”

Now came the guilt-trip. I’d gotten enough of that from my own mother. I picked up my coat before she could say any more. As I often did when things got difficult, I decided to run.

“Where are you going?” she called to me as I clambered up the stairs.

“Out. Away. I don’t know.” I barked, stuffing as many changes of clothes as I could fit into my duffel bag.

I could see the worry in her eyes when I glanced her way. I didn’t want to look at it, to see what I was doing to her, to have another person in my life be disappointed by me. I put on my hat and put the brim down low to avoid her gaze, pushing past her.

“I’m going to the bar.” I huffed.

“You need a bag to go to the bar?” She asked with skepticism, following me back down the stairs.

“I’ll be back in a few days.” I mumbled, like the answer didn’t sound believable even to me.

“There you go again!” Janine hollered, snapping back into her condescending tone, “Running off to drink your problems away! Just like your—“ she almost said mother, but stopped herself. Not wanting to be that harsh.

But the damage was done. The nerve had been twinged. With renewed vigor, I grabbed the keys to the Jeep and headed outside. I slammed the door so as to really emphasize how angry I was. Angry at what? I didn’t really know. All Janine did was call me out on my shit, but it was easier to be angry at her than it was to be angry at myself.

I pressed on the accelerator and peeled out of the driveway, making the engine growl as I made my way to my favorite spot since turning 21.

Crowbar was only a couple miles down the road. There wasn’t much in rural Oklahoma, so I took what I could get.

“Back again, I see.” observed Violet, the cute bartender. She had a generous amount of tattoos and purple hair to match her name. More importantly, she had my usual order already poured before I even sat down: a shot of Jamison, and a double of Jack on the rocks to chase it with. The bar was mostly empty, but still had that lingering stench of smoke and stale cigarettes. I lit up a fresh one of my own. “All the alcohol in the world won’t dissolve your problems,” she said after I drained both glasses and nodded for another round.

“Jesus…not you too.” I grumbled. “I don’t want to hear it..”

“Yea? Well maybe you need to hear it.” Violet scoffed, pouring me another glass. “You know how many deadbeats I see go in and out of here, trying to wash away their sorrows? You know many times I've heard them say they wished they would have gone to college? Wished they would have taken things seriously? Wished they would have done things different? Well you have that opportunity right now, Lewis. You’re at a crossroads. The path you choose to take will determine the next 5, maybe even 50 years of your existence. I just don’t want to see you go down the wrong one.”

“Don’t lecture me.” I growled, “I get enough of that at home.”

“Well maybe if you’d go attend a lecture at college you wouldn’t get so many lectures at home.”

I smiled behind my cigarette, conceding her point. “Touche.”

The tension evaporated, Violet laughed and poured a drink of her own.

“When does your Dad get back?” she asked, changing the subject.

“I dunno, he left for a haul up to Wisconsin a few days ago. Or maybe he ran off too, just like my Mom…”

Violet looked guilty at dropping me right back into a sour mood. But she was probably used to playing therapist in these types of situations. “Do you think your Dad being a truck driver has had an effect on you?”

“Why? Because he’s always gone?” I snapped. Her expression didn’t change, she just continued boring into me with those heavily painted eyes. I scoffed, lighting another cigarette. “Yea…probably.”

“Did he always want to be a driver?”

I shook my head. “No. He wanted to be an Engineer. He’s always liked tinkering with things, always has these big ideas. He probably would have been great at it, but he dropped out of—” I groaned, realizing what she was leading me to. She smiled down at me like a vixen. “Fuck you.” I laughed, cursing myself for falling prey to her little trap.

She raised her glass, “Promise me you’ll take college seriously.” She held my gaze, daring me to say anything otherwise. I nodded, clanking her glass to appease her.

“And you’ll go home and talk to your Step-mom.” she continued, eyes like daggers, daring me to say otherwise. When I did nothing, her eyes got wider.

“Fine…fine. Okay.” I breathed, bringing the glass to my lips.

She grabbed me by the wrist. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you’ll take college seriously, and go talk to your Step-mom.”

I looked around as if it were a dream. Realizing it wasn’t, and that Violet was still clasping my wrist, I exhaled.

“I’ll take college seriously, and I’ll go back home.”

******

I did not go back home.

I had too much pride for that. I’d gotten more than an earful from Violet already, and I certainly wasn’t about to go hear more of it from Janine.

Violet had refused to serve me after my fifth drink, so I barreled down the highway with a freshly bought 6-pack from the gas station four miles down the road. I didn’t know where I was going, I didn’t really care. I just wanted to feel free with the wind in my hair.

It was getting close to dusk, the sun was descending just below the horizon, the colors blurred together in the distance. Actually, a lot of things were blurring together. The cars in front of me had a hazy effect to their exteriors. The idiot in front of me was swerving too much, though. Or was it me that was swerving? Whatever it was, his little black Pontiac was going too slow.

I pressed the gas and zoomed around him into the other lane. There was no oncoming traffic, or at least there wasn’t when I first looked. But out of nowhere an 18-wheeler seemed to appear.

Brrrooonnnggg went his horn as the giant truck grew even larger. It was coming fast, and I was going faster.

We were just a few meters from crashing into each other head on before I whipped the Jeep back into the other lane.

Phew. I breathed, relieved. The Pontiac behind me was honking his horn, giving me the finger, and probably telling me how stupid I am. I flipped him the bird in retaliation and sped away, laughing as I did.

When I ascended the crest of the hill, I realized my mistake. A cop was waiting on the other side, a radar gun pointed directly at me.

I checked the speedometer: 90 mph. The speed limit was 65 mph.

Fuck.

The right thing to do was pullover, tell the cop I was sorry, and pray he didn’t smell the alcohol on my breath. A ticket and hopefully a slap on the wrist would send me on my way.

Instead, I jammed the pedal to the floor, hearing the engine roar even louder as the needle pushed past 100mph.

The cops' lights flashed behind me. Well behind me. But he was gaining fast.

I cut to the nearest dirt road, barreling down the windy, gravel street. The rocks clattered and clanked against my undercarriage, pelting and spewing every which way. I made another turn, and then another, trying to find trees to use as cover. I could hear the sirens in the distance. The tires of the Jeep gurgled when I drifted around the bend.

The cop was still only a short distance behind me, his car was probably getting destroyed by the gravel, but he wasn’t going to give up that easy.

That’s when I got the idea.

It had rained just recently. There was a mudpatch in the middle of the open field. I thanked the heavens that it wasn't the growing season, and everything was just barren muck. I pulled to a stop and kicked the Jeep into 4-wheel drive. The cop rounded the corner, he was right on my ass. He pulled to a stop directly behind me, and that’s when I took off.

The all-terrain tires made easy work of the loose sludge. I wasn’t going nearly as fast as before, but the cop wasn’t moving fast either. In fact, the cop wasn’t moving at all. His car immediately sunk once he hit the first patch of mud. I watched in my rearview as he spun out, only digging himself in deeper, the distance between us turning into football fields.

In the dimming light, I saw him get out of his car, yelling and screaming, attempting to chase me on foot, only to slip and fall in the mud.

“Hahaha!! Take that you fucking pi–” BAMMM!

I heard the hiss of the engine as the light came back to me. I lifted my head to see the hood of the Jeep wrapped around a tree, smoke and steam emanating upwards.

The best decision I’d made all night was to wear my seatbelt. Maybe my only good decision. As I shook off the daze, I grabbed my duffel bag, found my phone on the floorboard beneath the shattered remnants of glass, and picked up the two beers that hadn’t exploded in the crash.

I scrambled out of the Jeep, checking back to see where the cop was. All I could see were his red and blue flashing lights, it was too dark to see anything else in the distance. Not wanting to waste any more time, I turned on my heel and ran.

******

I don’t know how long I ran for. I don’t even really know where I was going. I just tried to keep my feet moving fast and as far away from the scene as possible.

My phone had a 3% charge left. I thought about calling my Dad, but he would kill me if he found out what I did. I thought about calling Violet, but she would kill me for doing the exact opposite of what she told me to. I wasn’t going to call my mother, I would kill myself.

The only one left to call was Janine, but that would admit fault, and then I’d have to hear about what an idiot I was again, something I continuously seem to emphasize. College did enough to make me feel like an idiot, I didn’t need the consequences of my actions piling even more on.

I’d walked through most of the night, stopping only to catch my breath and quench my thirst with the remaining beer. Before I knew it, the sun was coming up again. I’d been walking through field after empty field, getting as far away from the crash sight as possible before making my way back to the highway.

I needed a ride. Not back to my house, but back the other way. Any way, I didn’t care. I just needed to get out of here.

I ducked down behind the hedges for cover until I was sure the approaching vehicle wasn’t a cop, then I’d jump out and run next to the road with my thumb up. I was dirty, disheveled, looking every bit like one of those hitchhikers I’d driven past a dozen times.

I could see drivers look away, avoiding eye contact as they sped by. Some honked, jeered, or pretended to stop only to drive away as soon as I got close.

Finally, a big 18-wheeler painted with red and blue flames pulled to a stop on the shoulder. The brakes squealed as they came to a stop several hundred feet away. I was hesitant to think they’d stay, until their airbrakes hissed.

I ran to the passenger side door, a woman slung it open. “Need a ride, honey?” She asked with the twang of an Oklahoma accent.

“Yes please,” I said, clearing my gunky throat from the night of despair.

“Where ya headed?”

“Anywhere.” I replied.

“A vagabond, then.” She smiled a toothy grin. “Hop in, sugar!”

She was sitting in the passenger seat. As I shimmied by her into the cab I saw a man at the wheel. Both of them had a similar, plump body type. The driver had a scruffy beard and smelled like a mixture of smoke and chewing tobacco.

“Howdy” he said with a gruff voice and a curt nod. “Climb in the back, plenty of space back there.”

He wasn’t lying. Behind the curtain separating the cockpit from the living quarters, there was a decent sized bed hanging from the back wall. It even had a kitchenette complete with a microwave, cabinets, and a mini-fridge. With nowhere else to sit, I plopped down on the bed.

“Name’s Darrell,” the man grunted as he shifted in his seat, politely reaching out with a large bear of a hand. I took it, shaking the rough, calloused palm.

“Lewis” I said.

Darrell pointed to the seat next to him, “this’s my wife Lisa.”

Lisa smiled sweetly, her hand much softer and colder than her husband’s. “Are you all right, dear?” she asked, “you’re bleeding.”

She eyed my forehead just below the brim of my cap. I touched the spot with my fingers, feeling some dried blood I didn’t know was there.

“Oh this?” I said sheepishly, “Yea uh..I was sleeping beneath the overpass and got a bit startled. Ended up banging my head on the concrete…”

Lisa looked at me like she didn’t believe me for a second, but she maintained that sweet smile. “Well that looks awful, dear. Let me get you some ice and Aspirin. Are you light headed at all?”

Before I could stop her, she was out of her seat and bustling through the mini-fridge and cabinets. Darrell chuckled at his wife’s hospitality, disabling the air brakes, checking his mirrors, and bringing the rig back onto the highway with a loud roar of the engine.

“Here you are, honey.” Lisa said, giving me the aspirin and a small cup of water to down it with. I made sure to check the tablet for just a second before popping it into my mouth. I’d heard enough horror stories from my father about truckers on the road, some weren’t to be messed with, and there were all kinds of drugs being passed between them. It was definitely Aspirin, though. I’d had enough hangovers to know what the pill was supposed to look like by now.

“We’re headed up I-35 to Kansas.” Darrell’s baritone voice said. “That alright with you?”

“Sounds great.” I said. I reckoned it would be best to just get as far away from the scene as possible until everything blew over. I’d figure out a way back in a few days.

Darrell flipped some switches as he got up to speed and I heard the CB static kick on. We got a plain brown wrapper at the 56 yd stick, a bear in the air, and a wreck at the 104. Bears everywhere. Looks like some sort of hit and run.

I knew enough about trucker slang from Dad to understand what they were saying. “Bears” referred to cops. One in the air meant a helicopter. They must have found the wreck and there were cops swarming everywhere.

“What’s going on?” Lisa asked.

“Not sure,” Darrell rumbled. “Flip it over to 9.”

Lisa flicked the channel knob over until the chatter switched from truckers to police. “All units, be advised, suspect is still evading arrest. Last seen on foot wearing a red ball cap and a forest green army jacket.”

I could feel my palms instantly begin to sweat. I could see Darrell and Lisa exchange glances. There was a long uncomfortable silence, even with the radio fizzing in the background.

Darrell looked at me through the rearview. “That you, Candycane?” he muttered.

It took me a second to figure out that he was referring to the embroidery on my hat. Candycane Farms. It was a little winery we went to when I was in highschool. Back when my parents were still together. It was the last time I remember us being a happy family. They even let me try a glass of wine that day,  I’ve been chasing that high with every glass ever since.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. “I uh…”

“Don’t worry.” Darrell smiled through his rearview. “We won’t tell anybody.”

“You’re safe with us, honey.”  said Lisa, her and Darrell exchanged knowing looks. “You’re safe here with us.”

******

We stopped at a rest stop several hours down the road. The more distance we got from the crash site, the better I felt.

“I need some coffee.” Darrell said, rubbing his eyes. “Need anything, Candycane?”

“I’ll go with you,” I said, eager to get out of the admittedly comfy cab and get some fresh air.

“No no, you stay here, hon.” Lisa said. “Police are looking for you, and we’re still in Oklahoma. No telling how many units they got on the hunt. I’ll get you some coffee and a snack. What would you like?”

“Swedish rolls, please.” I said hastily. I was starving. When Mom didn’t feel like cooking–which was almost every night–she’d just tell me to get something for the cupboard. For all her pitfalls, she kept the shelves stacked with cheap, sugary Hostess treats. Swedish rolls accounted for probably 90% of my not-so-nutritional intake. I reached for my wallet.

“None of that, dear.” Lisa said, waving it away and climbing out of the cab.

Darrell did so too. His saggy butt sloshing with awkward form as he rolled out of his chair. I could have been mistaken, but I thought I heard a crinkling. Must have been the radio.

I glanced around the parking lot for any sign of a cop car. I needed to pee, but I didn’t want to go out dressed in the same clothes I’d been seen running away in. I pulled my duffel bag out from under the bed, but when I did, a pacifier rolled out too. It was a rather large pacifier, not what I expected a baby to be able to use, but I guess Darrell and Lisa were pretty big. Maybe their children were too?

I was halfway through changing by the time Lisa came back. She, quite literally, caught me with my pants down.

“Oh my!” she gasped, blushing at the sight of me in my skivvies. She averted her eyes politely, holding the coffee and Swedish rolls awkwardly. Lisa waited for me to finish before asking if the coast was clear and climbing inside. “Here you go.” She said, handing me the items and trying to ignore the uncomfortable little mishap.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I really need to pee…”

“No.” She said when I went to stand up. Her urgency scared me a bit. “This place is crawling with Bears. We’ll have to find somewhere else for you to use the restroom.”

I didn’t remember seeing a single cop when I examined earlier, but Lisa saw more of the lot than I did.

“Drink up, hun. Darrell will be back soon.”

Darrell actually took forever. Or maybe it just felt that way because I had an incessant throb coming from my bladder.

I didn’t even want the coffee, it would only make me more uncomfortable. But Lisa insisted, and I didn’t want to be rude since she was nice enough to buy it for me.

I’d completely drained the cup by the time Darrell came back. He wiped his beard, it had some sort of sticky white stuff in it, probably toothpaste, and took a drink of his own coffee like he’d gotten a bad taste in his mouth. He still had that crinkle when he climbed into the driver’s seat. He and Lisa shared a bizarre smirk.

“I really need to pee.” I said, standing up. “I’m sorry, i’ll only be a second, and I doubt anyone will recognize me if—“

My head started spinning as soon as I stood up. I dizzily grabbed the curtain rod above and almost took it down when I stumbled.

“Oh goodness, Lewis! You need to sit down!” Lisa exclaimed. “Looks like that bump on the head must have given you a concussion!”

It didn’t feel like a concussion. I’d gotten one before when I played football. This was different. Everything was hazy, slower, spinnier.

“Just lay down, baby” Lisa said. Her voice shifting to a strange, melodic tone. I felt a wave of exhaustion wash over me as soon as I did.

Darrell looked concerned, or was it amused? Lisa cradled my head, shhing and cooing me like I were a child. The last thing I remember seeing before I passed out was her picking up that pacifier off the floor…

******

“We did it baby…”

“We found one…”

“He’s so cute, isn’t he?”

The sounds and smells started coming back to me. The truck was moving, I could feel it rumbling. I could still hear that bizarre crinkling over the sound of radio static.

“You’re excited to play with him, aren’t you baby?” It was Lisa’s voice.

“Yes Mommy I’s is!!” That voice I didn’t recognize. It almost sounded like Darrell’s, but was way more high-pitched and lispy.

“Mmm, I know you are, honey! Did you get some play time in the bathroom earlier?”

“Yes Mommy I dids!”

“How many men's ba ba’s did you get milkies from?”

“Three Mommy!”

“Three?! You slutty little sucker!!” Lisa laughed. “Were you hard in your pampies the whole time?” The crinkling grew louder. So did the mewling.

“Mmm yess Mommy I was!!”

“Haha! You dirty boy!!”

I didn’t know what the fuck was going in. Lisa was reaching over into the driver’s seat where Darrell sat, rubbing the front of his pants. I didn’t want to do anything to draw attention while this bizarre scene unfolded.

Something was in my mouth. Something rubbery. I couldn’t spit it out or even let it drop. Something wrapped around my head held it secure. There was warmth between my legs. Well, what probably used to be warmth. Now it felt a bit sodden, puffy and clammy.

“I need to make cum cums Mommy” Darrell swooned. He sounded so infantile, a stark contrast to the gruff, rough man from before.

“Yea? You wanna make cummies?” Lisa breathed, her hand moving more furiously over Darrell’s pants. The crinkling ringing louder than ever. “You gonna cum in your diaper?”

Diaper?! What the fuck?

I couldn’t fake sleeping anymore. I had to get up. I had to get the fuck out of here. But when I tried to stand, my wrists got caught, tethered to something beside me, my ankles too.

Lisa and Darrell’s heads jerked back from the commotion, their little escapade in the front forgotten.

Then they both smiled the most wicked of smiles. “Looks like someone’s awake!”

To be Continued…

Trying to write a little more action in this one. I had to do a lot of research on trucking lingo. Those of you who are truckers or cops are probably laughing at how inaccurate all of this is. But I’m doing my best and am willing to correct whatever doesn’t make sense 🙂