Cruel Summer | ✓

chapter two

When I decided to drive twenty-seven hours from Texas to Idaho, I forgot to factor in how fucking long that actually is. I didn't realize that my body, with its need for movement and coffee and dodgy public restrooms, can't handle more than three hours at a time. Pathetic. Before I made it out of Texas I had to stop twice and I've had to wave goodbye to my hopes of reaching Albuquerque tonight because it's taken me ten hours to reach Roswell. I'm shattered as I pull into the parking lot of a budget motel that has gone all out with the alien theme, too tired to process my emotions when my heavy head hits a disappointingly flat pillow after grabbing something to eat at the kitschy UFO-shaped McDonald's.

I send a picture to my group chat with Gaby and Tay, which is still named "Greg's Gals" from the time we stayed in an AirBnB four years ago and the owner, Greg, messaged us each morning to see how everything was, every message starting with hi gals. Maybe it's because we were staying in Galveston. Maybe he thought he was being hip.

Checking out the fine New Mexico cuisine, I text.

Tay's reply is instant: OMG you're in roswell! Say hi to the aliens for me!!

Gaby sends a picture of her own, the view of San Diego Bay from her apartment building in the Gaslamp Quarter that she must have taken a few hours ago in the bright light and says, wish you were here.

I wish I was there too. A knot of regret tightens in my stomach. Why am I doing this?

Tay sends a picture too, an expanse of low level buildings and palm trees and mountains in the far distance, and she says, Your view beats mine!

Shut the fuck up, I text, you're literally right next to one of the most scenic places in LA!

It says Tay is typing... for a few minutes. She's the queen of getting distracted while texting, and I know better than to expect a long message just because she started typing it ten minutes ago. Eventually, her reply pops up: true, who needs a gym membership when i have the culver city stairs on my doorstep??

You're gonna have quads of STEEL, Gaby says.

Tay: it's the glutes i want ;)

And then from Gaby, How's the journey so far Charlie? I still can't believe you're driving to idaho! Planes exist you know

I lie on my back, knees up, and sigh. Journey's fine so far. Long but fine! And where's the fun in flying?? I want to see the country

It's a half truth. I do enjoy driving, and I do like the idea of seeing more of the country, but I've only completed a third of the trip so far and I wish I'd flown instead. Three and a half hours, nonstop; a couple hours on a bus from Boise to Fisher. I could've been there half a day ago. But I'm cutting ties with Austin, and I don't plan for Gaby and Tay to know that until I figure out where I'm going to retie my string. For the time being, I'm going to float around untethered and see what happens.

You're brave as hell, Gaby texts. As though she hasn't moved across the country on her own to live in a new city, a new state, with a grown-up job and real responsibilities. That is bravery. Whatever I'm doing is stupidity. Cowardice. I know I'm running from my problems, I know they will catch me, but I still believe if I get far enough away, I'll figure out how to solve them before they drag me down by my ankles.

*

By nine a.m. I'm in Albuquerque, slightly illegally parked downtown as I speed walk to the nearest coffee shop and pray there are no traffic cops nearby. The coffee from the lobby of my Roswell motel this morning was disgusting. Undrinkable. It tasted like metal and shame and I feel a caffeine withdrawal headache coming on. I curse getting hooked on this shit when I was fifteen because for the rest of my life I'll need three cups a day to stay in the land of the (comfortably) living. You know it's bad when your roommates can tell if you've missed one of your coffees because you're acting like a cranky bitch.