SLAY RIDE

I-90 Westbound

"LOOK OUT!" I screamed as my driver recklessly merged onto the highway.

He moved the car back-and-forth at a rapid pace jerking the wheel each time he changed lanes. "Relax," he said to me as if he was just messing with me, "I'm on 90 every day of my life. This is how it is."

I pouted in silence as I finished my drink.

The silence eventually got to him. He checked the rearview mirror a few times, probably to make sure I wasn't playing on my phone.

He didn't start taking until about two minutes after I finished my drink. "What's your name, dear?" I wanted to continue giving him the silent treatment, but he persisted. "Oh, come on now, don't be shy. What's your name, dear?"

"Aryelle," I finally told him.

"Like the mermaid?" He asked with curiosity in his voice.

"Yes, but spelled differently," I said before spelling my name out for him.

"Cute," he said before he started to ask me a few more personal questions. "So, what's a pretty little thing like you from a small town like Belvidere doing in the big city of Chicago this late at night?"

"I was at a Christmas dance tonight," I said before adding the words, "with my boyfriend."

"Oh," he said as his eyes lifted from the road and into the rearview mirror, "and where is he?"

"Probably sleeping at some girl's house," I mumbled.

"Excuse me?" His hands were keeping the car perfectly straight in the lane despite his eyes being fixated on the image of me on the mirror. "I'm sorry, Aryelle, my hearing isn't too good.

I repeated the words I had previously said, only louder this time. I don't know what inspired me to do it, but I gave him the full relationship history of Doug and me. "Doug is the boy next door, literally the boy next door. His family moved into the house across the street from mine last July. At first, I thought he was a loser. I mean he was 22, a college dropout, living with his parents, and all he did was mow lawns in the summer and shovel driveways in the winter.

But then, I started developing feelings for him in November. I don't know if it was because of his beard or because I got to see him shovel the snow in his parent's driveway in nothing but his underwear. So, I asked him out. He hadn't approached me in over a year, so I figured it was time for me to make a move. He said, 'Yes,' and we've been together for a month now."

"Until tonight?" He asked as though he wanted me to continue the story.

Since I had peaked his interest, I continued talking. "I was warned by multiple people about how much of a flirt Doug was, but I didn't think nothing of it. I mean, all men are flirts. It's just in their nature. I'm sure you yourself have flirted with over 100 women in your lifetime."

"Actually," he took a deep breath before he let out his next few words, "there was only one." He took a few more deep breaths before encouraging me to go on with my story.

"Anyway, like I was saying, I knew Doug was a flirt, but I never expected him to be a cheater." I took a deep breath before I finished my story. "He spent most of the time dancing with this girl I thought was nice. Her name is Ana. She's an Irish girl from Georgia, who moved to Chicago last month. Anyway, Doug spent most of his time dancing with her. When I confronted him about it, we got into a fight and he told me he was going home with her and I needed to find my own ride home." I started to cry in the back of the Dodge.

He took a small amount of sympathy on me, the first I think he ever had, and he told me, "Aww, don't cry kid. You'll find someone new. Why, there are at least three-billion guys in this world, who would trade in their own mother, to have a doll like you." He put up with my crying and sniffling for a few seconds more before his heart gave in. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes," I said with enthusiasm in my voice, you can stop somewhere and let me use the bathroom."