Searching for the Loch Ness Monster

V - Miss Shelly's Spirit

V - Miss Shelly's Spirit

“We should stop. I’m hungry,” I say. The driver and I had stayed quiet for most of the way. I couldn’t help but stare at his reddish kilt every time I look at him.

Mr. Driver nods in agreement. We choose another shady tree to lean against. I sit next to him, our arms touching. I swear I can feel small tingles where my bare forearm is touching his.

Today has been so eventful that I’m starting to think nonsense. I’m tired, sweaty, hungry and home-sick. I just want to go to the hotel! Is that too much to ask for?

I dig into my bag to find my clothes, personal things, water bottles, torch light, dead cell phone, passport and other documents, cash, books about the Loch Ness Monster and chocolates. At least we won’t die of dehydration or starvation.

Well, for now at least.

“Chocolate?” I offer as I wave a bar of Hershey’s in front of him.

Mr. Driver takes the chocolate bar. “Why do you have chocolates in your bag?”

I shrug and rip open the chocolate packet. “I love chocolate! Don’t judge the fact that I carry chocolates everywhere I go. Be glad that I’m nice enough to give you one.”

Mr. Driver looks amused. “You carry chocolates everywhere you go?”

I scowl at him as I growl, “I said don’t judge. I need my source of energy from somewhere, right?”

Silence engulfs us. My eyes keep darting between my chocolate and Mr. Driver. I’m still trying to figure this man out. It dawns on me that I still don’t know his name…

“So where are you from?” Mr. Driver asks, killing the peace.

“From planet Earth, obviously,” I say sarcastically.

He frowns. “I’m trying to make a normal conversation here.”

I sigh. “London.”

“Be specific. London in the US or UK?” he urges.

He reminded me of – “Oh my God!” I yell, jumping to my feet. I look around to see if the road is anywhere in sight.

“What? What’s out there? Are we going to die? I don’t want to die!” Mr. Driver cries, curling himself into a ball. My outburst freaks him out more than it did to me.

“I can’t believe I left her!”

Mr. Driver looks up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

I pace up and down, my chocolate that dropped on the ground is forgotten. “I left Lucy when we were running away from the wrestlers.”

Mr. Driver changes his sitting position so he is no longer in a ball. “Wrestlers? I’m sure she’ll be alright. She’s in town, after all…”

“She’s younger than me so I’m responsible!” I protest. “She’ll kill me the next time she sees me. I can already see her sadistic smile in my head.”

“I’m sure she can handle being alone for a little while,” Mr. Driver says.

“She’s seventeen!” I protest.

“You’re being dramatic, and bipolar.”

I point my finger at Mr. Driver in accusation. “What did you just call me?”

“Bipolar,” he repeats slowly like he’s talking to a baby.

“I’m not bipolar!”

Mr. Driver looks pointedly. “You change personalities every ten minutes.”