HIDE series Part 1: Untethered

Chapter 2

             

                        CHAPTER 2            

HAD TO MOVE TO the back seat to lay down … not sure how long I’ve been here. It feels like forever. It’s so hot my skin itches but I don’t want to move. It’ll only bring more pain.

        The engine sputters and sounds like a dying bull and I can feel the car start to slow.

        “Awwwww, for Pete’s sake, come on you piece of … not now! Hey, where’d he come from? Idiot. Can’t be too smart if he’s out here,” Dad says to himself. As far as he knows, I’m still a heap of sleeping mess.

        The car comes to a jerky stop. I can’t tell if Dad’s braking or if his shitty car is finally dying.

        Dad, apparently not concerned about the car, fixates on something outside. I sit up just enough to get a look at what he’s checking out but it’s too bright outside and all I see is some blinding, sun-warped shape coming toward us. My vision is a bit blurry from waking up and the windows are layered with dust except a patch of window that Dad must have wipered clean. Can’t really tell where we are.

        Then the passenger door opens and I duck down. Great. Dad’s giving someone a ride.

        A wave of heat stings my eyes. I wipe my mouth; it’s wet, full of drool. And there’s a nice little pool of spit and blood on the back seat where my head was. How long was I out? How long has Dad been driving? And why would anyone pick up a hitchhiker?

        Thanks for caring, Dad !   

        There’s no justice for the backseat. Not if you’re bleeding. Not if you’re a kid. He’d rather be with a stranger than be alone with his beat up and passed out son. It must be guilt. Who wants to be alone with the nightmare he let happen?

        Dad says to the guy, “Hey, buddy. Where in the world do you think you’re going? You know people die out here?”

        From way back here I can’t hear the stranger’s answer.

        “I’m telling you the car’s dead.” Dad listens. “Alright, alright, I’ll try it.” Dad keys the engine and it turns over. “Well, look at that! You’ve got the Midas touch. Jump in, Buddy, while she’s still running. I can’t bear to think I left anyone to die.” Except for me that is.

        The door slams shut and the vibration makes me spasm in pain again. Dad continues, “I’m Billy Roe … got a name?”

        “John Bruce,” the stranger replies. His voice sounds dry.

        “Well, John, it’s your …”

        “John Bruce,” he repeats as if Dad didn’t hear his last name.

        “Okay. Um … John Bruce then.”  Dad sits up in his seat, lays on the gas and we’re moving again. “Me and my buddy, Ike, hitchhiked through this desert once. It was so damn hot! Kinda like today, but worse. Ike, he got blisters on his ears and nose. I guess we were just stupid-ass kids. Now that was a bad situation. Mark my words, the desert’ll kill you.”

        The desert. I knew it felt hotter. I lean closer to try and hear the stranger.

        “Yes, it is good you came along, Billy Roe,” he says.

        Dad laughs, “Billy. Just call me Billy. The only person calling me Billy Roe is that bitch at the unemployment office.”

        The stranger doesn’t laugh.