The Guilt Trip [slow updates]

[9] Common Ground

Darkness surrounded the vehicle as it hummed along the near-empty highway. Skipper was half asleep, curled up in her seat while murmuring faintly along to one of Beethoven's symphonies, the lilt of her voice barely audible. The lull of the music was making Wade feel like he might crash, but he didn't want to upset Skipper before she drifted off. It wasn't good to fall asleep angry, and besides that, she was sick. She had eaten her food that morning only to have it resurface as projectile vomit a couple hours after. She hadn't eaten much all day, and didn't feel like traveling or exploring, so they'd spent most of the day at yet another rest stop. It was good for Charles, at the very least. He got to stretch his legs. But Skipper just lay curled in her seat with the blanket, suffering.

   Of course, Wade had tried his absolute hardest not to bother her or do anything to set her off. Snarky as he was, this proved to be a bit challenging at times. But he made it work, and he was confident he hadn't done too poorly today.

   Now that it was night and she was almost asleep, he felt it would be okay to start traveling. There would be no harsh sunlight to offend her eyes and cause headaches despite the sunglasses. There would be no intense heat that the air conditioner couldn't battle effectively.

   That's why they were on the road in the dark once more, after a long day of remaining in one place. Charles was sound asleep in the backseat. Skipper had stopped humming, but was hanging in there as if she didn't want to fall asleep.

   Incrementally, Wade had been turning down the music in hopes that it would help her drift off faster, but it didn't seem to make a difference. It was almost as if she was fighting sleep. Fighting rest.

   That couldn't be good for her.

   "Chubs," Wade called, softly. "You asleep?"

   A soft grunt of denial quickly confirmed she was indeed not asleep. In a very slow manner, she turned to peer at him in the darkness. "What time is it?" She whispered in a tone that suggested she might've been asleep at one point.

   "It's, like, two in the morning. You should sleep."

   "Are we going to Mexico?"

   Wade smiled a little. She was all soft and frumpy and confused right now. Vulnerable. Why couldn't she be like this more often? She put on such a tough front all the time and it wasn't even necessary.

   "Yeah, we're going to Mexico. But it'll be awhile. So you sleep, okay? I'll wake you up when it's time."

   "Don't be loud," she yawned, snuggling in the blanket. The vehicle fell very silent for some time before she spoke again—clear, yet tentative: "What if I don't make it to Mexico?"

   Wade nearly slammed on the brakes. "What?! What are you talking about?"

   "What if this is it for me?"

   "Don't say things like that. You'll make it to Mexico," he reassured her.

   She looked at him then, fear in her brown eyes. Slight, and yet very real. Her skin looked pale in the dimness of the night and Wade wondered if she wasn't worse off than he'd been made aware of. He realized that she was indeed a human time bomb, with a rough ETA of about a year, though realistically, it was probably half that. Optimism said a year. Pessimism said any minute was the last. Realism said three months.

   So, which was it?

   "You need to sleep," he told her quietly, unable to form any other sentence.

   "I don't want to sleep. You're not sleeping."

   "Of course I'm not. I'm driving. You should rest."

   "How is that fair? You won't get any."

   "I napped before we left. I'm fine. I'm not sick, but you are, and when you're sick you should rest. So get some sleep. A couple weeks ago you would've fought me to let you sleep. I promise, you'll make it to Mexico."

   "But I feel like something's wrong," she protested, sitting up slightly. "I'm scared."

   Wade frowned. There were a lot of things running through his mind right now, and on top of that he was trying to stay awake and pay attention to the GPS. He didn't need her emotional drama, or whatever this was. If she'd just sleep like he told her to, she'd be fine.

   "What're you scared of?" he finally asked, chiding himself for any insensitive thoughts with the reminder that his passenger was indeed a dying girl.

   She didn't respond; rather, she just pressed her fist to her mouth and turned to look out her window into the abyssal night. Unsure what else to do, Wade switched the radio station. Punk rock blared energetically through the speakers, and within moments he felt in control of the situation. Classical music was nice, but he couldn't stand listening to it while driving, especially at night when he needed to stay alert.

   Skipper's head faced him almost the minute the station changed. She looked disappointed in him, and he held one hand up defensively. "I can't drive with that peaceful stuff. How else am I supposed to stay awake?"

   Merely blinking, Skipper shrugged and sank back into her seat, wrapping the blanket around herself. Her forehead was creased as if she was in pain. Wade guessed that she probably was. Dying had to hurt, right?

   He knew she didn't want anyone's pity, especially his, but he couldn't help feeling bad for her. She was relatively alone in this. Her mother was no longer living, and her relatives were all in Korea. She'd been so academically focused, she hadn't had many friends, and when she had gotten sick they'd all deserted her. They didn't want to deal with it.

   She had gone through chemo twice but the cancer came back stronger each time. So did she, but physically she was done for. The doctors gave her less than a year. Wanting to make the most of that time, she'd decided to take one final trip. Try to see as much of the world as she could before she died. And, as there was no one to travel with her, she'd posted an inquiry for an Uber willing to do the job.

   They had come from two very different backgrounds, two different social and academic statuses. He took the job because after hearing her story, he felt guilty for not getting to know her back in high school. He'd always admired her dedication to hard work, but his friends bullied him into never talking to her. She was out of his league, they had said the one and only time he'd mentioned her. She was stuck up and too good for any of the peasant class.

   Fast forward to four years later, and traveling with her was proving them wrong. In a way, he felt kind of smug about it. They had been very cruel in their judgment of her character. She was feisty, not stuck up.

   Grimacing, Wade turned the volume down despite not wanting to. Skipper tossed him a glance of gratitude, but he knew she still was upset. The tension was eating at him. "Other than classical, is there anything else you like?" He ventured cautiously.

   "I like broadway tunes," she answered, voice faint. "I left my CDs at home though."

   Thank goodness, he thought with a wince. He hated broadway tunes. That stuff drove him nuts.

   "Anything else?"

   "No, I don't really listen to anything else." Hugging her knees to her chest, she set her chin on them and shut her eyes.

   "I...see." Reaching over, he switched to the alt rock station. Death Cab For Cutie's I Will Follow You Into The Dark was playing. A tiny smile bloomed on Wade's face and he turned the volume up a little. Skipper sat there, silent and calculating. Every few seconds, he'd glance at her to gauge her reaction. She didn't seem to mind the song. He felt better.

   Until, of course, she started crying.

   "What?" he demanded, trying not to sound annoyed.

   "The words," she covered her eyes and inhaled sharply. Raising an eyebrow, he shoved a box of tissues at her.

   "Should I turn it off?"

   "No...it's fine. I like his voice."

   Wade had to bite back a grin because the timing was inappropriate. Finally, they were finding some common ground.