ALL THAT WAS LEFT BEHIND

Confusion Hurts

            The woman watched him shift in his seat, trying to get comfortable. “Seatbelt?” she asked with an awkward looking glance.

            He grunted and didn’t object.

            Clicking the seatbelt into place, he looked at her bright yellow jumper suit with a piqued curiosity. Did people even wear jumpers anymore? It seemed brighter than the sun, and her hair was dulled up in tight springy curls. The fact that she drove a pink jeep, wore sunshine happy clothes, and just stopped to pick up a mangy old stranger off the side of the road that came somewhere from the woods told him a lot about her personality. It was a respectable personality however. Odd, but perhaps respectable.

            “Where to?” she asked him.

            “Uhh…Just…Umm…A hotel?” he stammered lamely. He hadn’t figured out where exactly he needed to be.

            “Mmh, okay then,” she mumbled absent minded.  She continued down the road and nodded. “Well there’s a cheap hotel on the highway up here where I'm headed. Do’ya mind goin’ there?”

            He rubbed his face, relieved and for some reason even more self-conscious as he shrugged, “Yeah, sure. Doesn’t really matter.”

            His face was oily and disgusting, and he knew the overtired eyes didn’t help. He must have looked like the living dead.

            While staring out the window, and trying his hardest not to fall asleep, he remembered that he didn’t even thank the poor woman. He may be on the run for the rest of his life, basically homeless, and useless, but he still had morals. 

He peeked at the blonde ray of sunshine beside him, whom was immersed in the road in front of her.

            “Uh, thanks for the ride. It helps a lot,” he awkwardly explained.

            She looked back at him and nodded. “No problem.”

            They sat in silence for a few painfully long moments, so Jarrod rested his head on the vibrating window, ready to shut out the world again, until she stopped him.

            “So?” she prodded. “What’s your story?”

            He sat up straight again, surprised that she wanted to compose a conversation, other than what was already written, which was more than satisfying for him.

            “Nothing really. You?”

            She rolled her eyes. “Didn’t ask to hear no smart-alek answer. Tell me whacho was doin’ back there. At the side’a them woods.”

            “What? Oh, car troubles,” he waved off the question.

            “Ah, I hate that.”

            “Yeah.”

            Silence flooded the car, nearly suffocating them before she asked another question.

             “Are you gonna tell me what really happened to the car?”

            “No.”

            “Tell me. I'm smarter than I look,” her words urged, but her voice lacked the same enthusiasm.

            “So am I,” he answered. “And it’s a long story.”