The Hit List

Chapter 18

I took a sip from the water in his console. "We should get there in a little less than an hour. There should be a gas station at the next exit if you need to use the restroom. There isn't one where we're going."

My face twisted up a bit. "I'm okay if you are. Just don't get tired, I don't know how to drive. I know it's unreasonable, but I just never saw a need to. Probably like you never learning the words to arguably the best song in existence."

"No. I know Pink Floyd's entire discography perfectly well." He finishes his water, tossing the empty bottle into the backseat. I can see him moving his head slightly to the music, but his lips never once follow through.

As we hit the highway I found myself turning the sound up even more. "It was always burning since the world's been turning. We didn't start the fire. No, we didn't light it, but we tried to fight it. Come on, it doesn't have to be your favorite song for you to admit it's one of the best ones to sing along to."

Shaking his head, he moved into the left-hand lane. "Songs are not meant to sing along to. They're meant to be listened to. That's why there are professionals."

"No. That's why there's karaoke. So that you can do what they're made for. Joining your buddies in a boozy sing-along. You're just a weird loner."

"Says the girl who has spent the last three months, give or take, in complete isolation."

He has me there. Pinned to the mat as the song fades into commercials.

The voices sounding through make the car feel cramped. Promoting goods that I will never use. Events that I never intend to go to.

"Did you ever go to school dances as a kid?" My mind reaches for focus. I would rather forget the information I know and be filled with the knowledge of another human being.

As if his response might take the place of a memory. May replace it and gradually seep into my being. Similar to the hazy picture of a little child just before her first preschool day.

Remembering how I felt, nothing more. Not the date, not what I was wearing, not the entire day. Just the fear before I was thrown in. Fearing being forgotten there. Or simply just left to fend for myself.

With his eyes fixed on the road, he shook his head. "Maybe one or two, never been much of a dancer." As soon as his eyes meet mine, I nod. "I went to them religiously. Granted I was more of a jumper than a dancer."

He smirked, chuckling under his breath. "Seems like you still are."

I let out a light laugh, the double meaning not lost to me. "Touché."

"Did your parents listen to old-school rock? Billy Joel seems a bit old for you." He slips back into the right lane and passes between a Kia and a Hummer with caution.

I dislike discussing family matters with him. I feel as though I should dig a line before he takes me over it.

"Classic rock is timeless. Why do you like Pearl Jam?"

"Because my mom used to play it in the car all the time. She owned all their CDs. I heard nothing but them, Led Zeppelin, and Jimi Hendrix when she drove me to school. Sometimes Joan Jett if she was in a certain type of mood." When he speaks, his eyes don't seem to reflect the lights from the other automobiles. They stay level. Stagnation in feelings. Not quite stationary, though.

Though their feelings were different from his mouth's memory, they nonetheless had feelings behind them. They appeared to be in anguish. As if it ached for him to bring up the past. "When I was old enough, I asked her to play Queen all the time. Do you know what my favorite Queen song was?"