The Red Strokes

Chapter 3 - Val

"Val honey, you're white-knuckling the steering wheel again."

"Ssh, Elvis is singing to me." She loosens her grip.

"Well then he's doing it all wrong because you're driving like Jeff Gordon on the last turn, not cruising to a love song."

Val rolls her eyes and nudges the volume up a bit. Michelle has been trying to prod her out of her reticence since leaving the house, even going as far as to use her own weird-ass sense of humor without touching on what's really bothering her. Michelle knows she uses jokes to cover everything that isn't funny, and Michelle knows it won't be long before the jokes stop working and then, between moments of clarity and moments of confusion, her thoughts will pour out like soured milk. And she knows Michelle will be there to hear every screwed-up word.

When the sound of Elvis's voice fades, Val turns the volume all the way down and waits for Michelle to look at her. "You know, it's not too late to come to your senses. Are you sure you're up for this?" she asks, knowing the answer, but needing to hear it again.

"Again, why wouldn't I be?"

Val looks directly at Michelle. "Oh I don't know. It might have something to do with the holier-than-Jesus bashing we took from Lilah's sister the last time we stuck our fingers in her cage."

"Lilah's sister? That's cute, Val."

"You know the L-word flies out of her mouth like a sneeze when we're there."

"Yeah, almost as often as the G-word, but it's not like I haven't heard them before." Michelle shifts in her seat to face her. "Neither Lilah's sister nor her distasteful use of certain words are enough to keep me from being there for you."

Val reaches over and gives Michelle's thigh a squeeze. "That was the last chance I'm going to give you. You're locked in now, no changing your mind when the shit hits Pennsylvania."

Michelle smiles and returns to the book she'd been reading while Val continues counting mile markers. Part of her feels like a small child with a bad tooth, being dragged to the dentist against her will while another part of her feels like a death row inmate taking a walk on the green mile, putting one foot in front of the other, fearful, but accepting of her fate. For years, she had been able to bow out of most family functions without a shit-load of grief, but even she knows no excuse would be good enough to get her out of this one.

She catches mile marker nineteen as it whizzes by and lets up on the accelerator a bit. Less than an hour away from Lilah's warm welcome and Mia's cold shoulder. Less than an hour away from fake pleasantries and communal mourning. I can do this, she thinks, unbearable as it may be. But, if they think for one minute she's going to stand at the casket, shoulder-to-shoulder with Lilah's sister and play the part of the blubbering fool, she's so out of there.

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