back on the road, the man in the front passenger seat and the one across from me fall asleep immediately. My eyelids are heavy, but every time I close them, a string of images assault my mind. From Tony bleeding out to him in the hospital, then to Gloria and me at the house, and eventually Ryan. I don’t know why Ryan makes his way into my subconscious, but he does. The way his eyes bore into mine like he was trying to figure me out. There were questions there that I don’t understand and I doubt I’ll ever have answered.
As the hours pass and Pennsylvania bleeds into Ohio, Indiana, and then Illinois, I allow myself to zo ne out. The stark countryside is beautiful in a neglected, desolate sort of way. Spring is in full effect, and summer waits just around the corner. The heartland is gorgeous with its corn fields and rows of vegetables and even the occasional dairy farm spotting the landscape. But after a few hundred miles, even the pastoral charm of the Midwest wears off and I’m left with the choice between attempting to sleep despite the haunting images that barrage my mind, and the landscape. Neither is appealing, and eventually the mind-numbing dullness of the situation takes over, engulfing actual thought in favor of autopilot.
We stop three times for gas, mainly to fill up the bikes and to give th e riders a rest. The Devil of Death and the other two men in the van switch seats at the first stop and don’t switch back until the last. I study their patches and their demeanor all the while studiously avoiding Ruby’s occasional forays into consciousness. Though she is quite kind, she is mostly quiet. I find her attention on me more often than I’m comfortable with. I feel the urge to promise her that I’m real and I’m not going to suddenly turn into a ghost, but that would be rude, so I just pretend I don’t see her staring at me. It’s not easy.
Along the highway I see the signs for Chicago and hear grouchy muttering from the front seat about having to “get the fuck as far away from Chicago as possible.” The driver answers a cell phone, says a few words, and pulls it away from his ear, sliding it back into his jeans pocket. As we pass the signs for Chicago, some of the bikes pull off the highway.
“Rig’s crew is going to make sure Chicago stays in the Midwest,” The Devil of Death says. I stare at him quizzically, and he lets out an annoyed sigh then, after a pause, he clarifies in an annoyingly condescending tone. “Your daddy’s a mob boss, right? Yeah, so he’s got buddies in Chicago. You’re the mob’s property, and we’ve got you. Now, how happy do you think they are about that?”
Despite knowing nothing about these people and what they’re capable of, I feel an annoyed tick in my jaw. I bite back my sarcasm as much as possible and say, “Thank you for the clarification.”
“What’s a matter ? Did I annoy you, Princess?” he asks in a mocking tone. I fold my arms over my chest and turn away from him, focusing intently on Ruby’s sleeping form.
“Thank you,” I say again, because I was raised to be, if anything, polite. “For coming to get me.”
“It was a club vote and I lost. You ain’t my kid, and this ain’t my baggage.”
“Still,” I say, a bit quieter. Thanking someone who is so hell bent on pissing me off is challenging at best. Having had enough small talk for the time being, I settle into my seat and lean my head against the blackened window, hoping sleep will claim me.
When I wake, the sun has already set , and night time is upon us. The high-pitched squeal of the van’s brakes as we stop rouse even my new friend across from me. As his eyes flutter open, I smile at him as happily as I can muster. His eyes land on me immediately and a grimace appears. If he can’t bring himself to be kind, or even tolerant of me, perhaps I can kill him with kindness. Literally.
To my left side, Ruby stretches out, having slept most of the way since we left Brooklyn.
As the hours pass and Pennsylvania bleeds into Ohio, Indiana, and then Illinois, I allow myself to zo ne out. The stark countryside is beautiful in a neglected, desolate sort of way. Spring is in full effect, and summer waits just around the corner. The heartland is gorgeous with its corn fields and rows of vegetables and even the occasional dairy farm spotting the landscape. But after a few hundred miles, even the pastoral charm of the Midwest wears off and I’m left with the choice between attempting to sleep despite the haunting images that barrage my mind, and the landscape. Neither is appealing, and eventually the mind-numbing dullness of the situation takes over, engulfing actual thought in favor of autopilot.
We stop three times for gas, mainly to fill up the bikes and to give th e riders a rest. The Devil of Death and the other two men in the van switch seats at the first stop and don’t switch back until the last. I study their patches and their demeanor all the while studiously avoiding Ruby’s occasional forays into consciousness. Though she is quite kind, she is mostly quiet. I find her attention on me more often than I’m comfortable with. I feel the urge to promise her that I’m real and I’m not going to suddenly turn into a ghost, but that would be rude, so I just pretend I don’t see her staring at me. It’s not easy.
Along the highway I see the signs for Chicago and hear grouchy muttering from the front seat about having to “get the fuck as far away from Chicago as possible.” The driver answers a cell phone, says a few words, and pulls it away from his ear, sliding it back into his jeans pocket. As we pass the signs for Chicago, some of the bikes pull off the highway.
“Rig’s crew is going to make sure Chicago stays in the Midwest,” The Devil of Death says. I stare at him quizzically, and he lets out an annoyed sigh then, after a pause, he clarifies in an annoyingly condescending tone. “Your daddy’s a mob boss, right? Yeah, so he’s got buddies in Chicago. You’re the mob’s property, and we’ve got you. Now, how happy do you think they are about that?”
Despite knowing nothing about these people and what they’re capable of, I feel an annoyed tick in my jaw. I bite back my sarcasm as much as possible and say, “Thank you for the clarification.”
“What’s a matter ? Did I annoy you, Princess?” he asks in a mocking tone. I fold my arms over my chest and turn away from him, focusing intently on Ruby’s sleeping form.
“Thank you,” I say again, because I was raised to be, if anything, polite. “For coming to get me.”
“It was a club vote and I lost. You ain’t my kid, and this ain’t my baggage.”
“Still,” I say, a bit quieter. Thanking someone who is so hell bent on pissing me off is challenging at best. Having had enough small talk for the time being, I settle into my seat and lean my head against the blackened window, hoping sleep will claim me.
When I wake, the sun has already set , and night time is upon us. The high-pitched squeal of the van’s brakes as we stop rouse even my new friend across from me. As his eyes flutter open, I smile at him as happily as I can muster. His eyes land on me immediately and a grimace appears. If he can’t bring himself to be kind, or even tolerant of me, perhaps I can kill him with kindness. Literally.
To my left side, Ruby stretches out, having slept most of the way since we left Brooklyn.
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