Read Online The Edge of Never by J. A. Redmerski - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: J. A. Redmerski
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your legs after hours on a bus to wake everyone up.
We pull into a spacious lot where several semis are parked, and in-between a convenience store, a car wash and a fast food restaurant. Passengers are standing up in the center of the aisle before the bus even comes to a stop. I’m one of them. My back hurts so bad.
We file out of the bus one by one, and the second I step off I cherish the feel of concrete underfoot and the mild breeze on my face. I don’t care that this area is hick-in-the-sticks remote, or that the convenience store gas pumps are so outdated that I know the restrooms will probably be scary; I’m just glad to be anywhere but cooped-up inside that bus. I practically glide (like an ungraceful, wounded gazelle) across the blacktop parking lot and toward the restaurant. I take advantage of the restroom first and when I come back out there are several people in line in front of me. I stare up at the menu, trying to decide between a large fry or vanilla shake—never was a big eater of fast food. And finally when I walk out of the restaurant with a vanilla shake, I see the guy from the bus sitting on the grass that separates the parking lots. His knees are bent and he’s eating a burger. I don’t look at him when I start to walk past, but apparently it’s not enough to keep him from bothering me.
“Eight more minutes before you have to crawl back into that tin can,” he says. “You’re really going to spend that precious time in there?”
I stop next to a little tree still being held up by a stick in the ground and tied with pink fabric.
“It’s just eight minutes,” I say. “Won’t make that much of a difference.”
He takes a huge bite of his burger, chews and swallows it down.
“Imagine if you were buried alive,” he says and takes a drink of soda. “You wouldn’t have much time before you suffocated to death. If only they’d gotten to you eight minutes earlier, hell, even one minute, you’d still be alive.”
“OK, I get it,” I say.
“I’m not contagious,” he says and then takes another bite.
I guess I have been sort of a bitch. I mean, in a way he kind of deserved it, but he’s really not being obnoxious or anything, so there’s no reason to keep the defenses all the way up. I’d rather not make any enemies on this trip if I can help it.
“Whatever,” I say and take a seat on the grass a couple of feet in front of him.
“So why Idaho?” he asks, though he looks at his food and all around him more than he looks directly at me.
“Going to see my sister,” I lie. “She just had a baby.”
He nods and swallows.
“Why Wyoming?” I ask, hoping to divert the topic from myself.
“Going to visit my dad,” he says. “He’s dying. Inoperable brain tumor.” He takes another bite. It doesn’t seem like what he just told me bothers him too much.
“Oh….”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, looking right at me this time for a brief moment. “We all gotta go sometime. My old man isn’t worried about it and told us not to be, either.” He smiles and looks at me again. “Actually, he told us if we do any of that cryin’ bullshit, that he’d write us out of his will.”
I suck on my vanilla shake for a moment, only to be doing something to keep my mouth from having to respond to the stuff he’s saying. I’m not sure if I could anyway, really.
He takes another sip.
“What’s your name?” he asks, setting his drink on the grass.
I wonder if I should give him my real name. “Cam,” I say, settling on the short version.
“Short for what?”
I didn’t expect that.
I hesitate, my eyes trailing. “Camryn,” I admit. I figure with all the lies I’m going to have to keep track of, I might as well be truthful about my first name at least. It’s one less-significant piece of information I don’t have to remember to keep under wraps.
“I’m Andrew. Andrew Parrish.”
I nod and smile slimly, not about to tell him my last name is Bennett.
We pull into a spacious lot where several semis are parked, and in-between a convenience store, a car wash and a fast food restaurant. Passengers are standing up in the center of the aisle before the bus even comes to a stop. I’m one of them. My back hurts so bad.
We file out of the bus one by one, and the second I step off I cherish the feel of concrete underfoot and the mild breeze on my face. I don’t care that this area is hick-in-the-sticks remote, or that the convenience store gas pumps are so outdated that I know the restrooms will probably be scary; I’m just glad to be anywhere but cooped-up inside that bus. I practically glide (like an ungraceful, wounded gazelle) across the blacktop parking lot and toward the restaurant. I take advantage of the restroom first and when I come back out there are several people in line in front of me. I stare up at the menu, trying to decide between a large fry or vanilla shake—never was a big eater of fast food. And finally when I walk out of the restaurant with a vanilla shake, I see the guy from the bus sitting on the grass that separates the parking lots. His knees are bent and he’s eating a burger. I don’t look at him when I start to walk past, but apparently it’s not enough to keep him from bothering me.
“Eight more minutes before you have to crawl back into that tin can,” he says. “You’re really going to spend that precious time in there?”
I stop next to a little tree still being held up by a stick in the ground and tied with pink fabric.
“It’s just eight minutes,” I say. “Won’t make that much of a difference.”
He takes a huge bite of his burger, chews and swallows it down.
“Imagine if you were buried alive,” he says and takes a drink of soda. “You wouldn’t have much time before you suffocated to death. If only they’d gotten to you eight minutes earlier, hell, even one minute, you’d still be alive.”
“OK, I get it,” I say.
“I’m not contagious,” he says and then takes another bite.
I guess I have been sort of a bitch. I mean, in a way he kind of deserved it, but he’s really not being obnoxious or anything, so there’s no reason to keep the defenses all the way up. I’d rather not make any enemies on this trip if I can help it.
“Whatever,” I say and take a seat on the grass a couple of feet in front of him.
“So why Idaho?” he asks, though he looks at his food and all around him more than he looks directly at me.
“Going to see my sister,” I lie. “She just had a baby.”
He nods and swallows.
“Why Wyoming?” I ask, hoping to divert the topic from myself.
“Going to visit my dad,” he says. “He’s dying. Inoperable brain tumor.” He takes another bite. It doesn’t seem like what he just told me bothers him too much.
“Oh….”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says, looking right at me this time for a brief moment. “We all gotta go sometime. My old man isn’t worried about it and told us not to be, either.” He smiles and looks at me again. “Actually, he told us if we do any of that cryin’ bullshit, that he’d write us out of his will.”
I suck on my vanilla shake for a moment, only to be doing something to keep my mouth from having to respond to the stuff he’s saying. I’m not sure if I could anyway, really.
He takes another sip.
“What’s your name?” he asks, setting his drink on the grass.
I wonder if I should give him my real name. “Cam,” I say, settling on the short version.
“Short for what?”
I didn’t expect that.
I hesitate, my eyes trailing. “Camryn,” I admit. I figure with all the lies I’m going to have to keep track of, I might as well be truthful about my first name at least. It’s one less-significant piece of information I don’t have to remember to keep under wraps.
“I’m Andrew. Andrew Parrish.”
I nod and smile slimly, not about to tell him my last name is Bennett.
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