Bonnie had been an easy sell. I produced the keys to my trapped Range Rover and offered her a temporary trade. She had been all too happy to hand over the keys to her van after a quick clean out and swapping phone numbers. I hope she won't be too disappointed when the trade lasts longer than I initially promised, because I can’t stop driving.
I pass the exit that leads to my apartment with a cackle that sounds insane. I laugh all the way through the Inland Empire until I’m pushing The Hulk up steep mountains. Driving this crappy van is cathartic. It is such a stark contrast to my usual life that I feel free in a way I never have before. I notice that the engine makes angry noises when I try to pass sixty miles an hour, so I get comfortable in the right lane of the freeway and drive until everything is far behind me.
My phone has been blowing up with calls and texts almost non-stop since I left. My mother, Miles, and even my dad called, and he rarely chimes in, even when things get hairy in my life. I let every call go to voicemail and leave every text unanswered. My phone is usually an extension of my arm and for the past few months it has started to feel like a yippy, demanding dog that wants constant attention. It has come with me to document every vacation, because even my vacations are work. I am tempted to throw it out the open window, but I need my GPS and the phone in case The Hulk bites the dust. I’m notthatcrazy. I power it down and shove it in the glove box.
When I see the lights of Las Vegas in the distance, a giggle erupts out of me. I had topped off the gas tank before I left, but maybe it’s time to get some gas and make some more poor choices. I have visions of myself sitting across a Blackjack table from one of the handsomeOcean’s Elevenguys. I would win everything and he wouldjoin me in a long night of elegant dining, followed by a quickie marriage that we would have annulled tomorrow.Let’s do this.
I take the first exit that looks semi-safe and pull into a gas station, guessing which side of the van to park by the pump. I guess wrong, of course, move the van, and try again. Leaning against the dusty van while the gas pump does its thing, I stare at my nails and pick at my French manicure.
I look up and catch a guy on the other side of the pump watching me. He is leaning against a silver sports car, dressed like he is definitely in the Las Vegas mafia, a thick mat of salt and pepper chest hair on proud display, crowned with heavy gold chains. When he catches me eyeballing his chest hair region he raises his eyebrows and licks his lips.Gross.
That’s when I remember I’m still wearing my pink velvet dress. “What? You haven’t seen a lady pumping gas in an evening gown before?” I snark in a fake New Jersey accent that surprises both of us.Who is this person talking? Get in the van and lock the doors, you idiot.
Mafia guy rolls his eyes, mumbling something I’m glad I don’t understand, and squeals his tires as he leaves.
After my disenchanting gas station experience, I decide to take my poor choices in another direction and pull through an In-n-Out drive through instead. I situate an animal-style cheeseburger and fries in my lap, a chocolate shake in the cupholder, and tune the radio until I find another 80s station. Soon I’m driving north on the freeway again, my stomach happier than it has been in years.
I drive for what feels like a few more hours. It’s the middle of the night and I am on an unfamiliar highway. The adrenaline high from sassing a member of the mafia and drinking a chocolate shake wears off, and I start to feel woozy. I crank the window back down to let the chilly desert air wake me up and keep driving.
I pass a sign that says “Welcome to Arizona” in a fog, but it is followed by a crazy winding road that cuts through a rocky canyon with sheer cliffs on either side that keeps me from dozing off. Theroad straightens out and I pass a “Welcome to Utah” sign right as the little clock on the dash reads 4:42 a.m. I am definitely ready for sleep.
The lights of a small town sparkle ahead of me and I decide to stop for the night. Or the morning. I am so tired I can’t think straight. I pull onto a road that has several hotels with glowing “No Vacancy” signs. I follow that road onto another road that has exactly zero hotels, turn onto another road and follow that until it turns into only desert on both sides of the van.
When I nod off and catch myself drifting onto the narrow shoulder of the road I decide to pull over. I come to a rumbling stop in a cloud of dust, climb into the back of the van, and fall asleep before my head even hits the pleather bench seat.
Chapter 2
Hours later, I wake with a jolt, peeling my cheek away from the seat. My pink dress is wrinkled and twisted sideways on my body, and my mouth tastes like I ate an onion-y cheeseburger and fell asleep without brushing my teeth. Blech.
I blink my bleary, sleep-crusted eyes to get a look at the surroundings outside the van. When the world comes into focus I see minty sagebrush trailing up to sheer, coral-colored cliffs, all under a bright blue, smog-free sky. I hadn’t noticed in the dark and mental haze of the night before, but I chose an incredible camping spot. I roll down my window and take a deep breath of the morning air through my nose. It is fresh and cool, with the perfume of desert plants I can’t name. I want to bottle that smell and sell it. Ilovebeing out of California. I often wonder what the long term consequences will be of breathing that murky air every day of my life. I woke up in a clear-skied heaven. Despite the exhaustion and the fumes coming from my mouth, my heart flutters with excitement for the new day.
I ran away! I am off the grid! I am giddy to see where The Hulk will take me today! I need a bathroom!
I creak open the door of the van and step outside, turning in a circle. There are no signs of life—no houses, gas stations, or power lines. I can’t even hear traffic. And there are exactly zero toilets onthe horizon. What I do see are several tall shrubs, lined up like they are waiting for me. Nature’s bathroom.That’s as good a place as any,my bladder says.
I can’t do this,I whine.
You must,my bladder threatens.Or else!
I peek down at my high heels and velvety dress and send up a request to the universe to spare my shoes, at least.Here goes nothing.
Minutes later I grumble, “I am never doing that again,” as I climb into The Hulk. I drop into the driver’s seat, relieved in every sense of the word: My heels are dry, my bladder is no longer yelling at me, and no one drove by to witness my humiliation. Success.
Now what?
I ignored the compulsion to check my phone before I face planted in the back of the van last night. I was too tired to face it, and more than happy to delay the inevitable. But it is time. I drag my phone out of the glove box, silently praying that it has a dead battery. No such luck. 22% battery and no more excuses.
I don’t open the texts from my mother or Miles yet. My first task is to explain myself to Bonnie, who seems excited to extend our trade. She loves driving my Range Rover and is impressed that The Hulk has made it all the way to Utah without dying. The van’s nickname earns me five cry-laughing emoji in response and she asks for a picture of The Hulk on its adventure to show her boys.
I climb out of the van, snap a quick shot of it in all of its olive green glory, with the sheer red rocks as a backdrop, and push send. The sun is just peeking above the cliffs, bathing everything in that golden light that my followers love. On a normal day, with a view like this, I would take forty or so pictures, and post ten of them with my standard filters in place. Instead, I take a quick selfie with the van and the desert as my backdrop. I want to remember this mini vacation, but I won’t be sharing this with my followers. That is, if I have any followers left at this point. My heart drops. It’s time to check in with my mother.
With some effort, I roll open the side door of the van and leave it open as I sit cross-legged on the bench seat. The breeze through the van feels nice, and I allow myself to be distracted by a bird circling high over the sagebrush. I sneak a nibble of one of the gourmet sugar cookies I found at the gas station last night after my run-in with the mafia man. These things are good. I take a big bite. I could get used to dessert for breakfast.Stop stalling, Indie.
I skim my mother’s texts, which are both concerned and annoyed, the last of which only reads “Call me.” This gives me the chills. I take the chicken way out and text her.
INDIGO: Hey, Mom. Sorry I haven’t looked at my phone until now. I took a little last minute getaway. I promise I’ll be back to work soon. Can you cover for me?
My phone rings two seconds after I push send.
