I wake up in the backseat of the Jeep somewhere along highway 75 in the darkness, barreling down the asphalted two laned road at 70, 80 miles per hour and looking out of the window of the door which I had been leaning my head against, which is open a crack, wind rushing in making a steady unbroken wooshing noise and I close it instinctively, notice nobody else around at all, no headlights, no nothing and then sit up straight, unbelted, the green army blanket wrapped around me in a way that I know somebody else had placed it on me while I slept. The radio is off but the red and blue glow of letters and numbers coming from the dashboard illuminate her face enough for me to see and she's smiling, her lips moving slightly not making any noise, not saying anything, singing to herself. Why didn't you wake me up, I ask her, already knowing what she's going to say. Because you were tired. I'm okay up here, i'm a better driver than you think I am. And she knows what i'm going to say. That isn't the point, alluding to the slight issue of her lack of a drivers license, something she has never really given a shit about but has plagued me with anxiety whenever she is behind the wheel, especially in a state I know nothing about, miles away from home on the other end of the country. I reach underneath the passengers seat and pat around for my father's flask, bring it up underneath the blanket and unscrew the top, trying not to make any noise, put it to my lips and drink whatever is left of the cheap bourbon I put in somewhere in North Carolina in the bathroom of the dimly lit truck stop with holes in the wall.
We can stay at Dale Hollow for the night, if you want. I have an aunt who has a house boat there, she tells me but I don't believe her. It's just a few more exits down. I tell her to pull over, I have to take a piss but she's ready with the empty gatorade bottle telling me, here, use this. It's too late to lie and tell her I have to shit too, she'll know, so I just grab the bottle and tell her thanks, trying to think of any other excuse I can to get her to pull the car over but I don't have anything and so I sit back, wish I wasn't out of bourbon in the backseat of my Jeep in the middle of the night in the woods of Tennessee going somewhere, way too fast, where I definitely don't want to be.
We can stay at Dale Hollow for the night, if you want. I have an aunt who has a house boat there, she tells me but I don't believe her. It's just a few more exits down. I tell her to pull over, I have to take a piss but she's ready with the empty gatorade bottle telling me, here, use this. It's too late to lie and tell her I have to shit too, she'll know, so I just grab the bottle and tell her thanks, trying to think of any other excuse I can to get her to pull the car over but I don't have anything and so I sit back, wish I wasn't out of bourbon in the backseat of my Jeep in the middle of the night in the woods of Tennessee going somewhere, way too fast, where I definitely don't want to be.