The car
chugged loudly, crawling desperately towards the gas station not far ahead. The
dial was as close to the “E” as it could get and I was seriously amazed it had
made it this far. Hunter, on the other hand, seemed less amazed and more
determined to get it ten more feet to a pump.
“Just a little bit farther. C’mon, baby,” he whispered under his breath.
“C’mon.” And as that word passed his lips the car sputtered and fell silent. We
started to roll back down the hill we had just come up. Hunter slammed his foot
on the break. “Well, shit,” he said, looking over to me.
“Looks like we are going to have to get out and push, huh?” I asked,
withholding the grin that was dying to curve my lips.
As we both stepped out of our respective doors, I felt the car begin to
shift, back down the hill.
“Oh no you don’t,” Hunter growled, bracing himself against the frame. The
car stopped. When he noticed that I, unlike him, was not helping, he jerked his
head towards my side and I let out a small sigh. I placed my hands on the
doorframe and began to push.
Hunter didn’t need me really. His muscles weren’t huge or bulky or
anything like that but they were diver’s muscles, lean and strong. Though,
maybe best not suited for pushing a car.
We finally made it to the pump and as Hunter reached into the car to pull
the parking brake, I clambered up onto the hood. As I felt the sun begin to
heat up my skin, I crawled up towards the windshield and reached inside on my
side. I pulled a parasol out and opened it, shading my body from the hot, June
sun.
I was extremely susceptible to sun burns and I did not particularly like
them so I kept a parasol with me at all times.
The pump that Hunter was now struggling with was one of those Ye Olde
pumps that are covered in rust and don’t have a credit card slot. I watched him
bang around with the hose, trying to get it passed the open fuel cap.
There were a total of two pumps at this gas station, with a ramshackle
building that I assumed you paid within. There were neon signs in the window of
the station but they had burned out. From outside, all I could see was a single
bulb hanging from a string attached to the ceiling.
“Hunter,” I said in a sing song voice.
“What?” he snapped.
“I believe that you own me ten bucks. Who was it who said that we would
run out of gas?” I paused. “Oh right, that’d be me.”
“Alison,” he replied, exasperated. “Can this wait until we’re back on the
road?”
“Back on the road after you pay me my money.” But it wasn’t me who had
spoken. We both turned to find an old man standing halfway between the car and
the building. He was round, like a ball, with thin limbs sticking out. He wore
a stained wife beater that in no way covered his expansive stomach, which was
covered in black hair. A cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. The state
of his nails was visible from here, ragged and of varying lengths of
nail-bitten distress.
“Um,” I finally said. “Yeah, we were just about to do that. How much?”
“Seventy four, ninety eight. Exact change only.”
I glanced in distress to Hunter as I pull my purse in front of me and
began to dig through it. Seventy four dollars and eighty three cents later I
looked up. “I’m missing fifteen cents.”
“Well, that fifteen cents will keep you from whenever you were going. I
want my money.” The man had stamped out his old cigarette just to light up a
new one. He hacked loudly and spit a loogie out onto the ground.
Hunter was rummaging around the car, looking for change. I screwed my
mouth up and slid my coins back in my purse. Instead, I pulled out another
whole dollar. “Keep the seven cents.” I handed the bills to the man and hurried
into the car. Hunter gunned the car and sped out of the lot and back onto the
road and back towards our ultimate goal.
Hunter and I were on our way to my family’s cabin in the middle of rural
Minnesota. Not my ideal way to spend summer vacation, but my family had asked
me to join them, insisted upon it. I told them that I would come, under one
condition: Hunter was invited too.
They didn’t have a huge problem with this; Hunter grew up as part of my
family. There wasn’t much of his left.
Plus, his dad was absolute best friends forever with my Aunt Anne. She
and Hunter’s dad, had grown up together in Missoula, Montana, back when Pong
was the only video game and there was a total of one curly-wired phone in every
house. Granted, considering it was Montana, they probably didn’t have any
phones at all. They probably used smoke signals.
Now, Anne was the only one who lived in Missoula anymore. Hunter and his
dad had moved to a western suburb of Chicago, just a couple of towns over from
where I lived with my mother and father.
Hunter jerked the car. In his attempt to find a ten wedged in a pocket of
his jeans, he had allowed the car a little off-road rampage. He slid the bill
in my hand. “I would appreciate it, Ali, if you would stop betting in any
unfavorable manner you are capable of.”
“You lie. Betting is fun. You would actually
appreciate if I would stop betting on the obvious, albeit, maybe not to you,
option.” I waved my ten triumphantly.
Despite of himself, he cracked a tiny grin. “Fuck you.”
“Hey, watch the language. Where we’re going, there will be children. And
adults who probably don’t appreciate f-bombs.”
“And twenty somethings, who probably use the word more than I do.”
“True. Doesn’t change the fact that we will both be censoring ourselves
this summer.” We drove along in silence for a bit. We were six hours into our
eight hours drive, closer to the seven mark. Hunter was kind of in a bit of a
mood and I wasn’t really having it. Hunter hated driving but seeing as all I
had was my learner’s permit, he had to drive the entirety of the way.
I swallowed a mouthful of water from my bottle, placed in the cup holder.
“Who are you most excited to see?” I asked.
“No one in particular. I’m kind of excited to see Aunt Anne.”There you
go. Hunter’s dad and Anne were so close that Hunter called her his aunt too.
I’m honestly surprised he doesn’t call her mom. Although, he still sees his mom
so I guess that complicates things.
“Not even Nikki and Zooey? Aren’t they ‘hot bitches?’” I threw up quotes
where they belonged.
Hunter shook head but laughed quietly. “They are not my type, at all.”
“Oh I see,” I replied. “Maybe Jack is more your style.” Jack was my gay
cousin.
At that, Hunter swatted at me and I giggled. “Hell no. I am as straight
as a pool cue.”
“Maybe a bent pool cue.”
I of course knew that Hunter was romantically and sexually interested in
women. But, he was almost never with a girl long enough to get to the sexual
part.
Hunter and my relationship was complicated and it complicated our other
relationships. When we were younger, like elementary school kids, it was easy.
Our sex meant nothing in our interests and all was good until the fourth or
fifth grade.
That’s when boys became icky. I continued to play with Hunter outside of
school, but I felt pressured to scorn him in public, as he did with me.
When we entered middle school, things went back to the way they had been
in early elementary. Girls and boys could be friends again. The thing was, lots
of girls and boys were becoming more than just friends.
Hunter got his first girlfriend in late sixth grade and I got my first
boyfriend in seventh grade. While I am aware now that we were merely playing
boyfriend-girlfriend like we used to play house, at the time it felt extremely
serious and like nothing should come between us and our significant others. At
least, that’s how they viewed it.
When Hunter and I began skipping “dates” to hang out with each other,
Margret Waters and Jeffrey Smiths grew very middle school jealous. Rumors
spread that Hunter and I were cheating on Margret and Jeffrey with each other
and when we entered eighth grade, I even heard rumors that I had lost my
virginity to Hunter.
I had not and though Margret and Jeffrey broke it off with us—before
getting together—we seemed unaffected by the gossip.
But all of our later relationships suffered from the same chronic
suspicion and envy. It got so bad that one of Hunter’s ex-girlfriends, in a
desperate attempt to save their relationship, got him drunk on their two month
anniversary and that night, Hunter lost his virginity. That was ninth grade. I
still remember his call the next morning.
And while we never admitted the gossip was true, to say that our
relationship has always been platonic would be a lie. But those are stories for
another time.
Hunter stared at me.
“What?” I inquired, escaping daydreams.
“I asked you a question.”
“Well, I did not hear this question.” I rolled my window down a crack and
the smell of coming rain seeped in.
“Close that, it’s going to rain.” He jabbed a finger towards the
darkening and thickening clouds high above us.
“That, dearest Hunter, is not a question.” He rolled his eyes and fiddled
with the controls on his door. My window closed.
“I asked if anyone birthed
anyone who I should know about.”
I mentally ran through everyone in my family while slowly shaking my
head. “Nope. Same people. But, you have to keep in mind that I have Nikki and
Zooey in my family.”
“Very true, Ali. Those two are very unpredictable in their states of
pregnancy or non-pregnancy.” I could feel the falling temperature as the sun
disappeared behind the rain clouds. A light drizzle began to fall.
I pulled my cell phone out and pressed the power button, goofing around
on a few of the apps for a bit.
“You know,” Hunter said, breaking the silence, “I honestly think that you
could drive for a bit. There are no cops out here and you’re a damn good driver
so he wouldn’t even be suspicious. Please,” he whined.
I tugged a sweatshirt on and curled up in my seat, rested my head on the window
and closing my eyes. “I’m taking a nap now. Please do try to not get us in a
wreck.”
As Hunter swore profusely beside me, I smirked into the zipper of my
jacket.
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