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The road stretches for miles, straight and narrowing to a pinpoint that looks as if it will lead us right off the edge of the Earth.I press the accelerator of my vintage, seafoam-green pickup to speed us along the pencil-drawn freeway at a steady clip. Dips in the pavement gather puddles of thermal waves in blurry reflective undulations; each vanishing as we approach. Hills line either side like outstretched welcoming arms sleeved in the waning day’s amber hue.Harper’s bare feet perch against the front of the passenger’s side dashboard like she is pinning the glove box shut with her heels. She hums along to the treble-laden tunes that play through the Chevy’s tired speakers. Her toes wiggling any time it’s a song she likes. ‘Where are we going?’ The words float around in my mind like fluffy aimless clouds.At the time, they seemed to form such a simple question, as far as questions go. But then, Harper always poses her questions so they seem simple. It’s the answers that are difficult to grasp long enough for me to formulate any reasonable response. One second they’ll make perfect sense, the next, they are as elusive as the fugacious nature of love and life itself.This particular question felt more like an innocent inquiry. Innocent, yes. But, a deep-seated rhetorical query that now—whether she intended it to or not—manifests itself in my overly contemplative mind as a thought. Yep, the dreaded thought.‘Where are we going?’Not just physically…going. We had taken road trips before with no defined destination. No, that’s not what was tying my fucking brain into intractable knots. It is the depth of the pool that her question had plunged itself into that begins pressing its weight on my chest.‘Where the fuck are we going?’I pull my gaze from the road, turn to her, and smile. Harper turns too. Fuck, those eyes. Emerald-green, and so beautifully bright even when she is pissed-off etlik escort or sad. And when she is happy, like she is at this moment… Christ, they pull me in like some force of expressive gravity that I am powerless to fight against. I swallow hard then grip the steering wheel even harder.“You’re tense,” she says.“Yeah,” I reply.“You know I don’t care where we go.”“Yeah,” I repeat.Harper pinches the radio’s knob to turn up the volume, pushing the tinny speakers to their limit, then wraps her arms around her knees. Her sundress rides up so I can see the side of her milky-white thigh. She is picture-perfect with strands of jet-black hair that float like ribbons in the rush of sixty-miles-per-hour air. She stares out to the expanse of nothingness in front of us. Her toes are wiggling; she really does not care.Not in the apathetic sense. I know she cares about me, but she has this innate ability to let the small things just roll off her back. I have yet to be able to figure that part out.How can she sit there so laid-back and poised, bouncing to the music as if her only concern in this world is whether or not the next song will be one she likes? I once again take my eyes from the road to look at her.Why is she all the way over there and not next to me on this bench seat? Is that a sign? A sign that maybe we are drifting apart. My overthinking starts to elongate, spiraling around and around tying into more knots…“Hey!” she blurts out turning in my direction. “Do you think there’ll be strawberries there?” Her voice is raised above the music and the rush of the road. “Wherever it is that we are going?” She smirks, an uptick in her brow as she fights a giggle. Our eyes meet briefly before I turn back to the windshield.A dig, I know her.I don’t answer immediately, I turn quickly again to face her. There is a brief moment of silence while the keçiören escort song changes. She smiles. I smile. Definitely a dig, an adorable fucking dig.“I’m sure we can find some,” I finally say.I’m not as clever as she is, especially when my mind is slipping into that world I fight so diligently to keep it from. Harper has helped me see how destructive it is when I retract into my shell. It’s so fucking hard, though. That slope is slippery and when all you have to grab on to are crazed thoughts that make about as much sense as overlook and oversee having opposite meanings, you tumble rather quickly.Though, there is no denying that she’s perfect for me. Maybe that’s it, the answer to why I obsess. Maybe my fear of losing her is what distorts any thought process from being based in rationale or reason. There are no other Harpers out there. Certainly none that would look past our twenty-year age difference and find interest in me and my quirks. At least, that’s what my brain whispers as it hoses down the already muddy slope my treadless soles feebly try to cling to.All my life I have been this way, taking every aspect and overanalyzing it, but never this much. Never to the point it becomes debilitative. So, I suppose you could say that meeting her has changed me. Then again, that’s not really fair to put on her. It’s mostly my own self-destruction that has changed me. Harper, if anything, is the only thing trying to save me.More spiraling.More knots.“This reminds me of a movie,” she says.“Which one?” I ask.“No, not a movie that I’ve seen, per se.” She pauses to think. ”I don’t know, maybe it was in something I’ve seen and I just don’t recall the specifics. But, what I meant is that it reminds me of what might be in a movie.”“I can see that,” I say even though I really can’t but it seems like the right response.“Look at all of this,” she kızılay escort says as if she could tell I was placating. She waves an upturned palm over the dash in front of her. “This road seems to stretch into eternity, we haven’t seen another car for miles, and there is absolutely no sign of civilization anywhere.” She sighs. Her voice slows and takes on an exaggerated, dramatic tone, “It’s almost as if this truck is what is stationary and it’s the world whirling past us on some kind of continual loop.”“Would that change things?” I ask after a brief contemplative pause.“Change things? Like what?”“Like this. If we were in a movie, would it change our conversation? Your facial expressions? The way you act, the way you feel?”She thinks and stares out in front. I pivot my head to look at her…then to the road…then back to her.Her delicate features contort into a look of consternation. Then, the muscles in her face attach to her thoughts by tiny little strings, and her expression changes. Her eyes pinch, wrinkling into a vertical crease in her forehead, lips become pursed. One eyebrow pushes up slightly pulling the corner of her mouth along with it into a devious smile. Her chin ticks left.“Mhmm,” she mumbles.“Mhmm?” I ask, reaching to turn the radio’s volume all the way down.“I think it would change things, depending on the genre, of course. Is this a comedy we are in? A drama? Ooh…a horror film? Maybe you are driving me out to that Zzyzx road in the desert where you have a field of shallow graves.”“Sometimes, you scare me,” I say lightheartedly.She pulls one foot to tuck under her and turns toward me so her back is at an angle against the door. Those raven-colored ribbons now pull out the open window. I can tell she is still thinking. I want to pull over just so I don’t have to keep pivoting my glance.“I have an idea,” she says, licking her lips.In my world, ideas are complex and usually revolve around running my cafe. Supply chain management, profit and loss statements, customer retention, and all the other bullshit that trails along with things like economic indicators.“What if we are in a porno?” she interrupts my continually knotted thoughts.
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