0012: Too Fast
Share
Everly’s eyes fuse to the swaying white line at the edge of the road. Like an albino snake leading her home.
The voice from a book on tape Everly forced them to listen to on the drive down drones softly as she finds the highway and adjusts her grip on the wheel. 10 and 2. About an hour and half north.
Hayley moves an empty tumbler into the cupholder and presses her cheek against the cool window. She’s a drunk, sexy bottle of ketchup. And Everly Barker, is a sober, sexy bottle of mustard. Or a somewhat sober sexy bottle of mustard.
Everly turns the volume up. “This is one of my favorite quotes by Paulo Coelho. Maybe the journey isn’t so much about becoming anything. Maybe it’s about unbecoming everything that isn’t really you, so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place.”
Hayley lifts her head off the glass. “UGH. If I wasn’t already puking, I’d be puking. Can we please turn that off?”
Everly jabs the off button.
An hour up the road, a silver car, low to the ground, with purple lights pooling from its underbelly, approaches.
Everly tracks it in her rear-view mirror as it gets closer and closer.
Too close.
What is this guy doing?
She presses the gas.
Faster, faster…the meter reads 87 MPH. Then 92. Then 97. Hayley’s tan 1990s Toyota shakes with irritation at the pace.
Slow down, slow down, slow down.
The voice from a book on tape Everly forced them to listen to on the drive down drones softly as she finds the highway and adjusts her grip on the wheel. 10 and 2. About an hour and half north.
Hayley moves an empty tumbler into the cupholder and presses her cheek against the cool window. She’s a drunk, sexy bottle of ketchup. And Everly Barker, is a sober, sexy bottle of mustard. Or a somewhat sober sexy bottle of mustard.
Everly turns the volume up. “This is one of my favorite quotes by Paulo Coelho. Maybe the journey isn’t so much about becoming anything. Maybe it’s about unbecoming everything that isn’t really you, so you can be who you were meant to be in the first place.”
Hayley lifts her head off the glass. “UGH. If I wasn’t already puking, I’d be puking. Can we please turn that off?”
Everly jabs the off button.
An hour up the road, a silver car, low to the ground, with purple lights pooling from its underbelly, approaches.
Everly tracks it in her rear-view mirror as it gets closer and closer.
Too close.
What is this guy doing?
She presses the gas.
Faster, faster…the meter reads 87 MPH. Then 92. Then 97. Hayley’s tan 1990s Toyota shakes with irritation at the pace.
Slow down, slow down, slow down.