ShotgunA Story by Lindsay LukensI've had this idea forever about a group of friends driving across country to see the ocean for the first time. This is sort of like the beginning and end. Its not ANYWHERE close to being complete, I'm just looking for some openions...
Shotgun
I had been walking on maps for weeks. At first there was one: the nation spread on a glass coffee table, distances measured in fingers, inches. It grew to an atlas and soon the pages found themselves spilling over to paper the floor. Here Nebraska. Utah. Arizona. Finally the coast, the entire Midwest. Aaron swore we could make the drive in twelve hours; Jimmy said it would be more like twenty. “Omaha to LA? Got to be a thousand miles, at the very least.” And when I told him any stretch of coast would do he held his breath for a moment before nodding. I understood he needed the water, too.
None of us had ever seen to ocean, and one night, over the fence in a neighbor’s pool, I had wished the water were heavy with salt. It was then that Aaron first mentioned the Pacific. When I walked into the ground apartment late the next afternoon, the table had grown its first map. Already a hi-liter trail charted our prospective path. I laughed when I saw it: I didn’t’ believe it would happen. Jimmy’s boss, Lucky, was on the futon, playing Halo on one screen, watching Fox News on the smaller television to the left. from time to time he would glance from his game long enough to be indignant about something the commentators had said. They ran a carwash together, Lucky in charge of all legitimate business and Jimmy catering to ‘Mr. Woo,’ anyone who came around looking for something besides a wash and lube. Jimmy was perched on a barstool concentrating on the digital readout of his scales.
“Where’s Aaron,” I asked taking the stool beside his. Jimmy looked up long enough to be happy to see me; hungry for whatever I could offer. He held up a finger as he resituated the white powder with his MasterCard and, once he was satisfied that the weight was not going to change, spun around so that he was facing me, our knees touching.
“Aaron,” he began, pausing dramatically, “is in the closet.” When I didn’t immediately begin to laugh or beg him to elaborate he continued: “There’s this new girl at the Lube, Lisa, and when he stopped by there over lunch he spent the entire time staring at her. So I did the friendly thing and invited her over here. But when I told Aaron that he pretty much freaked out. So now he’s hiding in the closet. Chances are he’s either playing guitar or –“ he made a motion with his hand. “I tried to get him outa there, but he’s not listening to me. You might have some effect, though, being family and all.” He grinned at me.
I had been calling Aaron my brother ever since last July when we had tripped at his grandparent’s ranch. We had rolled around in the garden watching the stars swirl above us and the grass grow below us and had eventually come to the conclusion that we were meant to be family, in an incestuous way. That had been ten months ago and in that time the others had stopped trying to understand and had started accepting our uncommon union. “So, when’s this Lisa chick coming over here?”
Jimmy pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time; “It should be any minute now. If he wants her, he can have her, but if he stays back there I’m going for it.” I shook my head and slid off the stool. “You can tell him I said that,” Jimmy called as I walked down the hall to Aaron’s room.
I didn’t knock, just opened the closet door and stepped into the darkness. Just as Jimmy had predicted, Aaron as sitting naked on the floor with his guitar in his lap, “So, I’ve got an idea.” He looked inquisitive, but didn’t start looking for his pants, so I thought I had a chance. “This girl’s gonna be here pretty soon, and Jimmy says he’ll go after her if you won’t.” He started to look sheepish, which wasn’t difficult given his curly blonde hair and fair skin. “Just listen,” I said. “Lucky’s out there, and I was thinking that when she comes in, he can just pick her up, open the door, and throw her in here. What do you think?” He was silent for a few moments, then laughed and kissed me mildly, nodding his assent. “Great. Don’t put your clothes on.”
I still didn’t believe them. Even once they started making shifts of who would drive and how far the whole thing seemed too far-fetched. They decided we should take my Volvo: it’s safe discreet, gets more miles to the gallon than any of ours, they had said. By that time Lisa had spent a fair amount of time in Aaron’s closet, being sure to visit every time she came by, so she was invited to come along for the ride I swore would never get going.
This is how we began: Lucky behind the wheel, Lisa riding shotgun, me in the back squeezed between Jimmy and Aaron, which was traditionally one of my favorite places.
That night I dreamt of the water. The five of us fired up a dune in the darkness, surprised at how the ground gave way beneath us; stumbling, backsliding, grasping at the scrub brush, gasping as our weight wrenched their roots from the soft earth. We pulled each other to the top. The air slapped my face, warm, and I licked my lip smiling at the taste: salt. The sand was cooler up here; it felt as if it had not been completely dry in years, millennia. And below us, playing in the silver moonlight, waves rolled onto the beach.
I ran for it screaming. Down the other side the ground was even gauzier and it collapsed beneath me almost at once and I slid the rest of the way, sand shooting up the legs of my jeans, prickly weeds grasping at my toes. I crumpled in the loosely packed sand, rolled to my knees, struggled to my feet in this new earth that felt so unwilling to hold me. The roar of the waves was in my ears, louder than I could have ever imagined; between my own ragged breath and the respiration of the Pacific I didn’t notice my friends hesitating on the edge of its vastness. I turned back to them and called over the din of the water, “You can’t fear the ocean,” then seeing they could neither hear nor comprehend, pivoted and whispered out to the endless water, “it’s too big.”
© 2008 Lindsay LukensReviews
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1 Review Added on April 25, 2008 Last Updated on April 30, 2008 AuthorLindsay LukensMero Atlanta, GAAboutI'm a slave. Do I need you say anything else? Ok. I am a twenty-two year old poet and writer currently studying English at a university in Georgia. My interests include existentialism, modern art, li.. more..Writing
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