Amy & Roger's Epic Detour (36 page)
Charlie left as well, heading toward my mother, leaving me alone. Alone with the small piece of ground that held what was left of my father, I reached into my pocket and took out what I’d brought him. When I’d been in the 7-Eleven that morning, looking down at the candy display, I’d suddenly panicked, because I couldn’t remember what his favorite flavors were. Why hadn’t I paid more attention? Why hadn’t I realized that one day he wouldn’t be there to ask?
I’d finally gone with Butter Rum and Wint-O-Green. I took them out and placed them on top of the marker, where they rolled back until they hit the raised
B
of his name and stopped. It had always been my job to give him Life Savers. And now this was the only way I could do it. I looked at the candy, knowing it would be taken away, uneaten, when the flowers were thrown away every week.
Then I turned away too, leaving him all alone.
—Jason Robert Brown
“Are you okay?” Roger asked.
I nodded, looking straight ahead as we crossed the parking lot to the car. I’d left the postcard on top of the graffiti wall, underneath the heaviest rock I could find on the street. I hadn’t said much when I’d met Roger by the middle gift shop. I still didn’t feel like saying much.
We got into the car, and Roger reached into his pocket and pulled out a small tissue-wrapped object. “I know you’re probably not going to want them,” he said as I looked at him, surprised, “but they seemed too good to pass up.”
I tore off the tissue paper and saw that he’d bought me sunglasses—Elvis-style gold-rimmed sunglasses. I looked down at them in my hands and thought about my own sunglasses, shattered in the impact—I’d seen one of the lenses on the ground, mixed with all the auto glass. It was stupid to refuse to get new ones. It wasn’t like it was going to do anything. I gave Roger the best approximation of a smile I could. “Thank you,” I said, slipping them on. “What do you think?”
He gave me a real smile in return. “Lovely,” he said. He started the car. “Lunch?”
Roger had discovered his own version of heaven, and it was Krystal, a fast-food chain neither of us had heard of before. And it was good—the burgers were mini-burgers, and the fries were extra salty. And there was sweet tea as a drink option. We ate sitting in the way-back, the door raised, our legs dangling over the edge. We had the view of the Tennessee-Alabama Fireworks emporium across the street, and I noticed Roger looking at it a little too interestedly, when not exclaiming over the perfection of the burgers.
I held the atlas on my lap, looking down at the country, amazed by how far we’d come. We still had a little ways to go, but it seemed like most of the country was behind us.
“What’s the plan?” Roger asked, holding out the fries to me. I took one and dipped it in the barbecue sauce container sitting between us, while he made a face. He did not approve of barbecue sauce on fries, I’d found out.
“I don’t know,” I said, even though, as I looked down at the map, I could see where I wanted to go. We weren’t that far from it either. Just one state away. “I should tell you something.” Roger put the fry that was halfway to his mouth down and looked at me. “My brother’s not at an academic enrichment camp,” I said. “He’s in rehab.” The word, ugly and loaded, hung between us in the car for a moment.
“Oh,” Roger said quietly.
“Yeah,” I said with a short laugh. “And I was thinking …” I traced my finger across Tennessee and to North Carolina. To Asheville. “I think that I need to see him.”
Around one a.m. we were outside of Asheville. We hadn’t talked much on this drive. We’d listened to Walcott’s demo, which made up in volume what the lead singer lacked in pitch. Roger had put on one of his mixes, but then asked if he could listen to some of my musicals in their entirety, since he was having trouble following the stories, hearing the songs out of context. He’d liked
The Producers
so much, he’d listened to it twice.
We were here. But I’d realized, as we drove across Tennessee and the time got later and later, that we’d have to wait until the morning to see Charlie. While Roger had been humming along
Amy Playlist #2
Pay No Attention to the Boys Behind the Curtain/The Henry Gales
TRACK LIST
1. New Way of Thinking
2. South of Lincoln, West of You
3. Surrender, Dorothy
4. Fields of Poppies in Technicolor Red
5. Late Last Nite
6. Tell Me How
7. Where I Am Is Where I’m From
with Nathan Lane, I’d been thinking about my brother. After all those months of not speaking, suddenly talking to him was the only thing I wanted to do. It seemed like it was time.
We pulled into the parking lot of a Wal-Mart so we could take stock of how much money we had for a hotel tonight and figure out where we were going to stay. I’d just assumed it would be closed—everything else around seemed to be—but the parking lot was strangely full of RVs and semi trucks, the lights on tall metal poles still on. “Is Wal-Mart open?” I asked, as Roger pulled into a parking spot. Three spots away was a huge silver Airstream trailer, glinting in the floodlights.
“Maybe,” he said with a yawn. “It might be one of those twenty-four-hour ones.”
I took out my wallet and counted our remaining money. We had only three hundred dollars now. It was mostly the cost of gas that was depleting our money so quickly. Three hundred dollars felt a lot less safe than four hundred dollars, particularly if we had to spend a hundred dollars on a hotel room tonight. “Want to go in?” I asked, putting the money back in my wallet. “We could probably get some snacks cheaper than in mini-marts.”
“Sure,” he said, opening his door and getting out. I got out as well, and Roger pressed his hands against the back of the car and stretched out his legs before walking to the store.
The Wal-Mart was open. There was even a greeter in a blue vest who wished us a good evening and welcomed us to Wal-Mart. I found myself blinking at the fluorescent brightness of the store. It was absolutely massive, utterly quiet, and appeared pretty deserted—which made no sense, since the parking lot was so full. We headed to the snack aisle, and I stocked up on soda and chips. When I turned to ask Roger if he wanted Reese’s Pieces or peanut butter M&M’s, he was no longer there. I left our cart in the middle of the snack aisle—I didn’t think it’d be in anyone’s way—and went looking for him. It was a little eerie, as I didn’t see any other shoppers. It was like I was all alone in that huge, silent store. I was relieved when I spotted Roger heading back to grocery from the apparel section. “Roger,” I called, hearing how loud my voice sounded. He ran over to me, and as he did, I saw that he had a pack of white tube socks in his hand. When he reached me, he ripped the package open. “I think you have to pay for those first,” I said, completely confused as to why he needed socks
right now
. As I watched, baffled, he kicked off his flip-flops and pulled on a pair of the socks. Then he handed a pair to me. I looked down at the tube socks. “I don’t understand,” I said.
“Put them on,” he said, and he no longer seemed tired at all. He seemed more excited that I had ever seen before.
“But I’m wearing flip-flops,” I explained, wondering if maybe Roger had been driving too long.
“Just do it,” he said, smiling at me. “Seriously.” I shrugged and took off my flip-flops. I pulled on the socks, hoping we wouldn’t get in trouble for wearing them without buying them first. “Ready?” he asked, as I straightened up.
“For what—,” I started. But Roger grabbed my hand and began running down one of the gleaming aisles, pulling me behind him. I stopped protesting and just ran with him, tightening my fingers around his for just a second. Then he let go of my hand, stopped running, and slid down the length of empty aisle in his socks.
He turned back to me, grinning. “You have got to try this,” he called.
I didn’t worry about how it was dangerous, how one of us might get hurt. I just took off at a run down the toothpaste aisle. I didn’t think about what I was doing. I just ran full-out, then stopped and let momentum carry me down the rest of the aisle, faster than I’d been expecting. It was scary and thrilling and it felt, slipping on new socks down an empty Wal-Mart aisle, like I was free. Roger, laughing, slid to my side and took my hands in his. He spun me around and I let go, letting myself twirl, the brightly colored displays all around me turning to a blur. Roger turned in the other direction and started running, then sliding, almost falling, windmilling his arms to stay upright. By the time I caught up with him, almost crashing into a Crest display, I was laughing harder than I had in a long, long time.