Of Royal Descent (3 page)

"South Portland, Maine," I answered, putting a little distance between us.  Her assessing stare made me feel uncomfortable. 
"You?"

"Grand Rapids," she answered, slowly closing the
gap as I moved to widen it.

"You with your parents?"
  I asked.

"No, friends," she said, waving in the general direction of a couple girls on the opposite end of the pool, whom I also realized were staring at me with the same unabashed directness.

"Yeah, me too.  I guess I should probably go find him." 

I had been slowly, if not steadily, treading backwards toward the opposite wall of the pool and now found myself with an escape route of stairs leading up and out.  I turned quickly and ascended the few steps to poolside. 

"Are you sure you have to go?" she asked, jutting her bottom lip out ever so slightly.

"Yeah...," I stammered uncomfortably as I grabbed for my towel.  "But I hope you guys have a good night," I managed to get out before I turned my attention to the door of the hotel.

Chuck, whom I had just then noticed, was standing near the door, toweling off and smiling like the cat that ate the canary.

"Cram it," I said in passing,
as I made my way inside the hotel. 

Chuck was right behind me,
with no attempt to conceal his obvious amusement.

"They were just being friendly," he answered in reply.

"They were too young and too direct.  That's not a good combination," I said. 

It was quiet a moment before Chuck continued.

"Doyle, in all seriousness, I haven't seen you with anyone since you went out with Katie Jacks a couple times senior year.  What's up?" 

We had arrived at the elevator
, and I leaned in to press the button.  I sighed as the metal doors slid open, and we stepped inside.

"Why does something have to be up?  I'm just not interested in anyone I've met recently, that's all."

"You get hit on all the time.  ALL the TIME.  It's kind of disgusting, actually.  But my point is, surely, out of the number of girls who approach you, there must have been one that kind of interested you." 

I considered this as the elevator slowed to a stop and the doors again slid open. 

"No, not really," I said, exiting the elevator.  "And I think it would be completely selfish and quite douchey to pursue a girl I'm not truly interested in."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Chuck's mouth. 

"Okay, that's cool, man.  I'm not judging.  Well, I mean, I am... but only inside my head.  That just leaves a wider selection for me to choose from."

I rolled my eyes at my friend
, and slid my key card into our door lock.  The green light flashed, and I turned the handle, allowing us passage into the room.

"I'm exhausted
, so I'm just gonna crash," I said, laying the key card on the bedside table and pulling out a dry change of clothes to sleep in. 

I made my way to the bathroom and did a quick change.  On my way back to my bed, I noticed Chuck must have also changed.  He was now sitting on his bed, flipping through TV channels with the remote. 

"Will it bother you if I watch TV?" he asked.

"Nope, I'll be dead to the world soon."

I crawled under the comforter, not bothering to first check for blood, urine, or insects, as is my general custom in hotel rooms, and turned to face the wall.  I truly was exhausted but somewhat anxious about falling asleep.  My dreams had been so vibrant lately, so real.  I really didn't want to wake up in a couple hours, drenched in sweat with monsters right behind me.

I listened to Chuck's televi
sion surfing for a little while before he rested on the movie
Elf
, starring Will Ferrell.  I took this as a good sign.  Maybe I would soon be deep in sleep, dreaming of a land of candy canes and gumdrops.  I willed my body to relax and my mind to be still.  In the foggy distance of twilight sleep, I heard Chuck laugh quietly when Buddy the Elf began to provoke a midget to violence.  And then I departed the conscious world.

3

The first soft shades of blue were beginning to filter in around the blinds when I awoke the next morning.  I blinked, trying to clear the residue of the dream world I had left behind.  I could hear the low hum resonating from the fan on the air conditioning unit and Chuck's soft snoring from the other bed.  I continued to lie still for another moment, making sense of the previous night's dream. 

I
wouldn’t say I slept
peacefully
per se, but I didn't wake up screaming for my life.  That's always good.  I remember I was floating down the lazy river, trying to navigate around huge, revolving gumdrops while Popeye and a Sasquatch were throwing down poolside.  The Sasquatch was the clear winner until, lo and behold, and somewhat unimaginatively, Popeye pulls out the old, reliable can of spinach.  But this time, when he tipped back the can, Nutella came pouring out instead.  It didn't make him any stronger, which was apparently upsetting to Chuck, who watched from the sidelines yelling, "I had money riding on you!", and throwing yams at Popeye's head.

I withdrew quietly from the comfort of my bed and padded into the bathroom. 

Today may be the day I meet my grandfather
, I told myself, staring at my reflection. 

I set about my morning routine
which consisted of toileting, showering, cleaning my ears, brushing my teeth, and shaving - in that order.  I was just rinsing the last of the shaving cream off my neck when I heard Chuck stir in the next room.

I dried off, pulled on a clean change of clothes
, and opened the door.  Chuck was lying in the bed, on his back, with a pillow and his left arm slung over his face. 

"I know this isn't the best road trip we've ever taken, but suffocation is not the answer," I said, walking back to my side of the room.

"Stoorlyf," was his mumbled reply.

"Say
again?"

Chuck removed the pillow from his face and lolled his head in my direction without opening his eyes. 

"It's too early," he grumbled.

I sat down on my bed and began to pack up my duffel bag.

"It's never too early when we're talking about a free deluxe Continental breakfast.  I believe the word
waffle
was mentioned at check in," I said, raising my eyebrows at Chuck.

Chuck opened his eyes long enough to roll them and raised his pillow back over his face.

"Wllby ul oo kn t," he replied.

"I'm
sorry.  Could you clarify that last bit?  Came through a little garbled."

Chuck removed the pillow and stared at me.  "I said
,
I will buy you all you can eat
, wherever you want to go, if you just shut it and let me sleep for another hour or four."

"Well, someone is awfully cranky this morning.  Maybe if you had
gone to bed earlier, instead of staying up to watch movies you've already seen, you'd be in a better mood."  I replied, having more fun than I probably should have been.

"I'd be in a better mood if you'd shut the hell up and let me go back to sleep."  Chuck shot me a withering glare.

Oh ho ho
, now I
couldn't
let him go back to sleep even if I had wanted to.  My testosterone had been affronted.  I considered my options.

"Okay," I said, drawing out the long a vowel sound in a sing-song voice and getting my shoes on quickly.  "Guess when I see them, I'll just have to tell that pack of girls from the pool that my friend is unable to
rise
for the occasion," I said, running like a madman to the door. 

I knew Chuck wouldn
’t be able to tolerate any slight on his manhood.  I could hear him scrambling out of bed as I jerked the door open and sprinted into the hall and around the corner without ever looking back.  At the elevator I paused to listen, and upon not hearing Chuck in pursuit, I ambled past the opened doors and descended to the foyer.

When Chuck found me ten minutes later, I was halfway through my stack of waffles and scrambled eggs. 

"I thought you were going to sleep in?"  I asked innocently, eyebrows arched.

The death glare was gone and
petulance had taken its place.  "There are no girls at all down here," he pouted, taking the seat in front of me.

I took a cl
oser look at Chuck and noticed the dampness that clung to his hair.

"Did you shower before you came down?"  I asked in disbelief. 

"Yeah, so?"

"You were barely awake
ten minutes ago.  If I use the bare minimum standards, it took you thirty seconds to undress, one minute to dry, one and a half minutes to redress, and three minutes to get to the foyer.  So, best case scenario, you only had four minutes to shower provided you didn't brush your teeth or pee.  What kind of shower is four minutes?"

Chucked looked at me sourly. 

"Well Princess, unlike you, I don't keep a strict beauty regimen that requires a thirty minute shower every day.  This," he paused, sweeping his right hand up and down the length of his torso, "is all natural.  And besides, I don't brush my teeth until after breakfast.  What would be the point of that? 
And
, for your information, I did pee.  I am completely capable of multitasking my urination with showering." 

Chuck gave me a sincere smile before standing and making his way to the buffet.       

Note to self:  Always shower first at Chuck's house
.

After breakfast, we headed back upstairs to collect our things and haul them down to the El Camino.  That is, after Chuck brushed his teeth.

We climbed into the car and rolled out into the light morning traffic.

"D
o you know what you're going to say to your grandfather when we find him?" Chuck asked.

"
Not a clue," I sighed.

I leaned forward and turned on the radio.  We passed the next couple of hours with very little conversation, relying on the radio for our main entertainment.  I stared
out the passenger window, off into the distance, and watched while Lake Erie slowly crept by.

"
Counting Stars" by OneRepublic came to an end and was quickly followed by the opening notes of Grayson Lee's "Fixation".  Chuck's hand shot out like a lightning bolt toward the radio control panel and turned it off.  Our eyes met briefly before we both faced forward.  I chewed my bottom lip while Chuck cleared his throat.

A moment passed, then two.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No!" came Chuck's response.

More awkward silence.

I slid my eyes as far to the left as they would go without turning my head to assess Chuck and realized he was doing the same to me.

"Ungh!  This is the equivalent of me asking you about your fear of the dark.  No, I don't want to discuss it," Chuck said.

"
Hey, hey, hey
.  I am NOT afraid of the dark, okay?  It just makes me uncomfortable sometimes.  And even if I
were
, at least it would be a real fear!" I reprimanded him.

"Fear of anything is a real fear.
And yes, I'm terrified of Grayson Lee, okay?  Are you happy now?  I admit it.  From his unnaturally smooth complexion to his fondness for hair gel, he terrifies me."

"You cannot seriously compare
Grayson Lee – a
pop singer,
to a fear of total darkness," I said with a small body convulsion on the last word.

"Remember when we were kids and all your scary campfire stories began
Late one night, in a dark, dark forest
?  If I recall correctly, I don't remember giving you any crap when we had to pack up camp and go inside where you left the bedroom light on all night, so how about a little compassion?  My fear of Grayson Lee is just as serious as your fear of the dark - maybe even more so."

I swiveled my torso in Chuck's direction. 
"What?!  How do you figure that one?"

"At least you know when night is coming.  You can prepare, thereby blissfully avoiding your fear.  Let me tell you
something - there is no reasonable way to avoid Grayson Lee.  He's everywhere!" Chuck spat.

"I just don't understand
why
you're afraid of Grayson Lee.  As far as I'm aware, he's never killed anyone," I stated, leaning back into my seat and feeling argumentative. 

I was not overjoyed with how he was belittling my occasional, elevated level of discomfort in relation to the absence of light. 

Hmm
, I thought.  I guess in Chuck's eyes, I was belittling his fear.  I couldn't help it though.  His fear was stupid.

"Since when does the dark kill anyone?" he argued.

I sighed.  "It's not the dark I dislike.  It's what could be
in the dark
.  Excuse me for wanting to exercise all five of my senses in a possibly dangerous situation."

"Bedtime is not dangerous," Chuck smiled.
             

"Neither is
Grayson Lee," I snapped.

"He's just... creepy," Chuck muttered.

"Let's just agree to disagree," I said.

"You don't think he's even a little creepy?" Chuck asked, his voice trailing off in a higher octave then when he began.

"Not really."

Awkward silence.

"I mean, I don't want to date him or anything.  But no, he doesn't creep me out," I continued.

There was no response from Chuck
, and it appeared our Grayson Lee conversation was over for the time being.  I slunk down further in my seat. 

Thousands, possibly millions of people around the globe, to some degree, were afraid of the dark.  Who had ever been afraid of a pop
star?
I thought sulkily, still slightly annoyed.

"Here," Chuck said, handing me a CD he'd picked up from who knows where; his car had no console. 

I took the CD and the last of my childish mood dissipated. 

"Awesome
," I said, looking down at Linkin Park's album,
Living Things
. 

I slid the disc
into the El Camino's CD player and skipped to track nine, “Skin to Bone”.  As the beat thrummed through the speakers, I turned up the volume.  Sinking back against my seat, I let my line of vision gravitate toward the highway as we barreled down I-90.

* * *

Night had descended quickly.  The gleaming, white light of the moon fell on the cornfields flanking either side of the interstate below, creating the illusion of glowing stalks.  Ahead of us, the road stretched out into the darkness, lost beyond the reach of the El Camino’s headlights.

"I thought we were in Ohio," I said, turning to Chuck.

"We are.”

"I thought cornfields as far as the eye could see were
associated with Idaho?"

"No, Idaho has potatoes.  I think you're thinking of Iowa."

"Then what's Ohio known for?"

Chuck blew out a breath.  "
Uh, I don't know.  We can look it up on Google later.  What's for dinner?"

Now I blew o
ut a breath.  "Uh, I don't know, corn?"

Chuck smiled.  "Well, it's free," he said, slowing down the El Camino and pulling
over to the shoulder of the road.  

"Hey!  I was just kidding.  We can't just get out and pick some corn!  That's stealing!"  I
stammered, as I began to feel my anxiety rise. 

Chuck opened the driver side door and unfolded himself out of the car.  He walked around to the back and reached into his car's truck bed to pull out a baseball bat.

"What's that for?" I asked, more than a little alarmed.

"Let's roll, Doyle," Chuck said, turning and walking in the direction of the cornfield. 

I scrambled out of the car and caught up with him.  When we reached the edge of the field, I realized how truly dark it was.  There were no other cars on the highway, and clouds now partially concealed the moon, effectively dousing the power per moonbeam.

"I don't know, dude," I sai
d, eyeing the rows of tall corn with their leaves rustling in the breeze. 

Chuck turned to look at me.  His face was impassive as he handed me the aluminum bat. 

"What am I supposed to do with this?" I asked, completely baffled by his behavior. 

"In case you run into things unsavory."

I gaped at the sporting equipment held out-stretched in my hand.  Had we accidentally driven through some alternate universe portal?  Had we fallen down some trippy rabbit hole?

"Dude,
there's a McDonald's,
I'm sure
, right down the road.  I'll pay, okay?"  I inhaled sharply and instinctively stepped backward when I heard a small sound amid the stalks.