image [https://i.imgur.com/jpOYNWV.png]

The inside of the car was a lot nicer than I expected, and to my surprise, it didn’t have the stale smell of years of cigarette smoke. I guess it made sense that he aired it out frequently or drove with the windows down.

The interior was sleek and modern, luxurious, with various amenities and didn’t match the exterior of the car at all. With my relatively bulky frame I still fit snugly into the passenger’s seat and by the looks of it, so did Colson next to me.

“She’s a beauty ain’t she?” Colson looked at me expectantly.

“Yeah,” I acknowledged, “a lot sleeker than I’d expected too, no offence.”

“None taken! I spruced her up myself. Two and a half tonnes of Swedish steel! Reinforced floor, roof, and side panels. Custom fitted with a VR38DETT V6 engine–”

I had no idea what that meant but it did sound impressive.

“– There’s a cooler with a padlock in the service body. Bolted down. Runs on a separate battery that charges when I drive–”

Smart, you’d always have fresh supplies.

“– and I lowered the floor a bit so I could fit my long-ass legs in here. If it could fit, I’d have installed a roll cage–”

What kind of driving does this guy do exactly?

“– and of course, lastly, if you flip the switch in the middle there, two rocket-propelled grenades pop out the front.”

I nodded along politely until his words registered. “Wait, what? You’re kidding right?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. I was just checking to see if you’re paying attention. It controls the A/C. Would’ve been pretty cool though, right?” he asked with a boyish grin.

Needless to say, Colson was right when he asked me about my feelings. There was an element of excitement at the prospect of going on the road, a long-time dream of mine, but I was still angry and confused at being suddenly told to leave everything I thought I’d been working so hard for. At being handed over to this random man and just be expected to go along with it. Of course, I was. I wasn’t going to tell him that though.

Instead, I’d planned to channel my best emo-kid impression and give him the silent treatment while we drove to New Orleans—despite knowing how childish it was—but damn it if his mood wasn’t infectious.

“Yeah, that would’ve been pretty badass,” I conceded.

“Couple of ground rules,” he turned slightly in his seat to face me and held up three fingers, lowering them as he listed them off. “One, you can eat or drink in the car, but if you spill or make a mess, you’re on cleanup duty. I will pull the car over no matter where we’re driving if it means not getting stains on the fabric. Two, after we’ve been to New Orleans, I decide the general direction we’re going, but if you spot anything you wanna see, let me know and we can check it out if we have time. Three, and most importantly”—he started the car, and I felt the sensation of a V6 vibrating my entire body—“co-driver picks the music.”

“Got it, boss,” I replied, giving him a mock salute.

He flashed me a grin and started driving out of the courtyard, speaking “You and I are gonna get along just fine, kid. You have a phone, right?”

“Yeah,” I told him, “but it’s always turned off I’ve never had any use for it.”

“That’s… kinda sad for a kid your age,” he shrugged. “At least your brain isn’t bombarded by social media. Rule four, always keep your phone on and charged in case I need to contact you. Turn it on and plot in my number.” He gave me the number and I dutifully added it in.

There were now four contacts. Dad, Hagen, Colson, and mom. I couldn't bring myself to delete her number.

“Should anything happen,” he stated seriously, “if we’re separated, if you’re hurt, if you need help, you call me. Immediately.”

“Sure,” I replied evasively, looking at the road.

“Ethan,” Colson said my name in a way that made me pay attention. “I’m not kidding here. If we’re separated, and if you need my help, you pick up the fucking phone, and you call. Promise me.”

The air seemed to coalesce, and I felt a heaviness settle on me.

“Yeah, I promise, Colson,” I conceded.

As suddenly as it had arrived, the sensation lifted—for the second time that day.

What the hell is that?

Eyeing Colson sideways, I was looking for something to indicate that he’d noticed it too, but he was just concentrating on driving. With a lit cigarette in the left corner of his mouth. When did that happen?

“Good. Send me a text so I have your contact info,” he ordered, “now plug that phone in the AUX and put on some tunes. You got a streaming service?”

“Yeah,” my phone was set up through our company and I had most of the usual apps.

“You mind if I smoke?” came the belated question.

Thanks for asking me after the fact. Well, it was his car, and I was just along for the ride. I didn’t particularly enjoy it and told him so.

“It’s warm outside anyway,” he said and rolled down the windows. “Now let’s listen to some tunes.”

Glancing at the various patches on his jacket, I tried to find something he would enjoy.

“It’s called a battle jacket,” he provided. “It’s different for everyone, but the patches I’ve put on mine are from all the bands I’ve seen live. Good or bad.”

Got it. I wouldn’t necessarily pick something he’d love based on his patches.

Why on earth are The Beatles on there then? That doesn’t make any sense.

I thought about it for a minute and Colson laughed, cigarette bobbing up and down, as he talked “Stop overthinking it and just put something on, kid.”

Deciding to just wing it I put something on that I’d listen to when I hit the gym, instead. Colson started dipping his head slightly humming along to the melody, drumming on the wheel when the breakdown started.

“Spiritbox. Good choice,” he said approvingly, turning it up. He tapped a patch on his left shoulder. “Courtney has a killer voice. It doesn’t have to be rock or metal, but we’ll slap a playlist together one of these days. I can listen to most things. Well, not Dutch gabber, but most things.”

I’d never heard of that.

“What’s gabber?”

“I’ve heard it a bunch of times and I have absolutely no idea,” he laughed. “Some sort of hardcore techno.”

We both fell silent and enjoyed a couple of tracks, as we pulled into the main road and started picking up speed.

“Sorry about earlier, by the way,” Colson suddenly said.

Confused, I looked his way.

“What for?”

Maybe he did feel something in the air earlier.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“I lost myself a little when I saw the necklace.”

“Why?” I asked.

That didn’t clear up my confusion at all, “It’s just a trinket, right? I mean it’s old and valuable sure, but I think gold is more valuable than platinum these days.”

“That is no trinket you carry,” he chuckled.

“Really?” I queried, my eyebrows perking up, “You’re quoting Aragorn?”

“You’ve seen Lord of the Rings?” he asked in surprise, turning his head to look at me with a raised eyebrow of his own before turning back again.

“Of course, I’ve seen Lord of the Rings”, I told him in a slightly offended tone, “if I don’t check the news or use the internet, I’ll usually read or watch something before I head to bed. They’re some of my favourite movies.”

I didn’t care if he was probing for information, I couldn’t let it stand.

“Mine too, kid,” he quipped, “did you know that in that scene where Aragorn kicks the hel–”

“Don’t try to change the subject with movie trivia,” I huffed, in a half-annoyed half-amused breath, “the necklace, what is it?”

Shaking his head in a grumpy fashion, Colson considered it a moment before replying. “Not my place to say. Either you’ll figure it out yourself as we go along, or your old man may tell you at some point.”

Slightly disappointed, now it was my turn to sulk. I don’t know if Colson just wasn’t good at awkward silences or if he was trying to cheer me up, but it hadn’t been more than ten minutes before he suddenly broke it. It’s not because I was still sulking. I swear. I’d thought about what he said about the necklace’s significance, and I was OK with his reasoning. It probably wasn’t as big a deal as he made it out to be anyway.

“So uh, we’re gonna arrive in Alexandria in an hour or so,” he piped up, glancing my way, “we’ll pit stop there and camp near Fort Buhlow’s recreational area. It’s this public park with some open spaces for camping. Light a fire and grill some sausages. No reason to drive all night and arrive at 2 AM. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds good,” I told him honestly, “when are we heading out tomorrow?”

“We’ll pack up around 9 AM,” he bobbed his hand in the air. “Takes about four to five hours to New Orleans depending on traffic. I’d pack it up earlier but you’re not gonna miss out on your beauty sleep on my account.”

“It’s fine,” I shrugged. “I think I’m done growing. I usually get about seven hours a night.”

He shook his head a couple of times. “Young’uns. You aren’t getting enough sleep these days. Your brain doesn’t stop developing until you’re in your early 20’s. You actually need about eight to ten hours every night,” he lectured me in a disapproving tone.

“You sound like a boomer,” I said with an exasperated air.

He laughed again. “Kid, I may be rakishly handsome and virile, but I’m older than you think. And this boomer’s right. So as long as you’re in my care – which is exactly what this is, by the way, care – you’re gonna be getting more sleep.”

“Virile?” I smirked. “I don’t know about that, but you don’t look a day past forty,” I supplied. I don’t even know why he cared so much, he didn't even know me.

“Thank you. I know what you’re thinking,”—he continued before I could get a word in edgewise—“and you’re right, I don’t know you. Yet. Doesn’t mean I can’t be decent to you and treat you as a normal human being.”

I guess he had a point. We talked casually back and forth after that, touching on movies and TV surprisingly often. Colson was a font of pop-culture knowledge, and he would often laugh when he recalled specific scenes or trivia.

I suppose this isn’t so bad.

Before I knew it, we were just outside Alexandria and Colson was pulling into the parking lot at a supermarket. He turned off the car and turned my way.

“Stay out here and keep an eye on things,” he told me. “Tent and stuff’s in the back. I’m just gonna pop in for some beer and wieners. You want anything?”

“A soda,” I told him, “if it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all, kid,” he answered with a gentle smile.

Scooting around weirdly he got out, then closed the door. I watched him walk away.

“MOTERFU–,” I yelled. “Oh my GOD that stinks.”

He’d slipped one out before leaving the damn car. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed so hard I felt tears well up in my eyes. It was such a childish thing to do that it broke through all of my defences. It felt amazing honestly—the laughing, not the smell.

He’d left the keys in, so I turned on the battery and rolled the windows down. Ten minutes later he was walking back with the groceries.

“You’re very childish, you know that right?” I told him as he got into the car.

He looked at me with a completely blank face for a second.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm.”

We got back on the road and drove for about twenty minutes before we reached Fort Buhlow. It was a nice little sanctuary near a lake, open spaces interspaced with trees and an area with shelters where you could set up your tent and get a fire going.

There was even a sign that you could grab some firewood for free, courtesy of a recent storm. There weren’t any other people here at the moment save for a couple of dogwalkers, which I guessed wasn’t abnormal at 9 PM on a Monday.

Getting out of the car I stretched a little and took a deep breath before grabbing the tent from the Ute. It was weird not having to do my regular activities, it had been years since I’d had hours of free time like this. A welcome change of pace.

Walking over to the shelter area tent in tow, I figured I’d set it up while Colson got a fire going—a fair division of labour and all that.

“Hey Colson,” I started, “I have a striker in my duffel if you…” I petered off as I saw he already had some decent flames going.

How in the hell?

“All good kid,” he replied pleasantly, giving me a thumbs up.

Shaking my head, I wrote it off as another ‘Colson-peculiarity’ and went about setting the tent up. When I was done, I stood and frowned at it. He’d brought a two-person person tunnel tent. How on earth were we going to fit in that? We were both big guys.

“Relax, we’re not gonna spoon,” Colson teased as he walked over, “I like to get to know people a bit better before I bunk down with them. Honestly, I don’t trust you not to get handsy. Not that I blame you, who could ever resist this,” he joked as he flexed his biceps and wiggled his eyebrows.

“Ha ha, very funny” was my witty comeback as I felt myself flush in embarrassment. “You realize I’m still only seventeen, right? Is there another tent in the car?”

“I’m just messing, kid,” he grinned at me. “You’ll sleep in the tent with our luggage. I usually just chuck a sleeping bag on the ground. I love an open sky above me if the weather allows it.”

“You sure?” I questioned.

“A hundred percent. Go grab our stuff from the back of the Ute and I’ll pop some sausages on the fire.”

A couple of trips back and forth later, we were sitting on a pair of stumps in front of a cosy fire, waiting for our food to finish. There was the tell-tale sound of a can being opened and Colson passed me a soda from the bag, holding an opened beer in the other hand.

“Cheers, kid.”

“Cheers, Colson,” I replied as I opened mine.

We sat in silence for a while, each engrossed in our thoughts, and this time he didn’t seem to mind. I didn’t think about much to be honest. Looking into the flames I was feeling completely relaxed for the first time since leaving school. So relaxed I almost nodded off once or twice, but then my stomach would gurgle, and I was reminded how hungry I was.

“There. Done,” Colson muttered a couple of minutes later. He handed me one of the plastic plates from his camping set, with four hot sausages and a couple of packets of ketchup on it. We started eating and after I’d scarfed down the first two in record speed, Colson started up a conversation.

“Easy there, tiger,” he chuckled. “I’m not gonna steal your food.”

“Sorry,” I apologised after swallowing, “I was really hungry. Usually, I eat a lot during the day. I almost didn’t notice we hadn’t had anything before my stomach started making noise.”

“Yeah, takes a lot of fuel to keep a couple of bigguns like us going,” he agreed between bites. “Just take it a bit slower, you’ll get an upset stomach.”

Nodding, I took a bite of the third one as he continued, “Tell me about yourself, kid.”

There it is.

I finished chewing and contemplated for a second. Then I shrugged.

“Not much to tell really. Dad sent me off to school when I was seven, been there ever since. Practising, training, and doing schoolwork. Thought I was going to take over the company eventually, yet here I am,” I finished quickly, my voice snarky. During the day I’d thought on it and, and every time I came back to it, it grated a little less. The bitterness and anger were still there, but the feelings were more subdued. Talking about it pissed me off though.

“Oh, come on what kind of storytelling is that,” Colson complained, “where’s the adventure? The sense of accomplishment? The camaraderie?”

That more than anything made me shut up. I think something showed in my expression, because Colson’s look changed, his mouth turning downwards.

“Listen-” he began.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” my voice was breathless.

“Yeah, sure. Another time, maybe.”

Oh yeah, tomorrow for sure.

I kept my sarcasm to myself. Colson had been nothing but nice to me so far, he didn’t deserve any scathing remarks.

“Yeah, maybe,” I said instead, my voice detached.

He just nodded sagely a couple of times.

“Alright well,” he changed the subject, “you go grab a canteen of water and brush your teeth and all that. I’ll take care of the cleanup today. We’ll hit the hay and get a fresh start tomorrow, yeah?” Not waiting for my answer, he went and got a bucket of water to put the fire out.

My mind whirring, I put my utilities down, grabbed a canteen, went to the tent, brushed my teeth, and rolled out my sleeping bag next to our luggage.

Am I angry? Sad? Happy? All of it? Confused? Definitely. Is that possible? How the hell am I supposed to know how to feel, when it’s all so fucking disorganised?

I hadn’t reflected on my feelings like this in a while. It wasn't necessary when I was being kept busy all the time. It all mingled and came to a head and for a short moment, I felt completely overwhelmed. For some reason, I checked my phone. Contacts. Dad, Hagen, Colson, and mom. Four. My finger hovered over my dad for a second.

Then my mom's face flashed before my eyes.

I saw her clear as day. As she had been, haggard and sickly towards the end. I recalled how the years of being unwell had eaten away at her and come to encapsulate her entire existence. How I'd never been there with her, for her. Except on the rare occasion, I got to go home. Despite her struggles, she had always been cheerful. Radiant. Mom.

My thoughts turned to when we used to sit together and watch movies, feeling the love of her embrace. How she'd always protested when I had to go back. The long conversations we'd had over the phone on days I'd been sad and wanted to come home. And how I still much missed her.

"I'm sorry Mom," I sniffled as the tears started dropping.

For the first time since my mom’s funeral, the dam broke. Years of pent-up frustration at my dad, loneliness, and anger, came on like an avalanche.

I didn’t know how long I lay there, but if Colson noticed he didn’t interrupt, or try to comfort me. I was grateful for that.

I lost track of how much time passed and eventually tired myself out, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

“Sleep well, kid,” a sad voice whispered in the darkness.