Feb 6 2015

Update, (Highway), less ambiguous version.

I have always loved car journeys, more the journeys than the car though. One summer’s afternoon I was invited by my friends to join them on a road trip to Hawaii. A thought immediately came to my head. Where exactly is Hawaii? The Chevy was rust red, the doors dented and windows freshly covered with mud. I had never been on a proper road trip, so without a word to my guardian, Old Mr Macklebee, I was leaving with my two frivolous companions.

The first of my dearest companions was Bruno. He was large with black oily hair, he would be in the back as he was usually first to pass out. The second was Christopher, a true adventurer. He was driving if I wasn’t, and he had taken this sort of trip before.

The two of them hollered just before last light. Packing meant another tee-shirt and some water, I jumped up front and we were off. Upon leaving the barn and old Macklebee, it was explained to me that we would get out of south Carolina, drive to San Diego and get a boat to Honolulu, Hawaii.

After getting a decent distance away from home, it was dark. The elusive movement of the dark environment around us was frightening, and yet piqued my interest. I knew that it was just dull fields and bushes, but without the light to see them, they weren’t. The left head light didn’t work, and the other was not bright enough to reveal our ominous surroundings.

I woke in the early hours of the morning to find out we had reached Madison, a town on the South Carolina border with Georgia. Now the fun had begun. Christopher left the engine running as the three of us waltzed into a torn up general store. The ageing shop owner and his wife were watching the television in the back and he shouted “give me a minute would ya’ son?” Our response was less trusting. Bruno placed his blocky fist upon the door handle and slammed the door closed. Chris jumped the counter and opened the register, and I followed up grabbing every bottle of liquid sin I could. My hands rattled with excitement but not as much as the owner rattled the door. We darted for the exit and I jumped into the driver’s seat. We were half way down the street when the man came out of the store, shotgun in hand. His ham-fisted attempt at stopping us with a shot was laughed off.

We were far away from Madison when we popped the golden tops off the brown glass bottles and counted the money taken. Twenty seven dollars fifty, and eight bottles of booze was more than we could ask for, literally. The beer stabbed at my throat, and I could feel my tongue resenting the very essence of its being, but soon enough I began to reap the benefits of my labour.

I did not feel as though driving, whilst as drunk as I was, was a good idea but it made Chris’s story about a girl he met in New York better. The Georgian woodland began to part and the hills began to roll past. Stories went by as the sun slowly advanced above us, its stare holding us in the moment, keeping the day a little longer. Before night fell Christopher took my place, and we all began to sober up.

Bruno mentioned he knew a girl who lived near “here”, where ever that was, and that we should stop there for the night. After some strange form of navigation we arrived at a house. The bricks had lost their original colour, some windows were smashed and the general area had a very loud smell about it. “This looks nice” said Christopher as he licked his lips conspicuously. We entered and found a small group of people huddled around an indoor fire. Bruno met his friend and they left the room. The people there were hippies, before hippies. This was the early fifties, what we were doing was not a common thing.

One of them addressed us, he didn’t look so good. ”you want?” he said, in a hoarse voice. We sat down and joined the gathering, and the night went by too fast for me to recall.

I woke and we were driving, we had gained a companion apparently. It was Bruno’s friend. At the moment of me gathering my thoughts we heard sirens behind us, and we slowed down, one look at Chris’s eyes told me to get out and speak to the officer on the road.

“Boy, where you from?”

“California.”

I lied, he proceeded to explain to me that this wasn’t California and he was the law here.