Let Your Heart Drive (9 page)

I park on the shoulder, snag my camera off the dash along with two cans of spray paint and lock up. I enter the dry funky smelling pasture through an unlocked gate and find I’m not alone. Empty spray cans scatter about with voices echoing from afar, some are laughing, some are singing and it hits me. A group of camera techs crouch low following about four guys. They’re making a music video, one wearing sunglasses starts strumming his guitar while another keeps in time shaking a square percussion shaker, there’s nothing else instrumental wise, only the lead vocalist singing. The camera men shadows their every move, taking different angles, the scene has to be incredible with all the illustrious cars aiming toward the Texas sky. Words string together, lyrics blend, and I’m bobbing my head to their beat.

I’ve never heard of these guys before and I’m kind of liking their imaginative tune. I listen to them standing off to one side, hopefully out of sight and snap a picture and casually sling my camera strap over my shoulder. I’m too busy humming along that I don’t notice at first someone tugging on the hem of my shirt. I glance downward and discover a little girl in a yellow dress with braids who’s staring up at me.

“Are you here to paint rainbows on the cars too?”

I chuckle at her words and kneel, careful not to let my camera fall, I grip it and ask, “Well, isn’t that what we’re supposed to do?” I rattle my cans and smile.

A woman walks up, her hair braided in a similar fashion, identical eyes as the little girl’s and says, “Annabelle, you ready to put your mark on the world?” A different woman moseys our way, they’re all related, because they portray the exact same facial features and a strong Louisiana accent. One has threads of grey through her auburn hair, but there’s not a wrinkle on her face.

“This is my granddaughter,” the older woman states proudly and then gently rubs the back of the woman standing near the little girl. “And this is my daughter, Charlotte. Are you from around here or travelin’ through?”

I note the crew for the band spray painting their names on different cars making a bellow of tinted smoke bloom. I redirect my gaze back to the older woman. “I’m traveling through on Route 66, I’m Sinead.” I shove my thumb out toward the guys and ask discretely, “Any idea who they are?” 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” she replies watching them carry their equipment away. “What’d you think, were they any good?”

I shrug adamantly. “Yeah, they were pretty good.” We start to walk toward the row of Caddies and I suddenly realize she doesn’t have a can of spray paint. I hold out one of my cans to her, but she shakes her head.

“No, no, you go on, honey. I’m sure Annabelle would just love to see someone decorate a flower of two on the hood of one of those cars,” she drawls out with a wink. I don’t have time to utter a word when I feel a small hand grasp my elbow.

“My Maw Maw is taking us to see Uncle Joseph here in Amarillo, it’s my birthday, so we’re takin’ a trip, a
long
trip,” the little girl announces, her eyes get bigger and bigger with each word. She’s more than excited being with her mother and grandmother jet-setting across the country to see another relative. I also note she talks with her hands. Waving them in the air dramatically, she points north and says, “I’m from New Orleans, how bout you?”

I smile inside knowing she’s pointing in the wrong direction and reply, “I’m from Los Angeles.”

“That’s in California,” she offers, it’s not a question she knows her states. She rushes over to a psychedelic passenger door and tilts her head. “I…love…
contiki
? What?” Her nose scrunches up as she laughs. “Who’s corn tiki?”

I roll my eyes and lift my arms up. “Who knows? C’mon, you can help me spray a flower on this one.” I wave her over, but I notice she’s not budging an inch in my direction.  She drops her eyes downward, carefully studying her yellow dress, it’s not entirely a solid yellow, it has tiny white checkers on it which matches her striped black and white leggings just right. I’m not seeing anything out of place with it, but her expression says otherwise.

“What is it?”

Her eyes fly up to mine as she says, “This is my birthday dress, I shouldn’t get anything on it.”

“Well then, you can tell me how to design it, okay?”

She’s right, the spray paint is messy, every petal I make runs down and it quickly becomes apparent that I’m no graffiti artist. While I’m working on the stem and listening to her tell me all about her cat she has back home I stop dead in my tracks. Midway, on the top of the Cadillac I’m painting, I see the name Trey written across it. It’s as neat and noticeable as anyone could make it, outlined in bold blue.

Is this some type of sign?

I drop the purple spray can and whip out my camera and take a picture.

The universe definitely has some deranged ways of leaving signs for me. I laugh it off quietly as Annabelle kneels down next to me. Her inquisitive youthful eyes searching, scanning over the words, the names, and the vibrant color schemes. Then, she pulls out a couple of permanent markers and glitter glue and starts to sketch out her name. The name Annabelle Lee blends in with her long strokes of pink and black shades until she finishes the last letter, adding a sparkly heart-shaped bubble around it. She’s careful not to get it on her hands or even her dress as she smiles back at me.

“Mama said that whatever we do may not stay very long with everybody writing on here.”

I nod. “I think your Mama is right and that’s why I brought this.” I lift my camera up and return her contagious grin. “We can keep our masterpieces we made here forever, okay?” I focus and zoom in on her and her artistic creation and snap a picture.

A few feet away I hear her mother calling out, “Annabelle, we need to go! Uncle Jo’s gonna wonder where we’re at.”

Annabelle snaps the cap back on her marker and jumps up to go meet her mother, but before she runs off she stops, looks up at me and says, “We’re both gonna be remembered here forever!” Her words hang and hover in the hot Texas air excitedly and slowly drift inside me.

I lazily thumb through the images as I walk the ten minute jaunt back to my car and debate if I should text Trey. The thought makes me smile, but I don’t want to come off as some weirdo and by the time I climb back into the driver’s seat I’m scrolling through my contacts. I find his number and text him.
Hey, have you ever been to Cadillac Ranch before?
I chew on my thumbnail and laugh as I send the picture. The picture with his name adorned across one of the Cadillacs and add,
Don’t lie, I have evidence!

“The single biggest problem in communications

is the illusion that it has taken place.”

—George Bernard Shaw

I’m down to
the last few Benjamins and I need to refuel a least one more time before I reach Chelsea’s house. I’ve passed abandoned houses, barns, and a couple of refurbished gas stations. The only down side is they’re not fully functioning gas stations. I drive munching on Cool Ranch Doritos and singing along with Karise Eden’s
Dynamite
without a care in the world. Until I realize there’s absolutely nothing along this dirt road. I slow the car down to a stop and pull out my booklet for the route, I exited on 124, but now I’m starting to think maybe I shouldn’t have.

The road becomes rougher, the power lines become more out-of-date and I can’t see a soul in sight. Where am I? There’s not even a hint of the interstate on the horizon and I flip through the pages of my so-called guide to historic Route 66. I laugh, but it’s so far from being funny because the GPS doesn’t even cooperate with me. So, I climb out and raise my cell phone up in the air. My feet trudge around the Toyota while I pray inside,
please pick up a signal
. Out of all the times I wanted isolation and time to myself
this
is the time the universe picks for me?

Lifeless pasture to the right of me and barren brown land to the left, my mind replays the decrepit old billboards
Rattlesnake Ranch
and
Reptile Farm
and I scan the road and look under the rental timidly. What would I even do if I came across a rattler anyway?

Cautiously, I tread back inside and debate whether I should follow this bygone road and see if the guide booklet is right or turn around. I tap my thumb along the steering wheel, I can’t blame the guide book because this…this indirect route was my choice. I wanted to experience all of this journey, but my gut says
turn around
,
turn around now before I go too far and I’ll never see another bag of Cool Ranch Doritos in my life again.

I suck in a determined sigh and jerk the shifter into drive and ignore my gut. It says in a quarter of a mile I should see a four way, but it’s more like five and a half miles and I’m not even sure one would call the dusty crisscrossed intersection a four way. The fourth roadway looks like no one’s ever traveled down it in years which obviously makes the other roads more appealing. I have to admit I’m starting to feel as if I’ve slipped off the grid and it’s freeing and nerve-racking all at the same time. I reread the guide booklet which states nothing about a double posted stop sign, whoever installed it wanted to make extra sure you get the hint to stop. I make a right, glancing at the gas gauge hoping there’s an end to this shunned part of the world.

Three more miles and I spot a red and white tiny gas station. R & L Fuel, Parts and Service. My heart finally beats a normal rhythm and I can stop white knuckling the poor steering wheel. I refuel and discover I had truly taken a detour off of Route 66, it’s called Jericho Gap. I chunk my guide book to the back seat and take the owner of R & L Fuel’s instructions and make the next paved right. I travel the next few miles in silence, watching forgotten deserted buildings pass by. Some were once motels, some were diners and some were just shacks. I roll up to another four way, only this time it has four streets. Other than a lively wad of newspaper tumbling along, I see no one. My cell phone rings and I’m relieved to hear Chelsea’s voice.

“Tell me you’re going to be here in three hours,” she growls into the phone, I hear the undertone, the
I’m going to pull my hair out if you’re not here soon
.

I shake my head and prop my sunglasses on the dash and answer honestly, “Chelsea…I haven’t made it across the state line yet.”

“What? You know Dad’s been trying to call you?
Wha—How?
Why? Where are you?”

I scour the widowed area, and I mean widowed area because that’s what it looks like to me, someone who once loved this place, died years ago and left it high and dry. I nip on my lower lip and lean over the steering wheel. “Ah… Zombieland?”

“You’re not funny, Sinead.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. I think there’s really zombies that live in this town.”

“You’re lost! I knew this would happen, how can this happen? I mean if you’re in a town with no people…you are lost,” she complains and I can just see her pacing the floor, a hand on her hip, feverishly wearing the carpet thinner by the second.

“I am not lost. The creepy elderly man at the gas station told me to take my second right
back
onto the
pavement—
”

“Pavement? What do you mean
pavement,
Sinead? What the hell are you doing on a dirt road…this isn’t a game you know? You could
die out th—
”

I interrupt her, “I am not lost, I’m in a town…a ghost town, so what? The gas station guy said I would hit this town and be back on the interstate within the hour.”

“Hour?” her voice raises and I can hear Garrett in the background asking when I’m coming in. I don’t want her stressing everyone out and if Dad’s calling her I know it’s only a matter of time and he’ll be calling me.

“Don’t you want to know why I call it Zombieland? There has to be something here for them to eat and I saw some cows, but that’s been a while. So, I’m actually thinking that the people who live here hide during the day and at night
they…
”

“Sinead, are you listening to me? Do you know what’s going to happen if Dad finds out you’re lost?”

“Nothing, because I’m going to be on the interstate in just a few minutes, give or take…” I mumble the last few words out hoping she doesn’t do what she’s threatening. Call Dad.

“Look, it’s one o’clock right now, we’re going to sit down at the table at five-thirty and guess who better be sitting beside me. Oh, and Sinead no one’s allowed to eat until you’re here.” I catch Garrett asking about me again and that hits straight in the heart for me, so, I hang up and start driving.

“The story of life is quicker than the wink of an eye,

the story of love is hello, goodbye.”

—Jimi Hendrix

I navigate through
McLean, Texas, and on into Elk City, Oklahoma without a text back from Trey. But before I reach Arcadia, which is only an hour away, my dad sends me a message. I listen to his developing concerns and send a quick voice message back letting him know I’m at Pops restaurant just northwest of Oklahoma City. I take several shots of their mega-sized pop bottle just outside, dodging couples and other meandering tourists.

I also find out that it’s quite a spectacular light show at night. I wander around all the glass cases of color coordinated pop bottles from around the world and buy a few bottles of Americana orange cream, a peanut butter jelly soda, strawberry rhubarb, and a pumpkin pie soda. They have every flavor imaginable even to some extremely eccentric kinds like ranch dressing soda to buffalo wing sauce.
Yuck
.

I honestly think those are the dare type of sodas,
I dare you to drink it
. I don’t think Chelsea is in a daring mood though, maybe even I’m off the mark to say she’s in a
good
mood, so I’ll stick with the Americana orange cream for her. By five-fifteen I’m rolling through my sister’s opulent neighborhood on the south side of Tulsa. By five forty-five I’m sitting at their mahogany dining room table in the most awkward setting.

Silence.

Eerie silence except for the occasional ice clinking inside a half full glass or the spoon digging out a heaping glob of her legendary vegan green bean dish. All eyes even Garrett’s dark blue eyes gawk at me, my sister’s stare shines the questions more so than anyone else’s –
Has she gotten enough rest? Does she need her meds? She looks tired. She doesn’t look like she’s eaten enough.
All these internal grilling questions hover between us without a single solitary word escaping from her chewing lips. I know what she’s thinking, I know what’s racing through her mind.

I fork out a porcini mushroom from my plate and meet her glare. “I’m still not big into mushrooms, they’re slimy and brown.”

“They’re good for you, and I made…” she offers tapping another platter between us. “Eggless mango cakes.”

How do I contain my excitement? Chelsea was never one to be savvy in the kitchen as I recall, but her culinary skills seem somewhat improved
a tad
. She has things on display that I’m not quite sure what it is, except for the green bean dish. I plaster on my best smile and drop the slimy mushroom back on my plate. My fork uncovers a large braised carrot and I slyly search for any hint of veal in the mashed potatoes when Brett speaks up.

“You look good, Sinead. The trip didn’t completely wipe you out did it?” He waits for my response as he steals a drink from his iced tea. Brett’s attractive in his own way and he’s always treated me like a little sister. Between Chelsea and Brett, boys were apprehensive to hang out with me. I never dated any of his friends and I think that was solely due to the fact he would cast a menacing private glare at them or threaten their lives if any one of them ever touched me.

So when my sister married Brett, I really acquired a big brother in the process. His red hair is still neatly trimmed and close to the sides but tousled more over to the left. I remember how it would look flopped forward and dangling in front of his eyes whenever he’d come over to
study
with Chelsea at our house. I carry a spoonful of potatoes to my lips and answer, “I’m okay.”

“Did you see everything you wanted to?” he quizzes, he’s trying to see how far I’m willing to take this. Maybe they think I’ve changed my mind about continuing the trip.

I shove in my spoonful and munch on it for a second, pretending I’m thinking it over, but after I take a sip of tea I retort evenly, “I’ve seen a lot of really interesting things and met a lot of fascinating people, but I’m still going to finish the route.”

Chelsea’s eyes swim over to Brett’s like a bait on the hook. He leans a stout elbow on the table and clears his throat. “Well, if that’s what you really want to do…” he pauses a beat and meets her eyes for a moment and then presents their idea. “I have some vacation time coming and maybe we could all go together?”

Garrett’s little head bobs from the other side of the table and I can feel him practically bouncing in his seat. “Yay, Aunt Sinny! We could go with you!”

I drop my spoon and match Brett’s manner, one elbow on the table, mouth propped open completely surprised. I thought for sure they would try to talk me out of finishing my trip, give me some stipulation. I study Garrett’s eyes first and then Brett’s and finally, Chelsea’s, each one filled with an ocean of tears. Garrett’s is simply excitement ready to venture off into some childhood adventure, Brett’s is the same as Chelsea’s, worry and concern wash up to their watery eyes and as soon as I nod and whisper, “
Okay
.” Their expression switches to smiles of relief.

“What about Dad though? He’s meeting me here at the end of October, remember?” After everything happened, after Jake and me, Dad and I made an agreement, I drive half of Route 66 and meet him here at my sister’s for a breather. Maybe get a part-time job to help replenish the rest of the trip funds and by then Dad could arrange some time off and we would grab another rental and head back out to the Mother Road. Once we hit Chicago I wasn’t sure what I’d planned on doing, but until then I have plenty of time to sort myself out. Hopefully.

Chelsea waves an empty fork in the air as she admits, “We’ll talk with Dad. You know, Sinead, we haven’t taken a family trip in years.”

“I know and I’m not arguing, but I am going to say one thing…” I lift my arm to my nose while everyone hangs on pins and needles waiting for me to dispute them. I take a whiff of lingering motel, spray paint, greasy diner, and Zombieland stench all wrapped together in a California girl sweat and crunch my brows together in disgust. “I need a shower.”

I slump against the hallway wall while Chelsea carts in an arm load of towels into the upstairs bathroom. Brett slips by me and discloses my sister’s mission, “She’s been washing all the linens and towels since eight this morning.” He bumps my shoulder lightly and laughs, “Don’t forget to tell her to put a mint on your pillow.”

Garrett and his daddy stroll on down the illuminated hall and I hear Garrett ask, “Can I have a mint too, Daddy?”

His dad chuckles deeply as they turn into Garrett’s bedroom. “It’s just a figure of speech, Garrett.”

“Like a joke?”

“Yeah, something like that. C’mon, let’s get you in bed.” I listen as Garrett shuffles around his bedroom while he changes into his panda bear pajamas and peeks out from the threshold of his door. “Night Sinny,” he whispers smilingly.

I flutter my fingers at him and whisper back, “Goodnight Rett.” He grins a toothy grin and it makes it harder to see the tiny freckles that run across the top of his cheeks. He holds his pose for a second as if he’s waiting for me to disappear and then jumps back at the sound of his dad’s voice. I flop my head back along the wall as Brett starts to read to him.

“I think I have everything you need in there, I even picked up some shampoo for you. It’s your favorite… with the gardenia and grapefruit.”

I squeeze her arm as I scoot toward the bathroom, letting her know I appreciate her trouble. I’m actually feeling pretty exhausted and I hadn’t realized it until I feel the warm temperate water pounding over me. Oddly it feels really good to know I’m not on some allotted time schedule and the fact that I don’t have to worry someone’s going to shoo me out of a hotel room at ten o’clock.

Chelsea knows me better than anyone on the planet, because she knows if I smell the sterilized scent of Clorox or Lysol I’ll have to fight the wave of nausea down. There’s sweet-smelling bath soaps everywhere and two incense burning from two ceramic cats. Most of the places I stayed at, luckily, didn’t have that bleachy smell. For the most part it was overpowered with the chilled air blowing from the air conditioner units.

Once I’m out of the shower I open the medicine cabinet above the sink, I scan the packages of Benadryl and anti-anxiety prescriptions. I close the door slowly and look at myself, I’m no longer that girl. Afraid, alone, naïve or am I?

Or am I? The question slithers through my mind, coiling, suffocating until I finally mutely answer myself and I turn around.
You’re still afraid
.

-

Changed into a white cotton cami and my ultra-soft shorts I wander into the guest bedroom. Chelsea, still donning her Venetian plum sundress and tan sandals from today, looms busily over my luggage. “I started with this pile first, it shouldn’t take too long and I’ll have your laundry done tonight.”

“You don’t have to do that, Chelsea,” I moan out and terminate my next step. She shakes a godforsaken bag of Doritos, one I had forgotten to ditch along the way. I drop my act of feigned shock—
how did that get there?
Because we both know, who am I kidding? I plunk down on the bed, cross my legs and profess to all my sinful debauchery.

“Okay Copper, you got me…I’ve shanghaied so many Doritos and powdered doughnuts, plus, I even did Pop Rock’s and Coke and I’m still alive.”

Chelsea narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not funny.”

I narrow my eyes right back at her and retort, “You say that a lot, but I know what you really mean.”

She flings the supposed empty ominous bag at me and sinks down on the bed, with our knees touching she shakes her head in complete skepticism. She pokes her slender finger in my thigh and growls, “There’s a reason I’m,
we’re
vegetarians, Sinead.”

While she lists the slew of reasons she and Brett are herbivorous, I notice one remaining chip inside the bag. It’s one intact, delicious, perfectly ranch coated morsel. I sneak it out quietly and motion it just underneath her nose.

“What are you doing?”

“Tempting you.”

“I’m not eating that. It’s going take a lot more than you waving that in my face.”

“How about a hot naked guy tempting you? What if it was Chris Hemsworth…Hey, better yet Brett?” I move a little like I’m about to get up and shout for him.

“Wait Sin.”

“No… it’s okay, Chelsea. I’ll go get him and then he can feed it to you,
naked.
I can leave, so you two can enjoy this little morsel alone.”

“Oh shut up and give me the damn thing.” In one quick swoop she snatches it from my hand and pops it into her mouth.

“Good, huh?” I ask beaming ear to ear.

“Sinead, you are corrupting. You’d better stay away from my son.”

“Oh yeah, you know you love me.”

She swipes any evidence from her mouth and reaches out, almost motherly as she tucks a damp tress behind my ear. Her thumb glides slowly along my cheek as she mumbles softly, “I don’t want you to leave me.”

She sounds just like a mother, uptight, uneasy, and exactly how I remember her when we were younger. She taught me how to tie my shoes, how to untangle my knotted hair, to how to drive a car, she’s been my number one role model since the day mom died. And I think sometimes she blames herself for what’s happened to me, sometimes, I think that’s why she comes off nagging and overly protective. But there’s only one thing I want her to know, none of it was her fault, it’s no one’s fault.

I grip her hand in my own and laugh. “So, since I
“corrupted”
you, now it’s your turn.” Her dark eyebrows rise curiously as she tilts her head slightly to the side. “Show me this meditative posture you were telling me about.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. I haven’t been able to embrace the whole Zen thing, I don’t think I’m cut out for meditation, Sis.”

She rolls her eyes at me. “Everyone’s cut out for it, Sinead. You just need to relax and clear your mind.” She tugs the few wayward strands of her own hair back and wraps her hair up into a makeshift bun on top of her head. She wiggles her butt back, positioning herself a few inches from me and points to a mirrored dresser. “In the top drawer is a CD, a meditation CD. It’s about an hour long but if I can get you to take it in small increments, say five minutes or so…” she shrugs with animation.