1I WILL NOT RUN OUT OF GAS
Riley
“I will not runout of gas today!” I shout to the universe, my windows down, the cool night air caressing my cheeks. My hands grip the steering wheel as if my life depends on how tightly I hold on—because it does. It’s dark, foggy, and even though I’ve driven this desolate Tennessee highway hundreds of times, it’s been years since I drove it at night. Never with the fuel light on either, but it’s fine, everything is fine. I will not run out of gas today.
The drive here from college was uneventful, easy-going, and straightforward. By some miracle, I avoided traffic in most places, and now, I’m about thirty minutes from home, ten from the next gas station.
I can make it there. I know I can.
The jeep’s familiar hum turns into a violent shudder in the blink of an eye.
The fuck?
I press the gas—nothing but an eerie silence and my thoughts going a million miles per hour.
“No, no, no.” Panic sets in as the steering wheel goessuspiciously stiff, forcing me to use all my strength to wrestle it toward the shoulder. Apparently, I can’t live off delusion and wishful thinking.
I hit the brake pedal, even if it’s heavy and hard to push, and I eventually come to a stop.
“Well, shit. I guess I did run out of gas.” I try to turn it on, just in case I’m wrong and this is just some sick joke, but it’s futile.
No go. Zip. Zilch. Nada.
It’s okay. Everything will be fine.
I grab my phone to text Lilly, even though I know, deep down, she’s going to be pissed at me for A) not telling her I was coming and B) running out of gas, as if I did it on purpose.
Six Ps, Riley. Proper Prior Planning Prevents Poor Performance,she would say all the time, echoing the wise words of our father—who’s not here anymore, making my older sister my parent by default, even if I’m twenty-two fucking years old.
It doesn’t even matter, though, because my phone is dead. And the one thing I left behind? Yup, you guessed it: my charger.
“Hello, universe? Are you there? Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it!”
I step out for reasons unknown, even to myself. If I’m going to be stranded here, I want to at least see the stars.
And stars, I see.
A sky full of them. Constellations speak to everyone who dares listen, even me right now. They tell me to stay calm, to breathe, and remind me that everything happens for a reason, even if I don’t know what that is right now.
I climb on the top of the Jeep, lie on the roof, and stare at them in all their bright, mystical glory. It’s funny how, from the outside, they look so diminutive and restful when we know they’re massive, luminous spheres generating heat and light so, so far away.
“Shine bright, big little friends, and send some luck my way,please,”I beg.
If I’m begging someone, anyone, it should be something or someone above to get me out of this situation.
Almost like they materialized out of thin air, two bright lights illuminate the dark road, making me jolt and sit straight.
See? I knew it. Delusion, wishful thinking, and manifestation.
“Thank you, mighty stars,” I whisper into the air, letting the wind carry my words to whoever they belong to. In the distance, I see what I prayed for—a car.
A car that’s going fast, but a car, nonetheless. I wave my arms high while shouting, “Hey!” as if they could hear me, to let it be known I’m here and I need help. Now, please stop, and don’t be a serial killer.
Please.
Double please.
The car… Oh no, not a car. A truck, a brand new one by the looks of it, slows down enough for me to notice the man sitting in the driver’s seat, but he passes me, not stopping.
