EVEN THOUGH THE RECEPTION IN MY ANCIENT CARis not very good, I crank up the fuzzy station and increase my speed. I can’t remember the last time when I listened to music, and I’ve spent the past eight hours exploring everything from country to Motown to classic rock and newer pop. It turns out that I don’t care much for jazz or classical. But the fun thing is that I get to choose what I listen to. That understanding is so stupidly simple yet so complex.
The roads are empty, the rest stops are quiet, and the highways belong to truckers and me. I like it.
The three caffeine-laden sodas that I’ve had are wearing off, and I’m exhausted. I tap my hands on the steering wheel and belt out a song that I’ve heard about seventy times since I threw some shit into my car and drove out of Chicago. My voice is hoarse and horrendously off-key, but I don’t care because I am happy. I’m terrified and sick to my stomach but happy, and that’s what’s important. Also important is locating a place to sleep because I am wiped out.
Somewhere outside of Buffalo, New York, I pull into a cheap motel. The room smells like moldy cheese and body odor, but that doesn’t matter. I lock the door and immediately take a step onto the bed where I jump up and down until I am giggling uncontrollably. I jump so hard that I actually crack my head on the popcorn ceiling and cause it to snow plaster all over the worn paisley quilt. When I drop down onto the mattress, I am out of breath but so full of exuberance that I manically roll back and forth on the now-plastered cover before grabbing fistfuls of blanket and wrapping myself up into a cocoon. In the darkness, I wait for my breathing to settle, for my heart to stop pounding.
“I ran away from home!” I scream into the blanket. “I ran away from home!”
This is, of course, a rather idiotic thing to say. I’m twenty-one years old, not twelve. I haven’t done anything illegal or really all that interesting. One really can’trun awayat my age. It’s pretty normal to move out of your parents’ house, so this is not a monumental feat.
Yet it is.
When I left the hospital, I went home, raided the bathroom for my cosmetics and such, and tossed piles of clothes into two large duffel bags. My laptop and a few other items fit into a tote. I was almost out the door when it occurred to me that I might not want to take on a long drive in my ridiculous dress and heels. That piece-of-shit dress deserved to be burned, but instead, I wasted twenty minutes of good driving time to cut it into shreds and sprinkle those shreds all over my mother’s room. I also stuck the godforsaken heels in the fridge, next to a glass jar of caviar labeledLucinda’s.
That was how I said good-bye. It seemed fitting.
I’m unclear whether it’s the motel blankets or me that stink, but a shower is in order, so I steam myself and use the no-name shampoo and soap provided for me. My mother would be appalled with the lack of a high-end brand, so I wash my hair with the crummy shampoo a total of four times. I consider it a rather thrilling act of retaliation.
At six thirty in the morning, I finally fall asleep.
Although I wake up a few times, it is not until four the next morning when I start to fully come back to life.Well, shit.That was pushing twenty-four hours of sleep. I guess I was tired. For a moment, I wonder if I was actually asleep or if I blacked out.
After another shower, I unload my makeup and hairstyling items onto the counter and begin the process of putting myself together. I’ve had the same routine for years now, and I’ve never enjoyed spending time drying my hair in big rollers, applying makeup, and worrying about the position of each fucking eyelash. But I go through the motions because this is what I have always done. After I put on the cuff bracelet from my father and a selection of other jewelry, I dress in a navy silk button-down and tan dress pants, and I opt for slip-on shoes for driving.
I have at least ten hours of highway to cover today and no one to share stretches with, but that’s okay. I can go this alone. While I drive, I’ll make some calls and withdraw from school. I also need to change my cell number. I have a ton of missed calls. I haven’t bothered to listen to the messages, so my voice mail is clogged.
I’ll do whatever I have to do in order to disappear and start over.
I’m going to find Sam Bishop.
His parents’ inn, The Coastal, is located in Watermark, Maine, and according to the Internet, they still own it, so that’s a good place to start. For all I know, Sam is away at college in some other faraway state. However, I’ve never seen the ocean, so I might as well head to The Coastal Inn. Maybe that’s not a reason to drive so crazily far, but I want to. For the first time, I’m going after what I want.
And what I want is Sam.
That one day I had with him was…well, I don’t know what it was precisely. I just know that it was the last time I felt close to anyone.
It’s almost as though I have no choice in the matter. Driving to Maine is a compulsion that I cannot ignore.
Music and daydreams propel me toward my future, whatever that might be.
One thing is for sure. I will eat a lobster.
