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Carly
Day two of our drive,and I’m even more exhausted than before we left. My dreams are so intense I’m beginning to feel as if they’re real. I even thought I saw my dream guy at the last rest stop.
I now know more about Sierra than anyone should. She probably thinks the same about me. Both of us were raised as an only child, and our stories are quite similar. I grew up without a mom, and she didn't have a dad. I'm beginning to love her like a sister.
Sierra's soft snoring is keeping time with the broken white lines blinking by as I cruise down I-70. As if a magnet is pulling us, our direction feels right, and the tug is stronger the closer we get. Still no clue about our purpose, the unknown is a mix of excitement and fear for me.
A glance at the dash tells me we need to stop for gas soon. When we do I'll Google where to stay tonight. Determined to make the most of my looks, Sierra is in the process of giving me a makeover. I twirl a burgundy red strand of hair around my finger and catch the color in my peripheral vision. Even though I never imagined myself with this shade, my tresses do make my blue eyes look more vibrant.
Just over the Colorado border a rest area is a few miles ahead, and I decide that's where I'll stop. Sierra wakes when I pull off the interstate. Stretching her arms above her head, she says, "Are we in Colorado yet?"
"We are. Ready to drive?" I yawn and cut the engine when we're by the pumps. The odor of gasoline pricks my memory, and I recall the pungent musk of my dream. I shake my head to clear my thoughts.
"Sure, it's my turn to fill up." She gets out and pulls a debit card from her back pocket.
Chilly air blows around us, and I shove my hands in my pockets. "I'm going to go pee. Want anything?" I'm craving something salty and a cola.
"Naw, I'll come in when I'm done."
The crisp air is light, and the sensation of my lungs not filling is strange. I know altitude means less oxygen, and I hope it won't be a problem when we climb a few more thousand feet to get to ski towns.
Metal racks by the convenience-store entry catch my eye when I yank the heavy door to get inside. Colorful real-estate brochures and ski maps make me stop, and I grab a few to peruse later. Only a few hours away from Vail, we need to make a decision.
Armed with slush drinks and chips after our stop, we drive back to the interstate. A map is slick in my fingers and rustles as I open it up. I ask, "Any ideas on what town we should pick?"
"I had another dream." She sends me a sideways glance. "I'm not so sure Colorado is where we need to be. The forest I was in makes me think of my childhood in New England."
My stomach sinks, and the icy liquid I just swallowed sticks in my throat. "How do you know? Aren't forests mostly the same?"
She sighs. "Not really, but it's more than how the woods appear. It's in my gut. I just know."
I can't argue with that. Something about this area seems off to me too. "Okay. I guess we keep going."
"Let's make sure. Why don't we stay somewhere around Grand Junction tonight and check out Vail tomorrow. If it still feels wrong, we keep going." Sierra is focused on the road, but by the way she's chewing her lip, I think she's as unsure as I am about what we're doing. With two days to second-guess ourselves, doubt is blossoming in our minds.
I say, "Hey, we'll figure it out. If not, I'll just cover our tattoos with something big, bold, and colorful."
She smiles. But we won't go crawling back to Venice Beach. Ray called us every name he could think of and promised to ruin any chance of a job in the entire state of California. Knowing the tattoo world is full of sexist men, the possibility exists.
I chew my lip, thinking about being homeless with everything I own sharing the space of my tiny Subaru with Sierra's belongings. I glance out the window but don’t see the breathtaking view that’s surely there.What on earth are we doing?
* * *
We arrivein Grand Junction and search for a diner. On the outskirts of town we find one that appears to fit our needs, especially since we passed a motel on the way. Shiny metal flashes the late-day sun in our eyes as we approach the diner’s entrance. A bell announces our arrival, and Sierra leads us to a booth on the edge. "I love to watch people. This place should be interesting." She winks at me and pulls a menu out from behind the napkin holder.
I grab one too, and the plastic is smooth and clean in my hands. Noticing the shine of the tabletop, I smile because the diner passes my sanitary guidelines. I clunk my elbows down and search for a tuna melt. Finding it, I don't need to look any further and put my menu away.
A waitress with long dark hair and tan skin that makes me think she is Native American arrives with two plastic tumblers full of water and napkin-rolled silverware. "Coffee tonight?"
Sierra answers, "No thanks, but we're ready to order."
Our meals arrive within minutes of us telling the waitress what we wanted. Sierra got the meatloaf with mashed potatoes and green beans. Ketchup squirts out of a bottle she squeezes over her plate. I bite into cheesy grilled bread and relish the familiar flavor of my favorite sandwich.
I swallow a mouthful. "This is so good."
Sierra just nods as she chews. The waitress returns with a water pitcher and asks, "Everything okay?"
I answer, "It's delicious."
