Road Trip

“Are you ready yet Craig?” I heard Max call up from downstairs. The warm summer draft from the open door of the flat became evident as it swept across the room, wrapping itself around my bare arms. I turned to my bed, where my black vans backpack lay chock full of clothes, bank cards, and most importantly, money. Lots of money. All mine and Max’s savings to be exact. I scanned the flat, making sure everything was in order, grabbed my pack and strode out the door, locking it behind me.

“Coming!” I shouted back, pocketing my keys with the little Vans keyring on it, that stuck out through my black skinnies. I pulled my Iron Fist t-shirt over the slight bulge and descended down the stairs.

I regretted the black jeans as soon as I stepped out into the sun, as it burned down on New York city like the apocalypse was coming. It was real hot for 7:30 in the evening, I noticed, as I spied Max sat in the green convertible on the road in front of me, his totally wrecked green pack he’d had since high school slung on the back seat. That was just how Max rolled, messy, scruffy, worn, rough yet always ready.

“You’ll regret those jeans as soon as we hit the highway, bro.” Max stated, staring at my legs. He wore beige cargo shorts, showing his bear-hairy legs, and a white t-shirt with a big, black leather jacket.

“I already am,” I sighed, as I threw my pack on the back seat. “But you’ll regret that jacket more,” Max got ready to drive, putting his slash-style sunglasses on, that I was sure he’d stolen from Robert.

“Yeah, but I can take this off,” Max smiled, hitting the gas pedal sending us flying down the street towards the highway.

I felt a sudden rush, I’d never been on a spontaneous road trip before, but the feeling of driving into nowhere, not having a clue where I’m headed, yet speeding into the sunset felt pretty incredible after the whole Ronnie thing. Max and I had agreed not to mention him on this trip at all, so bye bye Ronnie I guess.

Thank God for that.

I felt the need to throw my head back and scream, I felt that much of an adrenaline rush. So I did, receiving looks from Max, as we sped through a slowing New York city, and orange light descending over us. Max giggled at my randomness, and decided to join me, arms waving as we rushed down the straight, wind tugging violently at our hair.

“I think this calls for some tunes, my friend!” Max grinned, pushing the play button on the CD player between us.

’Goin' down for a time - my friends are gonna be there, too

I'm on the Highway to Hell
On the Highway to Hell
Highway to Hell
I'm on the Highway to Hell...’

The speaker boomed out, I laughed at the irony and shook my head, before pushing the eject button causing Max to jerk his head toward me in shock.

“Aww come on,” Max threw his arms up. “I know you love AC DC!” he pouted at me, fluttering his eyelashes at me. I scoffed.

“Keep your eyes on the road, dickwad,” I smiled, pushing in a random CD I found in the glove box in front of me, pressing play as soon as the CD clicked into place.

’Friday night and I need a fight,
My motorcycle and a switchblade knife
Handful of grease and my hair feels tight
But what I need to get me are those

Girls, Girls, Girls.
Long legs and Burgundy lips
Girls, Girls, Girls.
Dancin’ down on the Sunset strip
Girls, Girls, Girls.
Red lips, fingertips...’

“I think this song is more appropriate,” I grinned, turning the little grey knob, blasting it out for the rest of the block to hear.

“I must agree, my man,” Max bobbed his head, singing along to the chorus with me and the Motley Crue. I shimmied and moshed in my seat, even though I didn’t particularly like this song. It just seemed so appropriate for the trip. Max and I had established that we really needed to get laid, and Max added that he’d had all the girls in New York, so he needed to find another state to ravish. I just laughed, I knew he was lying. But to see another state’s girls would be good.

The song ended, so I turned it down to background music level, and slouched back into my seat a little, staring out onto the road ahead. We’d reached the edges of the city now, and were about to turn onto the highway, sparkling and stretching out in front, leading us to an adventure we’d never forget.

We both just relaxed a while, not saying anything, just chilling out to the background music. I reached into the cooler Max had stored under the seats in the back, containing beer, food, and snacks. I wanted a beer, but I knew Max would accuse me of trying to make him jealous, so I reached for the sandwiches I’d made myself earlier in the day, pulling them into the front with me and shutting the cooler. I broke the seal on the little resealable bag I’d put them in, and took out my pocket-sized PB+J’s. I felt Max stare at me as I began to nibble on the corner of one.

“Craig, what the fuck are they?” He frowned.

“It’s PB+J, pocket sized, crusts off, just how I like it,” I enthused, holding the little square up to him.

“That is the saddest thing I have ever seen you eat, Craig,” He sniggered, turning his eyes back to the road, smiling to himself.

“I like my sandwiches bite-sized!” I exclaimed, throwing my arms up. I popped the rest of my PB+J in my mouth, munching.

“Freak,” Max muttered.

“Retard,” I retorted.

“Dickwad,” Of course, now this had to turn into a slagging match.

“Douchebag,” How predictable

“Manslut,” Ok, this needed to stop now.

Sandwich hater,” I scowled playfully. Max paused, and just when I thought I was going to win, he came back with

“Loser.”

I just laughed, ending it there and eating another sandwich.

I looked around the car at the battered seats, worn leather with ripped bits handing off and foam protruding from the seams. The window was already dusty, and we were nowhere near anything dusty, and we only had one windscreen wiper, I noticed. The paintwork around the car was chipped and scorched in various places, and there was a funny rotten vegetable smell that hung about the car. I dreaded to think how Max got it, ‘cos it definitely wasn’t his. He crashed his a while ago.

“Max?” I asked, turning my body to face him.

“Mmm?” He responded, keeping his eyes on the fairly empty highway.

“How did you get this car? It’s a fucking dump,” I asked curiously, Max sniggered.

“Well,” he begun, faltering. “I spotted it in the dump just outside town, and it didn’t look too bad to me,” Hmm, I wondered what that funny smell was. “So me and my uncle Sam pushed it out and fixed the engine up, we didn’t have time to fix up anything else,” Max chuckled.

“Hmm, I can tell,” I mumbled.

“But I wanted to keep that cool, worn look for the road trip anyway, makes us look like we’ve done this before,”

“And about the funny vegetable smell?” I questioned, making Max laugh.

“We couldn’t get rid of it, get over it,”