Going Somewhere

‘This is not a good idea, this is not a good idea,’ the words repeated over and over in my mind, and yet my fist still hovered over the freeway, one thumb up. My thoughts drifted back to my mother for a second, she would probably just be realizing I was missing, preparing herself to call me. I shuddered at the thought of what she would say if she saw me now.

“Hitchhiking?” she would scream, her forehead crinkling in incredulity, “I know you wanted freedom, but hitchhiking?! There are kooks out there, just waiting for an innocent teenage girl to hop into their van! And do you know what happens then? God only knows what happens then! Do you have a brain? Do you think about these things?”

“Yes,” I replied aloud, softly. Countless cars had passed me at this point, so the initial fear of being kidnapped had worn off and been replaced by endless boredom. The depressing thing was that not a single car had so much as slowed down upon passing me; most of the drivers just sneered at my luggage and me. I sighed, propped up my small suitcase, and sat down, relieved to be sitting for the first time in at least an hour. I rested my elbows on my knees and propped my head up on my hands. I closed my eyes for a minute; sitting in the arid heat was much more exhausting than I had anticipated it to be.

Suddenly, the sputtering of an old car engine came near. I looked up to find that a beat up, ancient Camaro was slowing to a stop in front of me. It looked as if it were from the late seventies at most, and its red paint was faded and worn due to many years of sun exposure. The driver rolled down the window of the passenger’s side, which stuttered and squealed as it descended, and shouted a quick, “Hop in.”

I pulled open the door, and entered the car suitcase-first.

“Thanks,” I muttered while shutting the door behind me, not bothering to glance at the driver—I would have plenty of time to look at him for as long as he was willing to drive me around.

“Well, look who we have here,” the driver laughed, “Funny, you really didn’t seem like the hitchhiking type.”

I spun around and stared at him; he was the boy who had given me directions.

“Oh, I’m not, really,” I stuttered, awkwardly placing my suitcase in front of my legs, “I just don’t have a car and I was kind of out of options.” He stared at me for a few moments, studying my nervous expression, his eyes crinkling as he grinned and ran a hand through his shaggy black hair.

“So, are you going to give me a name to work with here, or are you going to be perpetually known as the girl in desperate need of an umbrella?” he questioned, shifting the car into drive. I stared at him for a few moments with a dumb smile on my face, his question not registering in my sleep-deprived brain. He cocked an eyebrow and smirked at me.

“Oh! It’s Emma,” I said quickly, trying to compensate for the amount of time I had spent gawking at him like an idiot.

“Dylan,” he smiled, awkwardly attempting to shake my hand, “Great to re-meet you.” The car remained silent for a few minutes after that, and a feeling of general discomfort circulated through the car.

“I thought you were in college? Wouldn’t there be classes or something today?” I asked curiously, trying to make small-talk. He snorted in response.

“Are you kidding? I’m out of here, I’m skipping this place and never coming back,” Dylan announced with conviction, pounding his right fist on the steering wheel, “You know, I always knew I’d never stay in a place like this. What’s here for me, anyway? Normality and a boring life? It’s suffocating. The only thing to do in a place like this is to think about how you’re going to get out. No, it’s not for me, I want to have fun, I want to live…”

I glanced at him hesitantly, admiring the sincerity of his words. He was so confident in what he wanted to do. I wished I could be more like that; I had conniptions deciding what to eat for breakfast, let alone deciding where I wanted to be for my whole life. Dylan’s eyes darted over to mine for a moment and scanned my awed expression, and his lips curved downward slightly.

“I’m sorry, sometimes I kind of go on rants. I’m not crazy or anything, I promise,” he smirked, but his eyes still showed a nervous need for assurance.

“Oh, no, I get it. I’m actually a little jealous,” I confessed, and looked downward timidly. He glanced at me sideways and raised his eyebrows.

“Of me being crazy?” he queried disbelievingly.

“No, just… you’re so sure. I mean, I’m indecisive, I could never make a choice like that,” I stared ahead at the oncoming road and studied the passing trees, feeling a little embarrassed. We sat in silence for a while after that, and I gladly relished how little awkwardness had remained in the vehicle. I listened to the labored hum of the engine, and the sound of the wind rushing past us, and I closed my eyes and just listened. I could hear the crunch of gravel under the worn tires, and I could vaguely make out Dylan’s fingers tapping the steering wheel in rhythm to a crackling song on the radio.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Dylan finally asked, breaking the silence.

“What?” I questioned, snapping awake from my daze.

“You just said that you could never make a choice like that, but think about it: you just ran away, you just jumped into a car with a guy you met yesterday. That’s some pretty quick decision making,” he admired.

“Yeah, some pretty bad decision making too,” I revised, biting my lip, “no offense.”

“None taken. I promise that you’ll only see me in the car,” he said. He was silent for a few moments, but then burst out laughing, “Where exactly am I taking you?”

I thought for a few moments—where was he taking me?

“I’ll go wherever you’re going,” I declared firmly, looking Dylan straight in the eyes and feeling sure of something for the first time in my life.