Exit, Pursued by a Bear

The five of us—plus Sparkplug—sat around a circular table with three priests the next morning, eating breakfast.

They didn’t speak, so we didn’t either. The only sound was coming from Corn, who was inhaling his food with the gusto of a vacuum cleaner.

I just picked at some fruit, nibbled at some toast, and sipped at some orange juice, plotting our next move.

Obviously, we’d need to hitchhike again. I just didn’t want to be faced with another guy in a white van that wanted to molest us in a nasty motel room.

Roman bumped his knee against mine under the table.

I looked at him.

The look on his face asked me, “What’re you thinking?”

I shook my head. He’d know soon enough.

The priests made their way to morning mass, and we started to leave, because, well, let’s face it: We’re not exactly the most religious people. Actually, we’re not religious at all, so there was really no reason to crash the outrageous party they had going on in there. Loud music, singing. Jesus, they must have been having a whale of a time.

“Maggie, let’s go see. Just a peek, then we’ll go,” Corn said, tugging me with one hand and Jonnie with the other toward the big double doors. His slim fingers held onto the fabric of my tee-shirt.

“No, Corn,” I said, slapping his hand away. “We have to get to Santa Barbara. Wayland’s counting on me, dummy. We can't mess around.”

“C’mon. Just a few minutes. Please?”

I looked around at the others. They just shrugged and headed toward the church doors. I had no choice but to follow them.

The six of us—if you count Sparkplug—sat at the back of the church on this long wooden bench. The colored glass that posed as windows for the church mesmerized me. The smell of incense hung heavily in the air; I felt like it was choking me.

I needed to leave. We had to go. We had to—

Were they passing out food up there? This place was awesome.

“Aw, sweet. Food,” Jonnie said. He and Corn got up and started to walk up the aisle to get some of the bread.

“You just ate breakfast,” I hissed after them.

They didn’t pay any attention to me, and I watched as they were each given a piece of bread by one of the priests at the front of the wide space. The people before them had kneeled in front of the big statue of the guy on the cross before returning to their seats; Jonnie and Corn didn’t.

“Ew,” Corn said, frowning like he had just swallowed something rancid. “That bread was gross.”

“It didn’t have a taste, idiot.”

“But, still. I’m definitely not going back for seconds.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to go back for seconds,” Roman said, his eyes half-closed. He looked as if he would fall asleep any second.

“Wait, what’re they doing?” Travis gestured to the other people in front of us a few rows.

“I—I’m not sure,” I whispered, utterly perplexed by their behavior. “Maybe they’re… I really don’t know…”

“I think they’re praying,” Jonnie said, obviously knowing more than the rest of us did.

I looked at him. “What’s that?”

“It’s when you talk to God, but not out loud. In your head.”

“Should we try it?” Roman asked me.

“If you want to. I don’t care.” I shrugged to complete the effect of indifference I had going just then.

The boys all kneeled on this little padded bar thing attached to the bench in front of us. I was the only one in the church not playing along, so I kneeled down, too.

They interlaced their fingers, their heads bowed over their hands. I did as they did. Only, when it came down to this “praying” business, I had no idea what to do. This was so bizarre.

Talking to God in my head. That made me sound like a lunatic. Talking to someone who isn’t real.

Maybe he was real. The other people in here sure seemed to think so; their songs had a lot to do with Jesus.

One way to find out.

Um, God? Are you there?

There was no reply, internally or externally. I don’t know why, but I kept talking, feeling kind of schizophrenic.

Listen up, ‘cause this is important. I felt so stupid doing this. We really, really need a ride to Santa Barbara. Preferably one that isn’t a psycho in a scary white van that wants to rape us. So, if you could give us one, I’d really appreciate it.

Still, there was no response. Perhaps he was too busy talking to the other people to listen to me. I mentally shrugged it off; it was no big deal. I didn’t believe in this God person anyway, though I did use his name quite often.

I opened my eyes, grabbed the backs of Travis and Corn’s shirts, and said, “Let’s get out of here before someone notices us.”

We hurried out of the church and started walking toward the highway.

“That was so… I don’t know how to explain it…” Roman seemed dazed, and I slapped him in the arm to snap him out of whatever kind of trance the incense had put him in.

“Focus,” I said. “We have to get going.”

He blinked a few times and nodded. “Right.”

“Hey, look. Someone’s pulling over,” Corn said.

I turned, and he was right.

“Need a ride?” a smooth male voice asked from within the two-door, bright red sports car.

“Are you heading west?” I questioned, stepping off the curb.

“Why, I just so happen to be doing so.”

“Do you think five of us and a dog’ll fit in there?”

“This car’s looks are deceiving; it’s quite roomy in here, darlin’.”

Oh. A southern boy. Not a redneck, but a true, genuine southern gentleman. He even had a drawl, not a twang… I was in love just by hearing his voice.

I must have smiled, because Travis and Roman looked at me weird.

“Get in,” I snapped at them, composing my face.

When they were in, I slipped in next to the guy in the front, Sparkplug sitting on my lap.

“I’m Wyatt,” he said, tilting his head toward me but not looking away from the road. “Wyatt Davis. And, you are?”

“What? Oh, I'm Maggie.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” he said, pressing down hard on the gas pedal. “And your friends?”

“I’m Travis,” Travis said, leaning forward to stick his head between Wyatt’s and mine.

“Nice to meet you, er, Travis.”

I giggled.

Really. I giggled.

“I’m Roman,” Roman said, pushing Travis back into the seat. “Maggie’s twin brother.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Wyatt said with a nod.

“I’m Corn, and the Asian one is Jonnie,” Corn said.

“What does me being Asian have to do with anything?”

I heard the distinct sound of skin contacting, hard, with skin.

Wyatt smiled a stark white smile. “The pleasure is all mine, lady and gentlemen.”

“Oh, and this is Sparkplug,” I said, remembering the dog and stroking one of his floppy brown ears.

“And, Mr. Sparkplug,” Wyatt added, glancing over at me with twinkling blue eyes.

Twinkling… I just used the word “twinkling”… Something, clearly, is wrong with me…

“If I may be so bold,” he said a minute later, “where are you five—six going?”

“Southern California,” Travis answered before I could.

“Any specific city?”

“No.”

“Ah. Alright.”

I turned around in the passenger seat to give Travis The Look.

He looked down.

“Can I ask where you’re headed?” I looked expectantly at Wyatt.

“Anywhere, really,” he said. He had his tan left hand on the wheel and the other hand on the stick shift. “Or, I could be cliché and say, ‘Wherever the road takes me’, but I don’t think you want to hear that nonsense.”

He was a nomad. How medieval.

“Not really.”

He chuckled, eyes on the road.

I couldn’t help but stare at him. He had manners, something none of us had. I mean, he called me ma’am… I was so in love.

“Miss Maggie?”

“What?” I focused on the right side of Wyatt’s face.

“I was just saying that I’m mighty hungry,” he said, his pink lips quirking into a smirk. “Are you?”

I was about to say “A little,” when Travis said, quite loud, “No, we just ate breakfast. Thanks, though.”

My hand twitched, wanting to punch the moron in the face.

“Would you mind if I stopped off at a corner store to get something?”

“Oh, no, no,” I said.

“Would you steal my car while I was in there?”

“I wouldn’t.”

With that, Wyatt turned into a parking lot, removed the keys from the ignition, and got out of the car.

As soon as the door slammed shut, I turned around again to face Travis, who sat sandwiched between Jonnie on one said and Roman and Corn on the other side.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” The look in Travis’s eyes told me he knew exactly what I meant.

“Stop doing what you’re doing, you son of a—”

“—biscuit,” Corn finished for me.

“Not helping,” I growled at him, not taking my eyes off Travis’s.

“Sorry.”

Travis leaned forward so far that our noses would touch if one of us so much as twitched. “Babe, I can do whatever I damn well please.” He smelled kind of nice, like cinnamon and soap.

“Not while I’m in charge,” I said. Then, I added, “And, don’t call me that.”

Travis just shook his head and leaned back as I turned to face the storefront.

The nerve that boy had.

“Can we just get through this without chewing each other’s heads off?” Corn asked.

“Shut up, Corn,” Roman and I said simultaneously.

“Y’know, I always found that creepy, when you guys say the same thing at the same time,” he said.

“We plan it,” Roman said, and I could tell by his tone that he’d rolled his gray eyes.

“Really?”

I heard a crack, and Corn cry out in pain.

“What’re you doing back there?” I inquired, not bothering to turn around to find out.

“Nothing,” Jonnie said. “I just reached over and slapped Mr. Nelson upside his little blonde head.”

“Oh, okay.”

Wyatt returned, then, carrying a plastic bag. When he got in, he handed it to me and asked, “Can you put that on the floor for me?”

“Yep.” I did as he asked.

“Thank you.” He stuffed the key into the ignition and revved it. “West coast, anyone?”

“Is that some sort of salad?”

“Shut up, Corn,” Travis said.

“My bad, yo. It just sounded like a type of salad.”

I closed my eyes and let my head fall back. How did I get stuck with these idiots?

Wyatt drove for two or three hours before Corn started complaining about his full bladder.

“I’m seriously about to pee everywhere,” he said.

"Rest area five miles away,” Roman noted as we passed a brown side that said so.

“Can you hold it?” I asked Corn.

“I sure hope I can.”

“I sure hope you can, too,” Wyatt said. “This is new interior.”

He pulled into the rest stop, and Corn practically flew into the building.

“Anyone else gotta pee?” I asked the backseat.

The other three got out of the car and jogged after Corn as an answer.

“I need to stretch my legs,” I mumbled to Wyatt, and he nodded. I wandered around the parking lot with Sparkplug by my side until the boys got back.

“We gotta jam,” Jonnie said to me through tight lips. “Like, now.”

“Huh? Why?” I raised an eyebrow. I noticed he had something clutched in his right hand, and I pointed at it. “What’s that?”

He briefly opened his fist, revealing a brown leather wallet before he clamped his fingers around the worn material again. “Let’s go.”

I nodded, and we piled back into the car.

“Everyone all set?” Wyatt glanced around the backseat.

“Just drive, dude,” Roman said.

Wyatt turned back to the steering wheel and did as he was told.

There was the most awkward silence ever in the car. This was one of those times when having Wayland around would have been great.

Wyatt finally broke the silence. “Can I ask why you guys are hitchhiking instead of taking a bus or something?”

“Long story,” I muttered.

“Well, you see, Winter,” Travis said, leaning forward again, “we tried that, but Miss I-can-just-use-my-feminine-charm-on-the-dude-at-the-ticket-counter-to-get-us-some-tickets failed miserably.”

“It’s Wyatt,” Wyatt said, his voice quiet.

“That’s what I said, Willy.”

“Wyatt.”

“Wyoming?”

Wyatt exhaled sharply and shut up.

I applauded his wise decision. “It’s best to just ignore him.”

He smiled a little, but said nothing.

I slid down in the seat and let myself doze off. I felt so safe with Wyatt, and, quite frankly, I liked it.

I guess “God” had been listening to my prayer earlier in the church. Or maybe we were starting to get lucky.

Either way, we were getting somewhere. And, that was good with me.