Джордан Шор - The Search

Sometimes, I actually think I’m dead. The sunlight, makes the white walls shine so bright. But when I try to step into the light, I realize I’m still trapped in this bed with nothing to do but to wait for my life to pass me by.

There’s a TV on the wall. They leave it on for the most of the day. I think they do it for my sake, but all it does is to remind me of all the things I’m missing out on in life. All the dreams I had, all the places to travel, all the children to bear, and all the food to taste. They feed me something, but all food has lost its flavor. Just like my life.

I might as well be dead.

I feel like I died a long time ago but no one noticed.

I don’t remember when, but I remember the truck.

Tuesday morning

“Help!”

The light, misty rain swirled through the air, and the wind silenced most sounds, except the cries of a lonesome woman screaming her lungs out in a voice that sounded terrified.

“Andrew!” Julie yelled. “Please!”

Julie sat on her knees and stared at the tree where Andrew had spent the night alone. She rose to her feet, and limped a few yards down the shore.

“Andrew! Why won’t you answer me?” Julie’s voice sounded raspy.

Julie limped in the direction of the hillside where she and Jack had spent the first night. She took her eyes off the slippery terrain and looked at the tree.

“Andrew! You have to wake up!”

Julie lost her footage and slipped in the mud, and her knee collided with a small rock. Her hands shook as she clasped her kneecap. Then she crawled on her hands and knees toward the tree where Andrew had spent the night. Then suddenly, she stopped, and her lower lip began to tremble as her tears mixed with the raindrops running down her forehead.

“Andrew! Where are you?”

Julie looked up the steep hillside and into the surrounding woods.

“Andrew! I need your help! Nancy’s missing!” Her voice echoed across the landscape.

Tuesday morning

The initial plan was to visit Captain David Daniels’s mother in Paradise and then return to San Francisco the same day. However, George’s car had barely made it across the bridge to Oakland. So the plan was now to visit the widow Mrs. Irene Daniels in the afternoon, and then spend the night at a hotel in Paradise. After several hours in Oakland, they decided to leave George’s car behind, and instead replace it with a new model rental car with all possible features—all at the expense of Fare Airlines.

Mike Williams had directed that his young assistant, Trisha Boyle, join George on his trip to Paradise. Not only could she assist him by offering a female touch with Mrs. Daniels, but she’d also help him pass the time driving. At first, George hadn’t thought twice about the remark from his boss. However, after spending just a few minutes with Trisha Boyle, he came to realize why ‘time would fly in her presence.’ She hadn’t stopped talking since they’d left San Francisco this morning; until, just now.

Trisha Boyle had suddenly stopped talking, and was now staring at George.

What is the safest response? he asked himself.

“I’m not sure I follow,” he mumbled.

“You know what a steamroller is, don’t you, George?”

George felt oblivious to what the conversation was about.

“To flatten the road,” he said hesitantly.

“And they drive really slow,” Trisha said with a witty smile.

George nodded in agreement.

“So, have you ever been rear-ended by a steamroller?”

George felt a sense of relief. “Now, I get it. You think I’m driving too slow?”

“Oh, come on, mister,” Trisha said. “I spent like two hours on that joke. The least you can do is pretend to laugh.”

Two hours? That is funny , George thought, then began to laugh, and so did Trisha Boyle. But contrary to him (or any other person he’d ever met), she actually pronounced the laughter. A loud series of “H”s and “A”s echoed in the car. George began to wonder if Trisha Boyle was experiencing some sort of seizure. He stopped laughing and looked at her vigilantly.

Suddenly, Trisha Boyle stopped laughing. “You’re not offended, are you, George? Because I didn’t mean to imply Asian people suck at driving, or anything.”

To George’s relief, Trisha Boyle had resumed normal breathing, and no longer seemed to require a trip to the emergency room.

“No, of course not,” he said, and made sure to smile. “In fact, I think my mother might have invented that stereotype. That’s probably why I’m such a cautious driver, I’m still traumatized from riding in a car with her as a child. Still to this day, she stops the car in the middle of the intersection whenever she’s making a left turn.” He shook his head in disbelief.

“She stops in the middle of the intersection?”

“If the intersection has a traffic light. You see, when the light turns green, my mother turns left. But once she’s on the road she’s crossed to, she stops, because there, the light is red. Then, she waits for that traffic light to turn green as well.”

“Where did she learn how to drive?”

“Her parents are from China, but she was born and raised in America. My father was born and raised in Japan, but he doesn’t drive that way. Except for when he’s driving with my mom. Then he stops in the intersection to avoid her yelling at him—red means stop,” he said in an elderly female voice.

“I’m Scotch-Irish by the way,” Trisha said. “This basically means that I’m constantly drunk.”

George felt a bit surprised by the sudden remark and didn’t know how to respond, except to nod his head slightly and smile.

“I’m drunk right now. Can’t you tell?” Trisha bit her lower lip.

“Well, that would explain all the talking.”

George braced himself for another series of laughter. But to his surprise, Trisha didn’t laugh at his clever remark. Instead, she looked the other way.

“Fine, I won’t say another word for the rest of the trip, I’ll just sit here, and be totally quiet,” Trisha said, and then crossed her arms.

George tried to think of the best way to apologize, but before he could, Trisha Boyle rendered his attempt unnecessary.

“Okay, I was bluffing,” Trisha said in a tone of defeat. “One of us has to say something, and until a few minutes ago, you hadn’t said anything at all.”

George Stanton restrained himself from explaining the reason why.

“If you think I’m talking too much, then you should meet my mom. She talks a lot more than I do,” Trisha told him. “Whenever we have dinner, the food usually gets cold before we finish eating.”

“Well, that would explain why you’re so thin,” he said, and winked.

“Oh , nice save, mister.” Trisha tilted her head. “You’re one of those smooth talkers, aren’t you? You think you can talk your way out of anything, am I right?”

For a brief second George felt exposed as he was somehow caught in the act. “Well, I am the public relations manager, so I have—”

“Oh, is that what you are? Mike never told me what you did. I thought you were some kind of lawyer or something,” Trisha said, and smiled. “I’m glad to go on this trip with you, George.”

He was taken aback by her tone of voice. Trisha Boyle made it sound as if they were on a vacation getaway.

“Getting out of the office feels good. My head is still numb from all those phone calls, and I’m glad Mike didn’t send me to Yellowknife. I’d much rather join you in Paradise,” Trisha added and kept staring at him with an amused smile.