Adi Alsaid - Let's Get Lost

Bree cursed at the gust of wind that trailed in the car’s wake and had knocked her green tank top to the asphalt. She grumbled as she knelt down to pick up the shirt, so anxious to get going that she almost didn’t see the second car coming. She stood back up and stuck her thumb out again, and the car instantly slowed down, the brakes not quite screeching but chirping loudly enough to be heard through the music that was blasting from inside. The car was old and crummy, its red paint job aiming for brilliance but coming closer to dried blood. Even the hubcaps were dark red.

Bree took a couple of steps toward the car and leaned over to look through the rolled-down passenger-side window. It surprised her to see that the driver was a girl more or less her age. She rarely saw other teens on the road, especially not on their own.

“Where you headed?” the driver called out over the music, which she hadn’t bothered to turn down.

“Anywhere,” Bree called back, exactly as she’d said over and over again, the perfect nomadic answer. She glanced at the interior of the car, taking in the iced coffee in the cup holder, the scattered receipts, the trash bag secured to the gearshift and stuffed to the brim with empty plastic bottles and junk-food wrappers. The inside of the car was red, too, but there it succeeded in its brilliance and looked almost new. The upholstery was red, the steering wheel was red, even the forgotten liquid in the Gatorade bottle on the floor was red.

“Perfect,” the girl said, and she motioned with a nod for Bree to come in.

She opened the door and climbed in, hoisting her duffel bag into the empty backseat of the car. She could feel her heart start to beat harder with the familiar sensation of adrenaline and motion. It was as if her heart was not simply pumping blood around her body but pounding the stillness out of her system.

The driver seemed to consider the open road for a second, as if daring it to keep her from gunning her engine. “I’m Leila,” she said.

“Bree.”

Leila nodded and offered a smile. Then the car rolled forward, and the wind started rushing in through the open window, pulling loose strands free from Bree’s ponytail. They flapped stingingly against the back of her sunburned neck and danced wildly across her eyes, thick tresses that had nearly turned to dreads during her nine months of roaming.

After a mile or so, when the song playing through the stereo system ended, Leila turned down the music and rolled up her window halfway. “So, what’s your story?”

“I don’t have a story,” Bree said, still needing to more or less yell over the sound of the highway.

“Everyone has a story,” Leila said, combing back her black tresses over her ear, only to have the wind uproot them. It made Bree feel somehow connected to the girl, how their hair danced.

“Well, then, my story is...” She motioned to the highway. “You know. Here. Going. The road.”

Leila looked over her shoulder, taking her eyes off the road long enough for Bree to get nervous. “Did you run away from home?”

They passed a sign saying that they had fifty miles to go to reach Kansas City, and Bree gave a little nod. She closed her eyes, focusing on the feel of the wind on her skin. She didn’t blame Leila for asking, since Bree had wondered the same about others, but she still hated being asked. Mostly because no matter how much she dressed it up with the details of her departure, no matter how much life she’d soaked up since, the basic truth was simple: Yes, she had run away. As they did all too often during quiet moments, thoughts of Bree’s sister, Alexis, rushed in. She opened her eyes. “What about you?” She asked. “What’s your story?”

“North,” Leila said, as if it explained everything.

“That’s it? That’s not much of a story.”

Leila turned to look at Bree, eyes green and full of so much life that Bree almost felt jealous of what they might have seen. “I have to go to Alaska. I’ve got a rare medical condition where I can’t be away from the magnetic poles for too long, or my body starts to decompose.”

Bree shifted uncomfortably in her seat, tensing up. She wasn’t good at dealing with diseases. She’d dealt with her parents’ for long enough. Then Leila cracked a smile. Bree relaxed. “Shut up. I almost believed you.”

Leila leaned in toward the steering wheel as her body shook with laughter. “Wow, I did not think that you’d fall for that. I’m not usually a good liar.” She controlled her laughter, then said, “No, I’m going to Alaska to see the Northern Lights. I want to take some pictures for my school portfolio.”

Bree nodded and looked out her window at the midwestern sky. She sometimes felt as if she might be swallowed up by it. The music coming from the speakers was fast, brimming with energy that resonated with Bree and clashed with the emptiness of the landscape. “That’s pretty cool,” she said. “Ever seen them before?”

“Just in pictures. Have you?”

Bree turned away from the window. “Yeah, when I was a kid. In Europe.” The memory was faint, the sight of the Northern Lights overwhelmed by the presence of her parents. She couldn’t even remember if it had been Switzerland or Denmark where she’d seen them, or how her mom had smelled: coffee on her breath or soap on her skin. Bree often wished she’d paid more attention before the smell of sickness started invading everything. “I don’t really remember them all that well, though.”

“Hmm,” Leila said, momentarily lost in thought. She brought a hand up to her mouth and chewed absentmindedly on the skin between her thumb and forefinger.

“How long have you been on the road for?” Bree asked.

“I’m just getting started. The later it is in summer, the better the chance to see the Lights, so I’m going slowly,” Leila said, moving both hands to the steering wheel. “You?”

“Um, it’s been a few months, I guess. It’s hard to keep track of time after a while. Which is kind of how I like it.”

“Why’s that?”

“When you don’t have any reason to think of days as weekdays or weekends, you start to realize that all days are pretty much the same. And that kind of gives you the freedom to do whatever you want. It’s a lot easier to seize the day than it is to seize a Tuesday. You have errands on Tuesday. On Tuesday you eat pizza again. Your favorite TV show is on Tuesday, you know? But the day ...” she said, adding hand gestures to signify the importance. “ The day is all just hours you’re alive for. They can be filled with anything. Unexpectedness, wildness, maybe a little bit of lawlessness, even.” She looked over at Leila to gauge her reaction. “If that makes sense.”

Leila glanced away from the road to smile appreciatively at Bree. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean.” She turned back to the road. “Seize the Tuesday.” A few moments passed. A new song came on, another burst of energy and liveliness. Bree reached back to her bag to grab a granola bar and offered one to Leila, which she accepted with a thank-you.

When she was done with it, Leila stuffed the wrapper into the plastic bag hanging off the gearshift. “You ever find it easier said than done? The whole seizing-the-day thing. Carpe diem

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