“I’ll drive,” Summer said without discussion.
It was not uncommon since Ellie was usually the one in tow. She’d been dragging her youngest sibling syndrome around like dead weight, unable to detach as though it were a disease or condition to take to the grave. But the 15-year-old her was present and potent. People just loved taking care of her, if not pitying her, out of their own selfless concern, assuming she was directionless and acquiescent.
Summer led the way, and Ellie followed. Expecting they would slip into a sleek black BMW, newly washed with a heavy tint, Ellie was mistaken.
Summer drove an obnoxious yellow Volkswagen Beetle. Her headlights even had eyelashes, and her sole bumper sticker said, “Ambitchous.” She had little to no regard for others, as confirmed by the way she parked outside the lines.
Ellie swung the car door open and was immediately hit by the car’s cavernous heat. The term roasted would seem most accurate. Before Ellie could flop onto the best seat in the house, Summer wiped loose papers off the passenger side and preemptively said, “Here,” patting the seat with succinct directives. The AC blasted immediately, blowing Ellie’s hair back. Summer took her half-eaten bagel from the center console and locked it in with a closed jaw. She aggressively reversed out as Ellie barely clipped her seatbelt and extrapolated this heady ride experience.
They said nothing as they sped through the impending red traffic light. But Ellie was okay with the silence. She clutched onto the single handlebar above her head, acknowledging, sure, this was one way to go. Summer steered with one hand, while Ellie stayed on one end of the vehicle, resisting judgments and mouthing the f-word. While the Bluetooth connected to Summer’s phone, voicemail messages materialized through the car’s speakers.
She must be the kind to have private conversations over speakerphone at a DMV line, Ellie sneered.
“You have 9 saved messages and 2 new messages.”
Voice messages reeled, and Ellie’s eyes shifted to the mayhem at her feet. Blanketing the rubber floor mat, crumpled-up brown bags of what appeared to be fast food proved how well the car had been lived in. Inconsequential sheets of paper previously wiped from the chair littered at Ellie’s feet. It seemed resources ran low because a sheet of paper was used to dab someone’s lips of heavy makeup.
Her awareness deepened and broadened. The moment continued to spill its contents into Ellie’s receptacle. During this speculative process, Ellie watched her like a zoo animal, unabashedly existing on its own terms. She knew people of this caliber. She registered and filed in the way she moved, stayed, and ate in her natural habitat. Not entirely engrossed in this sightseeing, but she remained fairly present yet eyeing the nearest exit door.
Her mind left her body as she foresaw this friendship going one way:
Summer takes the wheel as she tags along.
Summer makes the plans, while she rolls with them.
Summer fights as she stands there in solidarity.
Summer’s self-absorption and her self-destruction
Summer’s reality, her daydreams.
If Summer were a sparkling palace, then Ellie would be unhoused.
Summer: a fortuitous discovery; Ellie: unfound.
Summer: oceanic waves; Ellie: a babbling brook
Summer is summer; Ellie is the dead of winter.
She availed herself of this transactional relationship, understanding very well that she’d walk out of this in debt, penniless.
Voicemail messages continued to reel in the background. Ellie noticed the gas tank meter, reading near empty, and thought again about that exit door, or any means of escape.
But she stayed, smiling harder.
Her mind fogged with thoughts, wondering what loophole she had slid into to get here, feeling like a 15-year-old Martian with a human starter pack.