Once Upon a Road Trip (20 page)

It looks like I get my own place for the week! It’s like a studio apartment; all one big L-shaped room with a separate bathroom and kitchenette. Evidently, Scott’s dad rents it for him just so he has a place to hang out with his friends. There’s a pool table, a big entertainment center, and a couple of couches. I’m sleeping on the couch that converts into a bed. So far, it’s amazingly comfortable. I’m sitting on it now, clearing my head before I pass out. The main apartment is five floors down. I’ll get to see it tomorrow, when I meet Scott’s dad and stepmom.

Scott is pretty much what I’d expected. Just like with the other people I’ve met, it’s not like meeting someone new. It’s more like... placing the final pieces of a puzzle you’ve been staring at for a long time. Within a couple of minutes it all feels normal and familiar.

~Ang

Chapter 12

Scott showed up at Angie’s door in the late morning and invited her on a grocery run. She’d been awake just long enough to change out of her pajamas and pull her hair up into a pony tail, but for that much she was grateful.

As they emerged from the building, it was obvious it had rained recently. Puddles lingered along the gutters, while a gray haze overhead was steadily yielding to the noontime sun. The streets smelled like a strange blend of things chemical and organic. To Angie, this translated to the unpleasant scent of road tar and wet dog. 

Scott set a marching pace. Angie strode alongside him on the broad sidewalk, not about to be outdone by his athletic gait. There seemed to be an excess of sound and movement everywhere with people coming and going, half of them carrying on phone conversations. The unfamiliar atmosphere scattered her attention, compelling her to focus on her host as they walked.

“So, are New Yorkers as surly as television makes them out to be?” she asked.

“Surly?” Scott’s brow furrowed.

It took Angie a moment to realize he didn’t recognize the word. “Rude.” She tried again, wondering if her vocabulary was going to stand out in this part of the country as much as the slight, unconscious emphasis she placed on her vowels.

“Oh.” Scott looked off ahead of them again, growing somber. “Well, yeah. A lot of them were before the terrorist attack. But ever since then, it’s been different—people are nicer. It got a lot of people thinking.”

“Trauma seems to have that effect,” she said, monitoring his face with sidelong glances.

“I mean, it’ll probably wear off.” Scott rolled his shoulders in a cynical shrug. “People are good at forgetting stuff and going back to taking everything for granted. But while it lasts, it’s a good time to be visiting.” 

Angie nodded, pausing at length before asking, “What was it like, being there when the planes hit the towers? I know Elsie was on instant messenger with you that morning—she called me after school freaking out that you were describing things and then suddenly went offline.” She hoped enough time had passed that she wasn’t hitting a raw nerve. As much as she wanted to, she’d never asked him about it before. It seemed like something better done face to face.

“I was on the front steps of my school. I didn’t have to go to first period,” Scott began. His walking pace slowed. “I had my laptop open, and I was just playing around when the first plane hit. I didn’t really know what was going on at first...I just saw the smoke off in the distance.” He stopped at the street corner and backed himself against the side of a small bakery, as though he could no longer think and move at the same time. “About the time the second one hit, people started coming out of the school to look. Nobody was talking. And all you could hear were more and more sirens.”

Angie mimicked Scott’s stance against the wall, studying his burdened expression. “How close was your school to the financial district?”

“I dunno...just a few miles. Close enough.” He lowered his head, as though something near his shoes had caught his interest. “When the first one fell, that big cloud of dust swallowed up everything. All we saw was this gray wave coming at us. It looked like a bad storm cloud.” His gaze flickered up to meet hers, then darted away. “People started screaming and running back inside. I think that’s when it started to feel real.” Scott paused. “They just kept playing the close-ups over and over on the news. It was like…the world was ending or something.”

Angie nodded, finding it hard to swallow. “I sort of thought that too, at first. I couldn’t get my head around it.” She kept her voice low. “What did you do? Just…watched the news until somebody came to pick you up?”

“They wouldn’t let us leave at first.” Scott shook his head. “They didn’t know if the attacks were over, and I guess they weren’t sure how dangerous the dust was. I think that was the first time I ever prayed and really meant it.” He held her gaze at last, his hazel eyes deep wells of thought. “I tried to call my mom in D.C. when I found out the Pentagon got hit too, but the cell towers were jammed. I couldn’t let her know I was okay until the next day.”

Angie absorbed his account, picturing it in her mind and filing it alongside her own vivid recollection of that infamous day. “Wow,” she murmured. It was an inadequate word, but it was the only one that found its way from her thoughts to her mouth. She reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, hoping the action would convey more than words could. They shared a significant look. “At least your family was okay. Elsie and I were worried for days before you checked back in.”

“I got luckier than a lot of people,” Scott said. “I didn’t know anybody who died. Not directly. My dad did, though.” His expression eased to something more apologetic. “Didn’t mean to worry anybody. It was just crazy for a while there.”

“Have you been to Ground Zero yet?” Angie asked, withdrawing her hand and clasping it to her other wrist behind her back.

“No.” Scott looked down.

“I’d like to go there. I need to see it.” Angie said, more insistent than she’d intended. When his face contorted with skepticism she elaborated, “I want to pay my respects. I need to make sure it’s real to me...so I never forget.” Hesitating, she added, “I can go on my own. I just need a map, and for you to tell me how the subway works.”

“Yeah, like I’d send you wandering through Manhattan alone.” Scott gave a sharp exhalation through his nose. “I’ll take you there sometime this week. I probably should have gone sooner.” He pushed off from the building and resumed walking. Though he moved with purpose, he was careful to make sure she kept up beside him.

Angie fell into step. She considered arguing that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but in truth, she was finding the city more intimidating than she’d expected. The idea of navigating it alone made her uneasy.

“What else do you want to see while you’re here?” Scott’s tone lightened with the change of subject.

Angie shrugged. “The usual touristy things—Times Square, Central Park, The Statue of Liberty, The Empire State Building...” She searched her mind for other hallmarks of the city. It occurred to her then that, as with Ottawa, she should have done more research ahead of time. She’d planned out the travel portion of her trip carefully, but not the sight-seeing. “I’d like to try to see a Broadway musical,” she heard herself blurt out. She didn’t really, but she’d always heard it was something not to be missed while in New York.

“I think I can arrange all that.” Scott cast a beguiling smile her way.

He has beautiful eyes
, Angie caught herself thinking.

She couldn’t help but make the observation. In spite of his unkempt appearance, she’d begun to find him handsome. It caught her by surprise, given the self-satisfied air he projected.

“Well don’t go out of your way. I don’t want to be an inconvenience...” Angie trailed off as she caught sight of a homeless man sitting in the middle of the sidewalk ahead of them.

The scruffy, older man had a full gray beard — stringy tendrils of matching locks protruded from under a brown stocking cap. Though it was the beginning of summer, he was dressed entirely too warm in what looked like faded military fatigues. As people passed, he held up a plastic cup to collect the charity of those who made a point to notice. Angie slowed as she considered him.

It isn’t compassionate to enable him if he’s an addict
, the commonly recited argument surfaced in her mind.
You can only love Jesus as much as the person you love the least
, countered an assertion she’d once read on a dorm room inspirational poster.

Scott realized she’d fallen behind and stopped to let her catch up. As Angie was busy wracking her brain for a balanced answer to the moral conundrum, he followed her gaze in a bemused effort to determine what had distracted her. He looked at the homeless man, and back to her, brows lofting as it dawned on him. He started to shake his head, but Angie had already made up her mind.

Stepping out of the flow of sidewalk traffic to stand beside the panhandler, she bent down and asked, “Are you hungry?”

“What?” The old man looked up at her blankly.

She wasn’t sure if he was hard of hearing or just surprised someone was talking to him. Feeling odd about standing over him, she crouched down to his level. “I don’t carry cash on me, but if you’re hungry I can take you to get something to eat,” she said, gesturing across the street and down a block to the deli she’d spotted.

“I ain’t givin’ up my spot!” the panhandler all but growled. His weathered face pinched into a suspicious expression. He looked over her shoulder and eyeballed Scott, as though he were a likely competitor.

Angie hid her amusement. Deciding there was a spark of validity to the man’s paranoia, she amended her approach. “I could bring you back some breakfast then, if you tell me what you’d like.”

“I’d like a little cash,” the man clarified in a slower, more forceful tone, as though he found her dimwitted. As an afterthought he added, “I’ll take a cigarette, if ya got one.”

“Sorry, I don’t smoke,” Angie said, perplexed over how poorly the conversation was going. “And like I said, I don’t keep cash on me.”

“You got a credit card, don’t ya?” The old man narrowed his eyes, addressing her with an edge of impatience while jerking a thumb to his right. “There’s an ATM right around the corner.” When he turned his head she noticed his nose was crooked. Given his apparent attitude issues, she had a guess as to why.

“Here, man.” Scott’s voice came out low as he produced a cigarette and offered it to the panhandler, who snatched it up with grumbled thanks. While the man was busy pawing at his jacket search of a lighter, Scott hooked his hand around Angie’s elbow and urged her to stand. Once she complied, he secured his arm around hers and guided them onward.

Angie was too preoccupied with her internal review of the exchange to protest being towed away. “I didn’t see it going that way in my head,” she said, throwing a backward glance. She suddenly felt like a naive country girl.

“If you’re gonna try to feed every bum we pass, we’ll have to leave a lot earlier for sightseeing,” Scott joked once they were well out of earshot. He shook his head in some combination of amusement and disbelief. “Don’t they have homeless people where you’re from?”

“We have them. Well, one that I know of,” she said, defensive. “Just ask your cousin. She actually knows Punk Rock Freddie personally.”

“Punk Rock Freddie?” Scott repeated, looking at her expectantly. She didn’t realized how long he’d kept a comfortable hold on her until he finally released her elbow.

“He’s this crazy old homeless guy who wanders our town,” she said. “He’s covered in tattoos and piercings, and his hair is always dyed some neon color. All of his earthly possessions are in this little rolling suitcase he keeps with him. He’s a nice guy—really friendly.”

“Okay, that’s a different kind of homeless guy than the ones I’m used to.” Scott laughed.

Angie smirked. “Elsie’s heard his whole life story. According to her, he was a completely normal guy until he was in a car accident. He thinks he died and was brought back to life by the spirit of Punk Rock.” She smiled to herself in recollection. “Before Elsie could drive, she used to ride her bike around town on the weekends looking for him. She’d follow him around and get him to tell her stories, like he was her adopted grandfather or something.”

“Oh my god, that sounds just like her!” Scott smacked his palm to the middle of his face. “Er, sorry. Does that offend you?” He peered at her through splayed fingers.

Angie gave him a blank stare. “Does what offend me?”

“‘Oh my god?’” he repeated, his voice taking a dip in its usual confidence.

“No,” she said, considering carefully. “I mean…I don’t personally use the expression unless I really mean it. It just seems too much like crying wolf, you know? When I -do- say it, I want it to be so rare that it puts God on full alert.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Scott looked off ahead of them again, smirking. “I just know you’re kinda religious, and you can’t swear and all that. I mean, I’ve never heard you when we talk on the phone, anyways, so I just figured—”

“I can swear. I’m pretty good at it, actually,” Angie interjected, unsure at first of where she was going with the argument. “What I mean is, it’s not that I can’t... it’s just a habit that doesn’t bring out the best in me, so I try not to.” She shrugged. “And I’m not religious.” The word had been afflicting her like a mental splinter from the moment he’d used it.

“You’re not?”

“No, I don’t think so.” She smiled when his puzzled expression deepened.  “It’s too much of a blanket term. Lots of negative connotations attached to it.” Pausing, she struggled to compress her thoughts into a proverbial nutshell. “I think people can be religious about a lot of things. Sports, politics, education, cooking… Anything with a rule system you can attach rituals to. To me, it’s just not the right description. I love Jesus. We’re close. I talk to God a lot, and I try to pay attention and catch what He’s trying to tell me.” She gauged Scott with frequent sideways glances. “It’s not about rules or rituals, it’s about a personal connection. If that makes any sense.”