The October Amaryllis

Chapter 81 - March 16th, 2018 - 3:38 P.M.

After making our way to Interstate 5 and walking along the side for around seven minutes, a middle-aged trucker stopped by us and asked if we were lost. Instead of lying to him, Malcolm told the truth about what we were doing. I loved him because he never played games with you and was always straight to the point, the complete opposite of me. I have a habit of describing things in a way that makes me look like the good guy; I can be quite chaotic and Neutral at times. I can turn from an angel into Audrey Horne from Twin Peaks in a split second. I used to think that I was a sociopath when I was younger, but I show too much empathy to be one. Uncle Dante on the other hand, though...

"We're running away from home. Do you think you could give us a ride?" Malcolm nearly begged him. Boy, I felt so lousy. I about wanted to cry at that moment. What had I become because of this time travel? I'm dead serious when I say that time traveling has changed the chemistry in my brain to something unstable. I wouldn't have been surprised if they scanned my brain and found holes in it at that moment. My middle school World History teacher told me about how his brother was addicted to huffing toluene and how it formed holes in his brain. That's probably what mine looked like by then.

His face was one of surprise for a second before settling back to normal. I was thankful that he didn't ask us any questions about why we ran away because I didn't know the reasons myself. I do many things without knowing the exact reasons I'm doing them. I'm run by impulse; that's my modus operandi.

"Sure, I ran away from home around your age, too," he said as he opened the door to his rig. The door made a creaking sound like a haunted door when it opened, and I found the sound slightly amusing.

Last chance to change your mind, Clive.

Malcolm and I got into his truck, and almost right away, I had regretted it when I smelled the smell of about a thousand cigarettes. I swear he probably smoked twenty packs in that truck. Nonetheless, I decided to stay inside by Malcolm's side. I wasn't going to leave him, no matter how much a part of me wanted to.

"Where to?" he asked as he pulled up his GPS.

"Take us to the Marriott on 450 Acorn Street, the one right next to the Burger King," Malcolm said.

"What's there?" he asked curiously.

"My cousin works there; he can get us a free stay, he says; it's some rewards program he has," Malcolm replied.

"Well, okay, if you kids say so," the trucker replied, about to light up a cigarette before pausing. "Never mind, I don't think you guys would like the smoke," he said as he began to drive.

"Thank you, I know it's hard not to smoke," I replied gratefully.

"Don't start; I started at fifteen and promised myself that I'd only smoke once a day," he said with a pained expression.

"I'm guessing that didn't last?" Malcolm asked with a small smile.

"Not at all. I soon smoked four cigarettes a day, and now I can't go less than a pack," he replied, following a lengthy yawn. When he yawned, I could see just how yellow the cigarettes had made his teeth; they were a color akin to sweet corn. I'm lucky I didn't give in to the peer pressure of smoking cigarettes; I've been offered them a few times in high school but always refused to try them. I'd probably end up like Delilah if I ever did. While I never had any problems with drugs, I have a habit of becoming addicted to sleeping pills. It's like without them, it becomes nearly impossible to fall asleep. I'd have to take fifty milligrams of melatonin for it to have any effect on me because of how high my tolerance got.

"It's not too late to quit, you know," I replied supportively.

"It sure feels like it; I've never struggled with something so much as with cigarettes. They're like petty demons pulling on my skin, begging for me to smoke them."

"Then show those demons who's boss!" Malcolm yelled out with a raised fist.

"Heh, I like you, kiddo," he said, nodding towards Malcolm.

"So, what's your name, anyway?" I asked.

"Murphy, but most people just call me Sal. Say, you two want to listen to some music I listened to when I was around your age?" he asked, perking his back up.

"Sure, why not?" Malcolm replied, shrugging.

Sal pulled out a CD titled Their Satanic Majesties' Second Request by The Brian Jonestown Massacre and changed tracks until he found the song Anemone. Listening to the song, I felt like I was traveling through the universe; it just made me feel like I was experiencing the most spiritual feeling in the world, as stupid as that might sound. It reminded me of the time I experienced lucid dreaming as a kid for some odd reason. I created a platform jumper and could actually control all of my character's movements. The thing that sucked about the dream, though, was that it was in black and white, making everything look dreary. I couldn't add any resemblance of color to the game. Believe me, I've tried.

"This is fantastic!" I exclaimed.

"Glad you like it! By the way, we're here," he replied, stopping at the Marriott.

Too late to go back now. Make the best of this, Clive.