Night-Owl Trucking

Tuesday, 5:33pm

Shadows flicked across the long nose of the truck from the power-line towers atop the ridge on the westbound side of the road; the slopes of the hills there were a dusty tan streaked with layers of red and pink, and dotted with small green shrubs and short, spindly trees. Amity's greater portion of the wide valley looked far more inviting: the mountain range to the east tinted blue with distance and painted with the evening sunlight; actual patches of green grass and stands of trees beyond the rocky ground sprouting dry, scrubby weeds that ran beside the road; the occasional small creek, a glistening splash of blue and cloudy sky reflected from above. Luz patted her hands on the steering wheel in time to the James Gang trio's funky beat (https://www.yout-ube.com/watch?v=U_qHU_6Ofc0) from the radio, vocalizing a bowmp! bah-dah-bow! along with the instrumentals as she bobbed her head. Every so often she shared a glance and a grin with Amity.

The green-haired girl studied her notes for her presentation, muttering aloud as she typed details regarding her overnight diagnostics and early-afternoon examinations. She re-read her opening remarks—such as they were—deliberating on the words and phrases she would have to say in front of so many people in the hopes of continuing her work. She hated this, the— the begging to be allowed to pursue her dream. Amity wasn't so obtuse as to not recognize the privilege of her position, the opportunities she had available to her, but... but having the produce of her blood, sweat, and tears in the uncaring hands of so many faceless businessmen? She remembered her mother—no, Odalia, she scolded herself with a frown—telling her that her project would be funded by Blight Foundation grants based on B.I. shareholder interest. If you can't articulate why someone should use your product, then it probably shouldn't exist, Odalia had snapped, ignoring her husband's voiced disapproval while she drained her second flute of champagne. It had made sense at the time—not that she had had any recourse—and if she ever wanted to get out on her own, she couldn't just depend on a blank check based on her last name. But now? After yesterday and this morning? Amity frowned again, deeper than before. It was just another leash around my neck, wasn't it? she couldn't help but wonder.

Luz cleared her throat softly to draw the other girl's attention, then nodded toward the laptop. "You're looking at the results from this morning, yeah?" When Amity nodded, Luz held an excited curiosity in her gaze, "Cool, so, uh, how are our babies doing? Are they enjoying the trip?" Golden eyes blinked her way twice in surprise, then the tanned girl stammered a quick, "Uh, your, I meant, how are your little guys doing? They're not—" She gave a nervous chuckle, "not mine. Whoops, heh. What's the, uh, prognosis, Doc?"

"They're... good," Amity offered, still blinking, "Yeah. They're healthy. Perfect condition, really, thanks to you. The only issues I had were with some spare parts." She ran her fingers through her hair to push strands of green back over her ear, and she watched Luz nod and say, Cool. That's great. She wasn't offended in the slightest by the other girl calling them "our", she could see how much fun she'd had playing basketball with them. If anything, it— it made her feel— she felt— she didn't know the words to describe the warmth in her chest, at the thought of Luz caring about her work—or about her—at being fond enough of what she'd created to feel the slightest bit of attachment. She had always hoped— she looked out the window and just smiled, smiled, smiled.

Luz settled into a loose tangle of other trucks and smaller vehicles trending eastbound along Interstate 70. There was a steady stream of cars and minivans that passed Hooty, most going somewhere north of the posted speed limit. Amity had looked worried at first, but Luz assured her they were on schedule and making good time. Speed limit's eighty, which means most people do ninety-five, 's'just how she goes, Luz had shrugged. The other trucks were moving, at least, which suited them both just fine. The Utah summer evening was warm, and both girls hung their company jackets on their seat backs, their windows rolled down just enough to catch a breeze. They were fairly well rested—"bright-eyed and bushy-tailed" as Eda would say—with a blue sky full of fluffy white clouds out to the horizon ahead of them, and the orange evening sun beginning to set over Luz's shoulder; it promised to be a clear night for travel.