When The Time Comes

chapter 31; Liberty

Omar rents a car for us to get back home in. Money doesn't seem to bother him and while he drives, I can't imagine what it is that's motivating him to keep going. I feel like half a shell of the person I was a couple of weeks ago. I'm mindless for a large chunk of the drive. I stare out the window at an unimpressive landscape. Empty plots and run down businesses, abandoned buildings and the like. Riding down the east coast isn't what you'd picture it to be.

We pass by several waffle houses. A sign that we have been on the road for longer than I'd thought.

"Tell me about your mom," I say, breaking the comfortable silence.

He glances at me briefly, returning his attention once more to the road.

"What about her?"

"You two close?" I ask. 

He thinks a moment before responding.

"We talk sometimes."

"But you're not close?"

He laughs but in a more exasperated kind of way, giving me a sideways glance.

"What is this? An interrogation?"

"No," I tell him. "I'm just trying to make conversation. I am about to just waltz into her house."

"I told you not to worry about that. She doesn't mind guests. In fact, she actively encourages we bring home friends."

"Are you calling me a friend?" 

"Whatever. How's your leg? Is it cramped? You can move to the back if you want to stretch them out."

I look down at my seat that's already been pushed back to its limit. I don't expect the backseats could offer anything better. The pills are what's getting me through this. Not the leg room.

"I'm fine, thanks."

We're silent again until Omar starts to speed up.

"Slow down," I finally say. "You'll slide us off the curve."

He's looking up at the rear view mirror. I glance in the side mirror, trying to get a look of who he's eyeballing.

"What's up?" I ask.

"Nothing," he grumbles, overtaking the next couple of cars. He looks up again just as we make it into the clear. Something is obviously bothering him.

"Omar," I warn as he tilts his shoe off the pedal again.

When he ignores me again, I turn in my seat and look at the cars behind us. There aren't many. And the few there, are at a fair distance from us.

He swerves slightly, weaving the car between others until gradually, we've picked up more speed.

"You see that black car?" Omar asks, his voice laced with paranoia.

I look behind again, this time searching for a car matching his description. 

"No, where?"

He pauses, maneuvers us into the next lane and then looks up at the mirror again. 

"I'm making a stop," he announces. Without waiting for a reply, he takes us off the road and into a square of fast food places and roadside stores.

"I need the bathroom," I announce, slightly annoyed but not willing to get into it with him.

He nods, "I'll help."

"I'm good," I say, trying to pull my crutches from the backseat. He slides them through, his hand resting on them as I try to move my limp leg out of the car. When I look back, his eyes are still glued on the road.