1.
Bluebonnets, Rice Water, and Dirty Fingernails
—
The weather was dry and sweltering. Texas was as grueling as it always was, offering no mercy for the travelers below. The land was desolate and the road was a straight shot for miles and miles. As bizarre as it was to look out into the distance and see nothing at all, the world kept turning, the sun kept burning, and the van rattled on. Potholes jolted at the tires and bounced the car's frame, barely disrupting those inside.
Holden had been driving for hours. The empty landscape had worn on his eyes and head for hours. Nothing to look at, his gaze wavered on the seemingly unending road. Thankfully, the sun was still high and he wasn't forced to navigate the empty dark. Sylvia sat next to him in the passenger seat, pinching a joint between her fingers. An unintelligible song played low on the radio and Sylvia hummed along messily, offbeat and a pitch too high.
"This van's a piece of shit," Sylvia grinned, prodding at the buttons on the dashboard. "Look at her go."
"Hey," Holden said, swatting her hand away, "don't insult Meredith."
"Meredith?" Sylvia chuckled. "Why Meredith?"
"She looks like a Meredith."
"Who is Meredith?" A groggy voice came from the backseat. Sylvia jumped and dropped her joint into the floorboard. She'd forgotten that her and Holden weren't alone, too enraptured in Holden's shiny hair and smooth voice.
Fenin was a few years younger than Holden, with loose brown curls and glossy green eyes. Unlike Sylvia, he hadn't joined the Texas Expedition because he wanted to stare into Holden's blue-blue eyes, Fenin came along to find inspiration for his own life.
He'd always been a homebody, distant from others and internal with his revelations, and when the opportunity arose to branch out, explore, and see new things, he took it. Fenin knew of Holden and Sylvia's interest in each other and was hesitant to interrupt before he heard that Marston and April were coming along. Both of them were silent in the back row; April had headphones on and Marston was bent over a notebook, penning ideas for music he would fully craft back home.
"Oh hey, Sleeping Beauty." Holden grinned. "Did'ya sleep good?"
Fenin hummed. His eyes were still blurry with sleep and he felt detached from the sounds around him.
Sylvia turned, saw his expression, and laughed. "He's out of it, man."
"Must've slept good then." Holden reached a hand over, palm displayed. "Can I get a hit off that?"
"You're driving." Marston cut in, never looking up from his work.
Holden rolled his eyes. "Like you give a shit. Give it here, Syl."
Sylvia passed the joint on. Holden put it between his lips and she leaned over to light it with the bedazzled lighter she kept stored away in her sock.
Fenin settled back into his seat and looked out the window. The dry grass shook as the van passed, disgruntled by the passing vehicle against the stale air. He watched vigilantly, easily captivated by simple things and satisfied by the sight.
Everyone found their individual rhythms again. Fenin's eyes slid closed and Holden and Sylvia kept on with their banter. Holden kept smoking on the joint, giggling when Sylvia prodded at his ribs and joked with him. During one joke, his eyes closed, only for a moment, and a sudden collision battered the van from behind. There were sounds of metal on metal and cracking glass before another impact came and knocked the van off the road, causing the tires to catch in an odd ditch and pitch the van onto its side.
