The Road to You: a novel

Dusty Rose

They drove out under a grey sky threatening rain, broken by the occasional splinter of sunlight. Up the two-lane country highway through stands of regimented trees, planted neatly in rows.

MATTHEW: My biggest fear in getting into a car with a stranger, aside from the physical risks – I'm not really big enough to overpower anybody – was what the hell we were going to talk about for who-knows-how-many hours. When I was a teenager, I convinced myself that all conversation amounted to was telling anecdotes and conducting a kind of interrogation. I didn't think I had any very interesting or amusing anecdotes to share with people, and I thought it was rather rude to interrogate them. So I decided, in a typically severe adolescent fashion, that for me conversation was basically a lost cause. At the same time, however, I tended to find silence uncomfortable, unless I knew someone well. I had got over these two inhibitions adequately, as adolescence gave way to adulthood, but I was still rather discomfited by situations like the one I now found myself in.

JUDE: There's nothing so awkward as being stuck with a stranger who's got nothing to say. After sorting out a few trivialities, like what to listen to on the radio (the only station we could pick up was local, and all country, so I kept it turned low—just loud enough to fill up the space), this Matt guy clammed right up. Knowing that just about everyone's favorite topic is himself, I started firing off questions.

"So what happened to the tree-planting job?" Jude asked. "No one's expecting you back at camp?"

"No, I bailed on that shit. They're a bunch of flakes. All they do is get high and talk nonsense about politics. It's not my crowd. I don't know."

"You don't smoke pot?"

"No," Matthew admitted with embarrassment.

"Why not?" Jude inquired.

"Uh... it doesn't really hold any interest for me."

Jude threw Matthew a sceptical glance. "No interest? But you drink, don't you?"

"Now and then – not much."

"So, what's the difference? If anything, pot is probably less damaging to your brain than alcohol."

"I know. I believe that, but..."

"But what?"

Matthew hesitated. He was feeling rather exposed, but he didn't want to spend much more of the trip in awkward silence.

"You'll laugh at me if I tell you."

"What?" Jude chuckled. "The real reason you won't smoke up?" He dropped his voice half an octave to a tone of gentle mockery.

"Well... yeah."

"Come on, spit it out."

"All right. It's just that..." Matthew laid out the rationale behind his ironclad excuse in the least neurotic-sounding way he could manage.

"Are you more likely than anyone else to develop schizophrenia?" Jude asked.

"No... I don't know... It just doesn't seem worth the risk."

"But you said you drink."

"Just a little."

"So, again, what's the difference?"

"I don't know. You're right. I'm a hypocrite."

"Well..."

"Or a coward, anyway."

"Yes, you're definitely a coward."

"You know, the thing is, I came out here thinking I was going to do some good for the environment and make some money. All I got was a sunburn and a stiff neck. There's got to be a better way to earn money than this."