The Road to You: a novel

Driving Lessons

MATTHEW: When I woke up, Jude was elsewhere. The car was warm again, sunlight coming through the windows in long slanted rays. I checked my watch. 8:00 am. I tried to stretch out and immediately thumped my head and feet into opposing doors. I had slept surprisingly well and, aside from the annoyance of a slightly stiff neck, I was not unhappy to be facing yet another day on the road.

I sat up, collected my glasses off the front dash, and looked out over the camp. Jude was nowhere to be seen. It looked like the tents had a good thrashing in that wind, but they were both still standing.

I had no idea where this trip was heading.

Matthew put his shoes on and wandered out into the camp, draping himself in Jude's unzipped sleeping bag. The sun was up, but the air was still cool.

On closer inspection, he noticed that one of his pencil-thin fibreglass tent poles had snapped. The tent was still serviceable; the other two poles were undamaged. But future sleeping arrangements were not foremost in his mind.

Where has Jude wandered off to? he wondered.

The options for breakfast were not inspiring: the remainder of last night's juice, some sterilised milk, tiny boxes of sugary cereal, and of course a vulgar excess of chocolate. They needed a proper sit-down meal.

Matthew decided to disassemble the tents while he waited for Jude, and completed this task before he had made out any sign of him. He brushed his teeth, put on a pair of jeans, gave his hair and face a rinse, and then – wrapping himself in the ersatz duvet again – sat and wondered.

Finally, as he lazily scanned the horizon to the south, he saw Jude's form moving about. He was a few hundred yards away, but he didn't appear to be walking. He looked like he might be exercising, as his figure bobbed up and down intermittently.

Matthew began walking in his direction. At about the halfway mark it became clear that Jude was stark naked, near the edge of a small creek, and that he wasn't exercising. The rivulet was the sort that flowed clear as tap water over its sandy bed, but would become an opaque mess of muddy liquid the moment it was disturbed. Jude had carefully siphoned off a pailful of the unsullied water and was bathing himself in it. Matthew chuckled and blushed with mild embarrassment. He wondered if he should continue to approach his accidental chauffeur. But his curiosity compelled him forward.

Matthew's shadow and the light tread of his footsteps announced his arrival before he had said anything.

Jude craned his neck around to say "Hello." Running shoes and other accoutrements were scattered neatly about.

"Hi," Matthew said, perplexed.

Immodest in his modesty, Jude showed no sign of being ill-at-ease and continued washing up unselfconsciously.

"Just having a little bird bath," he confirmed.

"I can see that."

"It's beautiful out here, don't you think? Beautiful and flat. Perfect for a morning run."

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Eventually. You?"

"Yeah, surprisingly well. My neck's a bit stiff."

"Mine too."

Jude had finished washing his midsection and stood up to dry himself. He turned around to face Matthew as he swept a towel this way and that across his body.

Matthew was in a daze. He kept his eyes fixed on Jude's face, not feeling entitled to lay them anywhere else.

What are you about, Jude Kagan?