The Fleeting Happy

Eighteen

Montana drove very steadily.

She kept both hands on the wheel and both eyes glued to the road ahead of her, squinting through the darkness illuminated only by the headlights of Greene's truck. Unlike me, she remained impossibly still and calm. For all I knew, she could've been driving to the grocery store to pick up a pack of gum.

For the first hour, neither of us spoke, which was just fine by me, seeing as how I was still recovering from my earlier meltdown. The radio was on, but the volume was low and the station was fuzzy, spitting out mostly static, with the occasional mumbly vocals of some 80's one-hit wonder tune. Montana would cast a worried glance in my direction every five minutes or so, but I would simply pretend I didn't notice, keeping my head leaning against the cool surface of the window and hugging myself for warmth.

"Are you cold?" Montana asked.

I gave her a defiant head shake. I knew that Greene's truck's heater was busted, leaving the two of us freezing and shivering with little more than our jackets to keep us warm.

"I'm pulling over at the next gas station, okay?" Montana told me softly. She tried fruitlessly to meet my eye. "If there's anything you want from the convenience store, just let me know."

She kept her speed down the highway, giving me room to breathe.

For the next few minutes, I forgot that Montana was even there. I closed my eyes and pretended that I was sitting in the back seat of my dad's car and he was driving me to city park. I was so tired that it wasn't very hard to slip into this fantasy world of mine, trading in the jet black sky from my reality for a gradient sunset of the past.

In that moment, I could've sworn that there was sleepy sunlight yawning its way through the windows, pouring itself abundantly into the car. I could've sworn that the radio was blasting a crisp Howler song, my dad tossing his head back in laughter right as the twangy chorus hit.

I could've sworn that it was a beautiful summer day and I was neither afraid nor cold.

But when I opened my eyes, the sky was black. The radio vomited static, reminding me that there was no music. The heater was broken, my palms were like ice and my fingertips were numb.

I couldn't cry anymore.

I wasn't sure how much time passed, but the darkness outside didn't change in the slightest. The stars were scarce and the moon was nowhere to be seen and the highway we were taking seemed to stretch infinitely on in either direction, giving me the illusion that we were trapped in a neverending loop.

There weren't even any buildings, either— just hard-packed dirt, the occasional car zipping past and road sign after road sign, telling Montana how many more miles she had to go until the next rest stop.

I didn't even notice when Montana pulled out of the highway, careening off the ramp and past a sign that advertised a crappy-looking motel, a gas station, a Taco Bell and a Stop & Shop. It appeared as though we were the only people in the rest stop, save for a gas station attendant and the bored-looking clerk peering at us through the window of the convenience store.

Montana turned the radio off, silencing the static. "I'll be right back. Do you want anything?"

I shook my head.

"You have to eat something, Rory."

I shook my head again.

She sighed, but unbuckled her seatbelt nonetheless, clambering out of the truck and hopping out to fill the gas tank.

After she was done, I watched her cross the length of the asphalt gas station, headed for the fluorescent lights of the small, dingy convenience store. It was easy to keep my eye on her from here, seeing as how she was the only customer in there.