The candy-apple red convertible shuddered underneath her and for a moment she thought hiccups, it has hiccups, it's coming apart at the seams, but when it failed to scatter in pieces across the highway, she allowed herself to relax again.
She wasn't on the interstate this time. There were too many fast food places lining the road for it to be the interstate. In fact there were too many fast food places, period. Krispy Kreme, Sonic, Tim Horton, TCBY, Long John Silver's, Dairy Queen, Chic-fil-A, Wendy's, Burger King, Captain D's... How many different franchises did the United Stateshave, anyway?
It was hard to believe the country could provide enough business to support all of the chains she was driving through. And should they literally form a chain, linked together by loops of road from one take-out window to the next in an endless restaurant parade?
They definitely shouldn't all be closed. Not in bright mid-day.
Cars ahead of her were pulling sacks of food into their windows, but whenever she reached the Hardee's or Pizza Hut in question it was always closed. She needed to speed up. Those places ahead were in the next time zone, that's what it was. In her time zone, it was always closing time. If she could only go faster, fast enough to catch up to and pass the demarcation line, then everything would be all right. In the next time zone everything was special sauce on a sesame seed think outside the bun lickin' good in the neighborhood. When you're there, you're Family. There, she could Obey Her Thirst.
A foot flex against the gas pedal sent an unexpected jolt through her instep as the engine knocked, caught on something like the internal combustion engine version of a bone in its throat.
It knocked again and kept knocking until the knocking became a growl and the engine was no longer under the hood but in the front seat.
In her.
# # #
As always upon awakening, the agony of her situation flared into her awareness as if it were a startling new development, as if she had been harmlessly minding her own business when a total stranger stepped up and slapped her across the face hard enough to loosen teeth. It took a second to regain a sense of familiarity with the feelings assaulting her. That first second of consciousness usually managed to be worse than the entire day that was to follow, but this morning, she was so hungry that the horror didn't wane.
Her stomach wasn't merely growling. It was roaring, the fearsome, feral, full-throated roar of a wild animal, threatened and threatening. When her hunger got this bad, the only way she could escape the misery was in sleep, but since she had only just awakened, that refuge was unattainable.
Sleep had become elusive even when she was tired, and when she did manage to drop off, it was no longer as restful as it should be. The little red convertible of her recurring dreams was plagued with engine problems, thanks to her subconscious interpreting her stomach's erratic grumblings as motor noises.
At least there was always TV to turn to. She reached out, patting, fumbling for the remote...
But her hand found nothing but flooring.
Over and over again, she ran her hand across the spot next to her mattresses, the spot where she always kept it.
Maybe she had left it on the mattress instead? She searched it, sweeping her arms and legs as far as they could reach.
YOU ARE READING
Tipping the Scales
Chick-LitOdelia has spent most of her life so firmly under her brother's thumb that she might as well have been an insect trapped in a chunk of amber, but now, at long last, something is happening to her. Too bad it's not a nice, normal, something, like a '...
