The Rockmore House

25 | A Deeper Blue

Each time a car approached we turned and walked backwards while Liz grinned eagerly and stuck her thumb out. Part of me hoped that Steve and Glenn wouldn't pick us up, that somehow our timing was off or they'd already found someone else to take the extra tickets to the concert.

Or that a sensible, concerned couple with teenage daughters of their own would pull over instead. They'd offer to take us home, Liz would have a change of heart and decide it was the right thing to do. We'd return to our respective times with the crisis with Michelle successfully averted.

Liz whooped with delight as a car slowed and pulled onto the shoulder of the road. It was a long, rust-colored car with a black roof with those elongated s-shaped metal scrolls on the side like a hearse. The guy in the passenger seat had smooth butter blonde hair that fell to his earlobes and pinkish brown tinted sunglasses.

He rolled the window down, lifted his aviators and asked, "Where you headed?"

"We're looking for an adventure," Liz said.

He looked at the driver and the driver nodded. "We've got two extra tickets to see the Stones tonight at the Olympia. Is that adventurous enough for you?"

"Yes!" Liz practically squealed.

I tried to arrange my face into an expression of surprise and excitement.

The blonde guy stepped out of the car, flipped the passenger seat forward and introduced himself as Glenn. Liz rattled off our names as she climbed into the back seat. I peeked past Glenn at the black leather interior, smelled men's cologne and baked-in cigarette smoke and thought, And this is where I die.

There was an awkward shuffle when I thought I'd be following Liz into back seat, but Glenn ducked in behind her and I ended up in the passenger seat next to Steven Rutledge, 22, who I knew from Liz's account and my research, was going to abandon us later and get arrested for selling marijuana. His shaggy sandy brown hair flipped away from his face at odd angles and his drowsy eyes blinked slowly as he registered my presence. I put on my friendliest, not terrified at all smile and he reciprocated with a goofy grin.

"Steve," he said, as he stuck his hand out for a handshake.

I reached over my shoulder for the seatbelt, found nothing and then realized I was sitting on the metal buckle and the lap belt. When I tried to dig the belt out from under my butt, I couldn't manage to get a hold of it and I glanced back at Liz, who unsurprisingly chose not to bother with the seat belt at all. The car was already back on the road and in my heightened state of paranoia, I pressed my palms to the dashboard instead, as if that might save me in an accident. Underneath my hands there was a metal emblem that said "Thunderbird."

"Where you two coming from?" Steve asked.

"The future!" Liz chirped from the backseat.

"Need a hand over there?" Steve asked. Without waiting for an answer, he told me to "Scooch up."

I moved forward on the seat and he dug the seatbelt out and handed it to me. He quietly chuckled and muttered to himself, "These chicks are loaded already."

Steve flipped a metal panel down from the front of the armrest and pushed a button that was hidden underneath. A few minutes later, he pulled the button out. Inside of it was a glowing red coil that he used to light a cigarette.

"What's wrong with Irvan?" Glenn asked Liz.

"Who?"

He pointed at her shirt. She pulled her flannel aside to reveal the N and A on her t-shirt to complete the band's name.

"Ohh, Nirvana," Glenn said. "So Irvan is at peace. Far out."

With his burgundy leather jacket, black turtleneck and black corduroys, Glenn was almost camouflaged back there. He was manspreading due to the limited legroom in the back seat, but appeared otherwise inoffensive. I reminded myself that Liz made it to the Olympia with these guys before, so she would probably make it again.