California Girls |The Outsiders|

|chapter 2| one for the road

    The car jumped, spat, and died a few times. My father would get out, lift the hood, and come back a few minutes later. It had gotten to the point where I expected it to happen every few minutes. It was almost eerie when it didn't.
My father opened the door back up, hauling himself back onto his seat with a big sigh. I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Damn truck's breaking down." He groaned.
"So much for all those repairs," I joked dryly. He didn't seem to find it very funny. This truck had been my father's for as long as I can remember. She was the first car he owned after high school and had basically been apart of the family. We had noticed her breaking down slowly but my dad probably figured we could drag her out until we got to our new home.
"Hey," I offered, pulling a 10 dollar bill I had accumulated on my birthday last year. I always save my birthday money. "How about we stop at the next gas station? I can get you a soda."
He gave me a smile and nodded, tussling my hair. "That'd be great kiddo."
After about 5 or 10 minutes, we spotted a small convenience store on the side of a seemingly desolate road. It made you wonder how they kept business afloat. We pulled into the parking lot, which was occupied by 2 other cars and a few bikes out front. I've always wanted to own a bike. We never had the money.
The bell above the door rang out lightly when we opened the glass door. It was dirty with bird poop and tiny smeared handprints littering the bottom of the glass. The store smelled oddly of stale milk and cigarettes. The inside of the store was lined on all sides with white tiles, accented by a few empty slots revealing grey cement underneath.
A middle aged man gave us a passive smile as we walked in, which my father returned enthusiastically. I led him to the soda and told him to pick out whatever he wants. I wandered over to the candy isle, picking up some lemon drops and wax sodas. My eyes scanned the bright colors scattered in front of me. The bolded candy names seemed to jump out at me.
My eyes landed on a pack of bright pink bubblegum. Counting how much money I would've already spent, plus an estimate of my father's soda price, left me with more than enough money to buy the bubblegum. But feeling somewhat indignant for a reason I know not, I pocketed the candy before returning to the soda isle where my father remained studying the different sodas. Perhaps it was the cashier's watchful glare.
"Gosh, Willow. Y'know I don't really even like the taste of cola, but for some reason I just can't get enough of it." He observed aloud, shrugging and grabbing a bright red "Coca-Cola" bottle.
"That all you want?" I asked.
"Well I don't want you to waste all your money on me, kid." He patted me on the back jokingly, leading me back up to the cash register.
The man working snorted before slapping his newspaper down on the counter and turning his attention to us, as if we were interrupting him. He had bright, blue, icy eyes complimented by his perceived lack of any hair. Well, besides his bushy eyebrows, which seemed to be permanently furrowed. It made me wonder how old he really was. People thought my father looked like a college student, often mistaking me for his girlfriend. It made me want to throw up in my own mouth, but he was able to shrug it off. He saw the comments as compliments, considering he was 32.
I set my snacks down on the counter, grabbing my fathers drink to do the same. He eyed me suspiciously, as if he had seen me pocket the gum. But I kept a blank face, stuffing my hand in my pocket, gripping the bubblegum nervously.
"Are you gonna ring us up?" I drawled. He grunted, then added the total amount up.
By the time we left the store, my gum must have been melted by how warm it felt in my hand. It wasn't until we closed the door behind us that I withdrew my fist from my pocket.
The truck started a few times, then finally the engine rumbled to life. Albeit awkwardly and delayed, but it was a wonder she hadn't broken down from the heat alone an hour ago. I handed my father his coke and pulled out my sodapop candies.
"How much longer would you guess we have?" I asked.
My dad looked at the small clock built into the car, then hummed in thought. "Ummm, I'd say about half an hour, honey."
"Oh thank god," I sighed. "Where exactly is it we're moving?"
"This town Tulsa. My buddy has a roofing business down there. I've already called down for somewhere to stay until we can figure out where to put our trailer."
"Mmm. Where are we staying?"
"This little hotel-bar, I guess. He says it's called Bucks or somethin'. Apparently there are major ragers there." He laughed, shaking his head. My father had dropped acid in high school at parties and woken up in a creek a mile away from home before. Multiple times. He didn't think a house party could at all be considered a "rager."
I nodded and leaned back in my chair, biting a chunk of wax off the top of my candy and sucking out the sweet filling. Boris was laying on the center console, purring loudly. It made me wonder sometimes if he purred that loud just to be annoying.
Eventually, the truck rolled past a small, dented sign. Squinting against the harsh glare that sat on it, I could just barely make out the words:
"Welcome to Tulsa, Oklahoma."
On the other side was a farewell accompanied with a "come back soon." But I doubted I would be on that end of the sign for a while.