Take Me Home | ✔

Chapter Five

[ five ] - the human vaccuum 

              ↠  friday - precisely a week before graduation

It was late morning by the time we ventured into the parking lot, about thirty minutes before noon. The sun was rising just over the horizon, basking the concrete and half-full car lot with golden East Coast light. I followed Elliot empty handed through the maze of cars, thinking in my head what his car may look like. It may have been a Volkswagen Beetle or a hot red Mustang convertible. The possibilities were endless considering how unpredictable Elliot is. But what I never expected was a battered-up snot-green Range Rover half-covered in sand and mud.

Elliot whipped out his keys and unlocked the car, emitting a high pitched beep from the Range Rover. "Sorry it's nothing like a Lamborghini," he apologized to me, opening the trunk and shoving his suitcase in. "We're in a recession and mom and dad don't care about their only son."

He shrugs his shoulders and for a second, we stand there in silence.

"I think it's a cute car," I said randomly.

His eyebrows perked upwards.

"Really?"

I nod, "I've always wanted a Range Rover. I've found it rugged and exciting."

He seemed impressed with how vaguely I lied just to please him, but he doesn't question it. Instead, he circled around the car, motioning me to follow him to the passenger side. As a gentleman would do, and as undeniably cheesy it was, he opened the door for me. I don't normally get handed gestures like these, especially not from that useless ex Austin, so it was refreshing and overwhelming at the same time.

But those feelings soon disappeared as it hit me.

The smell of cheap cologne and day old bologna swept out to greet me in a flourish, and I winced as I saw the trash littered on the car floor. A shirt or two was left on the seat, along with a wrinkled map and a half-eaten Hot Pocket on a paper plate. As soon as he apologized fervently and shoved the stuff and rotten food to the backseat, I sat down on the gray leather cautiously.

I saw that there was a GPS seated on the dashboard, but I quickly grabbed the creased map from the littered floor just in case.

"We should probably fill up on gas soon," said Elliot, as he starts the engine and turns on the GPS.

Just out of curiosity, I peer over at the gas meter, and sure enough, there was about half an inch between the lowest mark line and the flashing red 'Empty' sign.

"Um, where exactly in California are you headed to?" he asks.

"Los Angeles," I reply automatically. "If that's out of the way, I can manage something else."

"Like what, hitchhike?" he chuckles and surprisingly, it makes me smile. "No worries, Bell Gardens is close-by." 

"Bell Gardens? Is that like a salad place or something?"

Elliot grins hard. "It's a city – or more like a medium-sized town – near LA. My gir—I mean, friend is staying there."

He suddenly gets very rigid, so serious that I think his little slip-up meant something much more than a casual slip of the tongue. Suddenly feeling very uncomfortable, I change the subject.

"Are you sure? I really think you didn't have to do this," I raise my brows and lean over to look at him, wondering if he was only doing this just to be a nice guy.

"You need to learn how to chill, Vienna Sausage, or this is going to be a very long trip."

At the mention of my ancient pet name, I lean back on the seat with a content expression covering the anxiety deep in my gut. Elliot pulls out of the hotel lot and veers into the deserted Tuesday morning beach traffic.