Carrey's chin, covered with a brush of auburn scruff, seemed to have split into two separate ones. He acknowledged this fact as he struggled to parallel park his cab on the corner of Angel Street. The street, named ironically for its high crime report, was the edge of his territory, as well as the home of the best winery in town. He never bothered to lock the cab, for the hope that maybe somebody of insane mind would come along and take the piece of shit off his hands. It wasn't just the cab that got on his nerves: scraped leather, foggy windows, the arid smell of cigarette smoke like an uncanny perfume, outside the color yellow, like a rotten lemon or a bitter sun. His boss, crazy with hot, lovely escorts waiting on him, couldn't utter a word without yelling. He always felt bad for his wife, stuck at home with two kids while he's getting it on with short skirts and lipstick. Carrey himself would kill for a wife, or anyone, really, that could tolerate an almost middle aged man with a library of cassette tapes with bad recordings of musicals etched into them.
Carrey walked up to the door of the Ariacelli Winery, feeling around in the deep pocket of his jeans for his wallet. He had just enough for a bottle of red, and perhaps another large meat lovers for dinner. To his dismay, the door to the winery was locked. A hand scrawled message was in the window, written in a lousy red ink pen. Closed. Open tomorrow, regular hours. His lips met in a deep sigh, and he returned to the cab. Sadly, it sat still, in the same place he had left it. He crawled I to the front seat, and smiled at the thought of two large meat lover's pizzas in front of a low reviewed movie that night.
As his thoughts enveloped him, he was surprised to hear a low tapping on the passenger side window. He turned, and saw the shadow of a beautiful girl waving at him. He rolled down the window. "Hello," he paused.
"Hi. Sorry to bother you. Are you on the clock?" He met her with a calm nod. "Thank god. I need to go to the airport." She hopped in the back.
"That'll be quite a fee," he pressed.
"Oh, I'm aware. But, well worth it." He noticed she spoke with a slight English accent at the corners of her words. It made him even more curious about her. She looked to be about twenty, with curly strings of blond hair pushed out of her eyes with a pin. Her skin was milky white, and her smile was dimpled at the sides of her cherry lips. She reminded Carrey of a more modern Marilyn Monroe.
"What takes you to the airport?" He asked her, eyes fixated on the large brown case she carried, laid next to her on the seat.
"Family affairs. What brings you to cab driving, Mr," she left his name hanging.
"Carrey Dalting. My passion is theatre, but my income doesn't benefit from watching Sweeny Todd on my futon. Taxis make me unhappy, but they pay okay," He shrugged.
"My name is Meadow, by the way," she announced. "If musicals are your passion, enjoy them. It's never hurt anyone too terribly to do what they love."
"I also love living in a house and having more than enough to nourish myself," he noted. "Life's unfair. You don't always get what you want."
"We're all rich in words, darling," she added.
"How so?"
"There's always something to say, I suppose. Somebody always has something to add. That's why we're all still around." Carrey nodded, impressed.
"Quite a musing, Meadow. What's your job?"
"I work in a laundromat downtown. My father always said I would make a grand writer."
"I bet you would. Where are you headed, once you reach the airport?" She bit her lip, and turned her head towards the window.
"Cheshire. My sister, Junie, is getting married. Mom's anticipating it. I'm unhappy."
"How long are you going? You've sure got a large suitcase."
"A week. I've got a habit of over thinking, and that usually leads to overpacking. Were you ever married, Carrey?" He shook his head. "Junie's been married twice. My brother Hansen and I are still virgins. All the men crawl over her. She's just a lovely girl. Her fiance, Chet, is a hot sexy man with a bought suburban tan. He has this ridiculous way about him that's downright disgusting. How he ever got to her heart, I'll never know. Just luck, I guess. Anyway, Cheshire's wonderful. I'm glad to be going back."
"Good. It's always nice to go back home. I've been meaning to for years. It's one of those things, though, you have to deal with it once it comes." Carrey took a sharp left, and was met with a jam of cars at the intersection. "It's that time," he said.
"My father was a cabby," Meadow said abruptly.
"Where?"
"Once he moved to the states, he bargained with a man in the city. He set him up with a job. That's why he moved back to Cheshire. He got bored driving back and fourth all day."
"Wow. Would you be interested in a snack? I always keep some up here. You look hungry. I have some chips, if you want them."
"What kind of a fool keeps chips in his car?" She asked. It caught him off guard. She corrected herself almost immediately. "In England, we call French fries chips. My apologies. I'll never be able to fix that part of me." Carrey shrugged.
"It's alright. It took me years to learn the difference between crayons and crowns. The children used to tease me for it back in the day."
"You refer to yourself like you're eighty. You can't be older than twenty five." Carrey chuckles.
"I'm on the brink of thirty. I look like I'm forty. It's quite a life, let me tell you." She smiled lovingly.
"I'm twenty three. That's five years. Don't feel so old, Carrey. We've got our whole lives ahead of us to do that." Carrey inched his cab closer to the airport turn off, and the toll was at a solid thirty dollars. After the traffic jam, there was not a car on the road ahead of him. "It's cold in here," she told him. "Could you turn on the heat?"
"I would, if it wasn't broken. Sorry, dear. We'll have to deal with it together. It looks awful outside. What's it like in Cheshire?" She smiled in a memorable way. It made her eyes wrinkle into stars like the midnight sky.
"It's like this, but it feels warm. It feels like love. Everyone's so happy and lovely all the time. I reckon that's why. It's such a wonderful place." As the car reached the airport, Carrey was overwhelmed with sadness. He parked in the drop off lot.
"It was nice talking with you, Meadow," he smiled. "Have fun at the wedding."
"Ditto, Carrey."
"If you're not busy after you come back..." He began. "Would you like to grab a drink sometime? I know a place..."
"That would be lovely," she smiled. She reached into her pocket, and took out a red pen- the same color as the sign on the winery door- and sketched a series of numbers on his hand. Her hands were cold against his, almost electric. "Call me, okay? And, I mean it. Don't let it just wash off your hand like it doesn't mean anything. I'll be expecting it, okay?"
"Okay. Let me help you with your bag," his hand clicked the seatbelt and it retracted, letting his body be free.
"That's okay, Carrey. I've got it. Thanks so much for the ride." She waved to him as the door shut, and the beautiful girl vanished into the airport doors. It wasn't until later that he realized in his haze of love, he forgot to have her pay for the cab. He reached into his pocket at a stoplight, and texted the number a quick message. Meadow, it's Carrey. You forgot to pay for your cab.
The number responded a minute later, Sorry, you must have the wrong number. There's nobody named Meadow here. Carrey's eyes began to water with stress.
Sorry. Have a good night. He pulled over to the curb, and bent his head in sadness. He may have been rich in words, but this time, he was left speechless.
