Polaroids and Postcards | ✔️

Chapter 10: Motels & Text Messages

"All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware."

•••

"Look at you, Mr. Lovett, strutting your stuff..."

"Uh, excuse me? I don't strut."

The crunch of asphalt under our feet suddenly seemed much louder than necessary, so I instantly tried to modify my walking pattern.

"Sorry to break it to you so suddenly, but you actually kinda do."

"No, I don't."

"Then what do you call that walk? Prancing? Skipping?"

I opted for stomping over to the car, and throwing open the back door so I could toss my guitar inside. "Strutting implies cockiness and buttface-ish behavior," I retaliated.

"Your point?" Della smirked.

I slammed the door.

Smart-mouthed little elf...

"Oh, c'mon, Lovett!" huffed Della, as she rounded to the driver's side. "You have every reason to feel proud of yourself tonight. You did a splendid job up there. The people love you!"

I smothered the urge to grin at my accomplishment and at Della's many compliments. And I failed. Epically. "It's just one performance, Della. Chill."

"I am chill," she rolled her eyes. "In fact, I am the chilliest of the chill who have ever chilled."

A scowl stole my grin away in less than 2.5 seconds. A new record.

"Okayyyyy..." she tittered, swinging open her door. "Let's go find a place to crash for the night."

My stomach lurched as the realization smacked me in the face. I hadn't even given that any thought. With the contest and the music and everything... the concern about a place to sleep had totally escaped me. But Della spoke of this sudden need so casually, as if it was nothing.

"Della?" I asked, hesitantly while sliding into my seat.

"Yeesssss, Jasey?"

I ignored the annoying nickname. "What happens if we can't find a place tonight?"

"Pfftttttt!" she snorted and laughed at the same time.

"I'm serious, Della."

"Lovett," she looked me deeply in the eyes, "don't worry about it. You weren't concerned about it earlier, were ya?"

"N-no, I wasn't. But that's because—"

The revving of the Beetle's engine cut me off midsentence. Della looked away from me, switching her car into gear. "Learn to live a little, Lovett. Enjoy life's gifts without constantly being overwhelmed with the future. Live in the now. Okay?"

Della's eyes seemed to shine even more in the deep, dull colors of the setting sun. When she turned on the headlights and pulled back onto the interstate, the radio played softly. It was a nice moment. A gentle, sleepy moment, in which one would dare to dream about life's infinite possibilities. Moments from the day passed through like polaroids in my brain.

Waking up to a grilled cheese breakfast at Daisy's. Losing my wallet. Della helping the homeless guy at the gas station. The poster—our salvation, as Della called it. Playing in front of that crowd. The generous tip jar—giving me a solid $250 to get by on for a while. It was surreal that all of that could happen in one day.

My weird and slightly cheesy moment of reflection was gently interrupted by a soft voice singing along with the lyrics on the radio. The singer's knuckles were white in the fading light, gripping the steering wheel like a precious trophy. She didn't look at me when I glanced in her direction; she kept her eyes on the road—on the present and the very very near future.