Millisecond Bliss

2. It's woth it

"Is this yours?" I question, referring to the highly inconspicuous bottle green station wagon Yaris is currently unlocking.

He shakes his head to which he proceeds with an elaboration, "A friend of mine lent it to me. I figured using someone else's car would make it less obvious to the general public that I had left the premises."

"Makes sense," I say before slipping into the car. "So, how sure are you that this friend of yours wont rat you out?" I ask phlegmatically, sliding the seat belt into its buckle.

"I'm about fifty percent sure, but if he does screw me over then I can just total his car which even though is insured, he considers irreplaceable. I mean the dude—"

"Shit!" I hiss, spotting my parents' car roll into the car parking lot.

Instinctively, I attempt sliding down the car seat which in theory sounds like a good idea but with factors such as my seat belt playing a part, in practice, it's a rather futile attempt and results in me squirming in about the least comfortable position possible.

Yaris, about a split second after my profane filled interruption, traces my gaze to land on my parent's onyx SUV, and it's while he registers that the only thing connecting my sudden outburst and the hardened Asian man manning the car is a surname, that I land myself in the aforementioned unsavory sitting position.

When he turns back to face me, he briefly raises a skeptical brow.

"Don't question, just help!"

In accordance to my request, he grabs a navy blazer from the back seat then throws it over me then mutters for me to remain still.

Faint footfalls slide into hearing distance and pause. 'My best friend' Anxiety creeps her way into my conscious, bombarding my cerebral cortex with unsavory premature scenarios surrounding the mere pause. The pause is prolonged by my lingering 'friend'. Yaris' silence cautions my breaths into silence.

Finally, the pause ceases, carrying with it Anxiety and the footfalls of my parents as they proceed towards the hall and away from Yaris and I.

"Thank god they didn't see me," says Yaris as he awakens the car. I sigh in relief, saying goodbye to the remnants of Anxiety that had failed to leave with my parents earlier.

Me being the paranoid, overthinker that I am, wait about a minute before removing Yaris' blazer and then fumble with my seat belt to regain a decent amount of comfort, as I escape the school grounds with a boy I merely know of.

"So, what now?" I question.

"Firstly, I turn on the radio," he says, as he adjusts the radio while simultaneously keeping a good eye on the road. A smile teases my features as I recognize the song playing on the radio.

Using both my index fingers as mock drumsticks, I mimic the beat of the song. Humming introductory lyrics I've never memorized, I wait for, and I think so does Yaris because he is yet to complete his sentence, the mini-guitar solo that precedes the chorus.

In unison, we yell, "There's a changing pressure, we're never going to lie to you, changing pressure, my broken veins say that if my heart stops beating 'we'll bleed in the same way,' changing pressure!"

After our brief duet, we burst into a brief fit of laughter. "Your 50% trustworthy friend has a decent taste in music," I say after sobering.

"Actually, it's my CD, and trust me when I say you'll regret ever saying that after hearing some of his supposedly 'legendary' mixtapes," to this I can't help but smile. There's just this atmosphere of pure bliss that encases the car. When I turn to face Yaris I catch a glimpse of the inanest smile I've ever seen. That's how I know he feels it too, the naïve, juvenile, naked bliss that has made me a stranger to my prior anxieties.

"Anyway, you asked me what the plan is, and honestly, I just want to go to Murmoho, are you game or do you want to do something else?" he says after having let the bliss which had once filled the car dissipate a little.

"Honestly, since tagging along was a last-minute decision I really don't have anything in mind, and so if you aren't planning on sending me to my death bed, I'm cool with whatever. Also, 'Murmoho?'" I raise a bemused brow as I ask the question.

"It's this place where people share phrases they think are worth sharing, like a song lyric or an ancient mantra even. People do so my inserting an annotated piece of paper into the crevices of this pre-modern civilization wall. Honestly, I find the prospect of anonymously sharing a piece of literature, be it modern or classic, with an unknown fellow literature lover you'll never probably meet fascinating," he says, authenticity pairing up with the well-crafted phrases he uses to depict Murmoho.

"A place whose existence is solely based on people's discovery of literary art, it sounds beautiful," I comment, genuinely intrigued by Murmoho.

He chuckles, assumedly finding my response somewhat amusing. "Yea, it must be," he lets out another laugh, which disproves the aforementioned assumption I had leaped to about him laughing at my comment.

"So, you've never been there?" I question, deciding to ignore his inexplicable bursts of laughter.

"No, well . . . a friend told me about it and when I came up with the idea of running away from graduation, it's the first place I thought of," he says, his random bursts of laughter presumably now a thing of the past.

Another thing I do pick up on is the subtle hesitation that precedes his mentioning of 'a friend', however, I decide to dismiss this observation before my mind shifts into psychoanalysis mode.

"Do you have any clue as to what inspired the name 'Murmoho'?" I ask.

"Well, sort of. Mur is derived from the Latin word murus meaning wall and moho is Vietnamese for stories—"

"Actually no, it actually loosely translates to unknown," I correct, proud that my Vietnamese isn't entirely crappy.

He contemplates this for a quick second, "that actually makes more sense, 'The wall of ambiguity'. You never really know what inspired the person who added that particular quotation or what about that written word spoke to their soul."

"Yeah, you discover words and irrespective of how great you are at deciphering literary codes with no context you'll never understand how the words ended up there. So meaningful yet so entirely meaningless, Murmoho," I marvel at that for a second.

Yaris' smile isn't as ridiculous as earlier but it's existent and paired with his distant gaze he looks like he's travelled to another universe, where content is the reigning emotion. "That really is beautiful," he mutters.

I say thanks even though I know he's barely registering anything I'm saying.

Leaving him to his world and praying that his partial day-dreaming isn't distracting him too much from driving, I open the window adjacent me, shut my eyes then let my fingers dance in the swift moving wind as indie rock music seals this near to infinite moment.