The Enthusiasts

39

"If you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change." – Wayne Dyer

"HIT ME BABY ONE MORE TIME!" Sasha and Emerson belted out song lyrics as best they could an hour into their reconvened road trip through Utah. Cheeco lay curled up underneath the hutch desk next to a set of stationary swivel chairs at the back of the caravan. Although comfortable and boasting luxurious amenities, the caravan was utilitarian in all aspects of design. Cheeco appeared uncomfortable listening to the obstreperous, off-key-sing-a-long coming from the humans up front.

A debate continued between chorus breaks, "I don't think she's saying she wants to actually get hit. I think it's like an old way that they would say, like, come and see me. They didn't even really have violence back then, isn't that crazy?" Emerson made saucer eyes as he spoke to Sasha from the driver's seat. "But I don't think she's going to get what she wants by acting so vulnerable. It's weird hearing a woman be so needy... Of what? Like she needs this guy to come back to her? Give him his space and let what happens happen. I'm sure there were lots of prospects for a gal who could sing like that." Emerson flicked repeat off the random playlist as the Britney-high was slowly fading after the third play-through.

"Give him some space, bitch!" Sasha reiterated, with a belch to follow Emerson's commentary after inhaling the fizz from a can of root beer she had just shotgunned in the passenger seat. The next track moved on to something quite different. It started with a guitar, and then a drumbeat came over. Sasha loved the way it sounded.

"You ready B?" A man's voice came over the track. The track went on with this beat, trading off between a man's voice and a woman's voice. Sasha couldn't pick up everything they were saying. They were talking too fast, and using extinct words and phrases, but the important parts she heard. As soon as the song ended, she wanted to hear it again. It was like they were singing a soundtrack to her and Emerson... Or, at least how she'd hoped it might be.

"All I need in this life is sin, is me and my girlfriend," the man sang.

"Down to ride 'til the very end, it's me and my boyfriend," the girl sang. Sasha pretended she was singing whenever the woman would sing.

"Who's this? What's the name of this song?" she asked.

"Uhhh, it's called... something weird. It's got numbers in front of it — it says: zero, three, then apostrophe, then 'Bonnie and Clyde'. And it's by... oh troushe, it's even stranger. It says it's from someone called Jay, and then there's a hyphen and then there's just a Zee. Jay dash Zee."

"I've heard of people putting dashes in their name. A girl in college was named Ashley-Ann. But you don't actually say the dash out loud; the dash is always silent."

"Yeah, but just a letter? I've never heard of that. Weird names back then I guess. It says the song features Beyoncé. But it's got that French thing over the 'e' at the end. These people are insane with their names!"

"Who's Bonnie and Clyde? Why is French Beyoncé and Jay hyphen Zee singing about two other people?" Emerson asked The Tablet if it knew anything about Bonnie and Clyde. A search brought back some information which Sasha read as Emerson continued to drive down the deserted highway.

"Whoa! I think we might be Bonnie and Clyde..." she stated, reading on. "They used to run around robbing banks... But people liked them. They were like lovable criminals, like us."

"Hmm, okay." Emerson thought for a moment about the morality dilemma he was facing over what they were doing. We're doing this to free people, he reasoned. I'll live on the streets with nothing, or give my life, if it means the plan worked and others are able to live free again. Emerson restated his purpose to try and counter any plaguing concerns about his inner motives. A few times over the years he had been struck with this fear: I'm just as bad as Spectra when it comes down to it. Or maybe there is no such thing as morality; it is all just biased, opinionated perspectives. He certainly didn't need those thoughts running amuck with him right now. Looking at Sasha next to him, he regained his composure. If this was for anyone, it was for her: she deserves better, he thought. He looked out at the mile markers counting down the distance to the border. "God, Utah never ends. This road just goes south and then west... It never lets you go."