Highway Blossoms: Episode of Mariah - Chapter 3 - A Simple Car Ride

Writing - Syon Santeria

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Clara bit her lip as she peeked at the side mirror. Another set of headlights poked out of the darkness and she bit down even harder, watching as they grew closer. She winced her eyes shut. Whenever this happened her muscles tensed. The shattering impact into her back seemed inevitable. But like every time before, the car changed lanes and sped past them. Clara unclenched her eyes and sighed. Another reason to be thankful.

“You don’t think they’re going to keep chasing after us, do you?” 

“If they weren’t then they’d be bigger losers than they already are.” Mariah’s shoulders hunched together as she steered. The car was spacious enough, but whether it could contain Mariah was another story.

“Is that a ‘yes?’ Should I be worried? I’m getting worried!”

“Chasing us is one thing. Actually tracking us down is another.” Mariah thought for a moment. “But if that hick wasn’t just blowing smoke up his own ass about how experienced he is, then…”

Clara’s worried gaze grew larger as a frantic whine squeaked out her throat.

“Oh, shut up! If anything happens, I’ll take care of it! Didn’t you learn anything back th--” Mariah’s elbow slammed into the window. The small crack from earlier splintered across the glass, now looking more like a spiderweb.

They both stared. Clara’s whine ended in another sigh.

“What did I say about shutting up, huh?”

“I didn’t say anything, I didn’t say anything!”

“You sure looked like you did!”

“Looked? All I did was--” a string of coughs rattled out of her. The adrenaline was wearing off. She slumped further into her seat. “Ah, nevermind.” 

A laugh slipped out beneath Clara’s breath as she watched the shadowed scenery pass by outside. It was a dorky and unrefined laugh, but despite Clara’s attempts to muffle it, it snorted out of her.

“Something funny, Sticks?” Mariah snapped.

“N-No, not really. Well, I mean, a little, but it isn’t impor--”

“Spit it out or I’ll throw you out.”

“You’ll throw me out of my own car?” 

“Spit it out or I’ll jump out before sending this thing off a cliff.”

“You would probably do it, too.” Clara laughed again, more amused than scared.

“Oh great, I picked up some kinda weirdo masochist.”

“Don’t be silly, it’s not that -- unless you want it to be.”

A look of disgust crawled onto Mariah’s face as her head twisted to Clara. Clara looked back; she didn’t blink. Mariah’s hand slowly reached for the door.

“Mariah, no! It was just a joke! A joke!”

Mariah reeled her hand away from the door, but kept a pair of suspicious eyes on Clara just in case. Clara relaxed, but kept a pair of her own suspicious eyes on Mariah’s door. Again, just in case. 

“It’s just…  I didn’t really expect today to go this way. When I came out here I wasn’t sure I would find any help.” Her voice crackled with a rasp. “I wasn’t even sure I’d make it to the treasure… But here I am with you, riding in a wheelbarrow through alleys and running for our lives. Running for my life. It’s been crazy, and more than a little dangerous. Maybe morally questionable, too.” Despite the nervousness that clouded her face, a smile shined through. “But it’s been sort of fun. Like a real treasure hunt.” 

Clara looked so content in her little, happy bubble. It only made Mariah more confused. This girl was like a math problem: too complex for her own good. Or, in this case, Mariah’s patience.

Mariah tugged Clara’s bandana over her eyes “You really are some kinda weirdo.”

Panicking, Clara clutched her head, forcing the bandanna to stay glued to her scalp. It could have been strangling the circulation to her brain and she still would have wanted it tighter. She needed to know at least something was there.

The car bumped, then jolted. Lifting the cloth from her eyes, Clara looked out the windshield. The dizzying stretch of road and paint had been brushed behind her, replaced by the cracked sand of the desert. “I don’t think this car is good for offroading.” 

“We need to find a place to crash for the night. I can hunt for treasure in the dark, but I’m pretty sure you’d just complain about it.”

“What? No! We need to look now!” Clara jerked out of her seat. A deep, burning ache blasted its way from her core and seeped through the ridges of her bones. She collapsed back, her head spinning like the air had been sucked out of it.

“See what I mean? All you’d do is groan and moan and ask for a break every five seconds. Then you’d get scared and step on a snake, and you know who would have to deal with that crap? Me.”

“But what if those men find--”

“‘But’ nothin’. If Robin Hick and his Band of Merry Idiots want another asskicking then they’re more than welcome.” Mariah cranked the car into park and folded her arms. 

Clara tried to answer, but her lungs wouldn’t let her as they flooded with mucus and gunk. As she coughed into her fist, she could only imagine some of the colors swimming around in there. There was red and green -- she had seen those before -- maybe an orange if it went on long enough. But there was one color that she had only recently begun to see: black.

She signaled at Mariah, churning out words between coughs. “There’s a tube…” more coughs, “in the cupholder.”

Mariah glanced at the center cup holders, then the one at the door. A transparent, orange tube stuck out of it. The pills inside rattled as she handed it off to Clara.

Still coughing, Clara shook the pills into her palm. First two, then three, four, and soon five. She threw them into her mouth and swallowed. Some stayed lodged in her throat, and she reached for a bottle of water. Most of it gad been coughed outt. By the time the choking subsided, she was exhausted.

“Not that I care, but why are you so gung-ho about finding this thing when you’re already busy hacking your guts out?” Mariah had a thought and a grin curled onto her face. “Let me guess, your old man was loaded? He found gold or something and decided to stash it, am I right?”

Clara looked ahead. It was so dark outside. Mariah was right, she would be scared, but not because she couldn’t see anything. The idea of the dark is what scared her. Complete darkness. Not just darkness of the sight, but darkness of the sound -- of the touch. Darkness of the mind. It seemed so cold, like laying on a slab of metal. Then she would be wheeled inside a freezer and it would be even darker.

“Well?”

Clara shook her head. “Dad wasn’t lucky enough for that. He was a gambler… a really bad one.” She slid his photo out of her pocket and looked at the words. My greatest score! “I think it might be his winnings from a time he actually made out. But I don’t know about that either.”

“Well that’s boring.” She mounted her feet on the dash and leaned the seat back. “But hey, as long as I’m getting paid, more power to the cheapass.”

Clara flipped the photo back over and stared at it. Everything about it reminded her of his cheap cologne. From how his chest hair poked out of his shirt, to how his eyes seemed to have wandered away from the camera. Probably eyeing some waitress, she thought. And all of it made her angry. 

“All that money. Gone. We never even got a cent. He knew we needed it. He knew Mamá needed it, but he still…” She squeezed the photo, crumpling and tearing bits off the edges. “You know, I’m not even sure if I hate him or not. I know I have every right to, but I’m not even sure.” She cradled her knees to her chest. “There’s not much of me left. I don’t want to devote what there is to hate. Is that normal?”

“How would I know? My old man ran off when I was a brat. Never saw him again. He’s probably in Hell playing cards with yours.”

“But you have a little sister, right? Don’t you wish he was around for her?”

At the mention of Tess, Mariah fired a glare hot enough to shut Clara up. 

They both sat for a while, shielded from the desert, but not from its sounds. Behind them, cars swooshed by on the highway. In the distance, a pack of coyotes howled after its prey, then a yelp. Then silence.

“Half,” Mariah sighed.

“What?”

“Half. She’s my half-sister. Just the science project of my mom and whoever she was with that week.”

“Oh…”

“And the answer’s ‘no.’ The squirt’s better off hunting treasure with me and the other slacker than she is back home in Hillbilly Hell. At least I actually make sure she’s brushed before deciding to get drunk.” Mariah grumbled. “Unlike the airheaded floozy.” 

“That’s why we need to be better than them, right?”

“Eh?” Mariah grunted. She was starting to get lost again.

“I mean, we need to strive to make sure we aren’t as bad as them. If they weren’t caring, or considerate, or kind, then we need to be the ones who are. Hating him would be the opposite of that. So I want to be a good person, like you.” 

Mariah let out a hearty laugh that boomed as loud as her voice. It was the first time Clara had seen her that delighted, and the genuine amusement frightened her.

“You think I’m a good person.”

“Well, of course you are! You’re taking care of your sister and you’re helping me, so…”

Mariah jerked the key out of the ignition. “Lemme ask you something. When that moron got himself stabbed earlier, did you really feel bad when you saw him crying on the ground? Or did you just pretend to act squishy because you think that’s what a good person does?”

“Of course I felt bad for him! I mean… yeah, he was chasing us, but he’s still a person! Seeing a person get hurt is always sad. That’s what you’re supposed to feel.”

“Is it? Because I didn’t think it was sad. I thought it was pathetic. Seeing him squirm around on the ground like some cat in heat…” Mariah chuckled. “He deserved it. The knife should’ve been shoved in a little deeper, if you ask me.”

The gauges and radio snapped off. With a dark smirk, Mariah swung the carabiner around her finger, its cute charms and keychains circling with it as the lights dimmed to a blurred orange. They faded completely.

“What are you trying to say, Mariah?” Clara could feel the low rumble in her throat, as if it had gotten deeper as the lights had gotten darker.

“Your little crisis about being selfish. Feeling bad for that guy. This garbage about not being sure if you hate your old man or not -- it’s all bullshit.”

Bullshit. Clara winced. The way Mariah spoke made her want to cover her ears and not just because of her vocabulary.

“You don’t give a crap about this stuff. You just want to keep your status as a ‘good Christian girl’ Even said it yourself -- hating your loser dad would make you just as bad as him. Maybe that works for you, but I don’t gotta prove that I’m something just because my parents weren’t.”

“How can you say stuff like that?” whispered Clara. The usual cautiousness in her voice was gone. Anxiety and sweat trickled down her face as she snapped at Mariah. “Don’t you want to be satisfied when you look back at your life? Don’t you want to know that you always did and thought the right things? That you were a good person?”

“I’m a bad person, then. That make you feel any better about yourself? You think I’m helping you out of the kindness of my heart? Hell no. I just need the cash. If you didn’t offer that, I would’ve left your bony ass to be table scraps for those three. The only satisfaction I get is hunting for treasure and the gold that comes with it. If it ever gets more complicated than that, then I can just buy some drinks with my treasure. Shit’s ace, and it makes everything a lot easier.”

Clara’s fists clenched into two tight balls. She spoke slow, articulate. Almost thoughtful. “If believing that makes you a bad person, then what does my way make me?”

“A dumbass phony. Duh.” Mariah stared outside the windshield. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark. To no headlights soaking into the sand. Just clusters of stars, some brighter than others. “And a good person.” 

Shocked, Clara’s eyes widened, her lips quivering. 

Mariah rolled over onto her side. “Get some sleep. We’ll head for the coordinates in the morning.”

Watching Mariah’s back, Clara smiled, then reclined in her seat. But as she faced the ceiling, she saw how dark it was, and that smile faded. Her gaze returned to Mariah’s back. It was easier to see. Easier to latch onto. She could make out her figure. Her clothes. Her hair.

Her hair.

It looked so soft, silking down her back in long, golden strands. To Clara, it glowed, like actual light. She felt her own head, and that’s all she felt. Her hand slipped towards Mariah’s hair. She wanted to brush it -- to touch it. To feel it slide and twirl between her fingers.

Feeling a constant set of eyes leering behind her, Mariah turned around. Clara whisked her hand back. 

Had Mariah seen?

“Are you gonna be pissy the entire night just because you got told off?”

Guess not.

“No! No! No! I’m not mad or anything. I’m just…” Clara’s shoulders stiffened as she looked into her lap. For the past several months she had slept with every light in her room on. It started with a night light and soon spiraled from there. “I’m afraid of going to sleep.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Now they both looked away. Mariah was at a loss. A stiff, uncomfortable loss. Tess had a similar fear, but Joe usually dealt with that, and this wasn’t just a little girl scared of a monster’s roar (it turned out to be Mariah’s snoring). She figured get over it wasn’t the best response, though only after some consideration.

Giving in, Mariah sighed. “Fine. I guess I can watch. But if you talk in your sleep then I’m gonna slap you awake.”