He goes with the mechanic to pick a new tire. Portia is off in a corner of the parking lot, drinking her coffee and talking on her phone. She does that a lot, like all of her calls are so important we aren’t allowed to listen.
Eddie and Krista are in another corner of the lot, not talking. Sulking, maybe.
I send Eddie a text.
Did you see that black pickup following us?
I watch him take out his phone and read it. His back stiffens. Maybe surprise, maybe recognition.
From Alabama? Seriously?
Just asking.
No, I did not see them follow us through three states.
When Portia is off the phone, she comes over and says exactly what I know she’s going to say.
‘It’s hard to believe this was an accident.’
I sip my coffee, wondering how far into this I want to get. Krista and Eddie are already in a fight and that’s a lot of drama for one morning. ‘You think?’ I say.
‘If we randomly hit nails on the road, why are they only in that tire? Why not the front one?’
Because we were turning. Because we were changing lanes. Because Eddie was fiddling with the radio and swerved a little. A million other reasons I can’t think of because this coffee is too weak.
Portia stands in front of me, her eyes unwavering, and I believe that she believes the truck is following us. In a movie, this would end with hillbilly cannibals, but we aren’t in a movie.
‘You’ve seen too many movies,’ I say.
She stares at me, unsure. ‘Maybe. Still seems weird to me.’
‘It is weird, I’ll give you that.’
‘I should have taken a picture of them,’ she says.
Again I agree and nod my head. It feels a bit like when we were younger and Portia screwed up but tried to convince everyone she didn’t. No one really believed her, though sometimes we pretended to because it was easier. She knows that now, and I bet she knows I’m doing it again.
‘It’s too bad none of us became cops,’ Portia says. ‘It would be easy to get this asshole’s identity.’
Our movie is now a TV show. A police procedural. ‘Right,’ I say. ‘Too bad.’
‘Or a hacker. A hacker would work, too.’
We are, thankfully, interrupted by Eddie and Krista. She is pouting, he looks fine. No surprise there. Eddie asks if we know how much longer it will take and Portia opens her big conspiracy-laden mouth.
‘You saw it too, right?’ she says.
‘Saw what?’ he says.
‘The pickup. It’s been following us.’
Krista’s head snaps up, the sulk gone.
Eddie turns to me, his eyes wide. I give him nothing.
‘I didn’t see it,’ he says.
Portia looks like she’s about to stamp her foot on the asphalt. Before she can, Felix appears. I didn’t even see him come out of the garage.
He starts talking about the tire, about the mechanic, about all the cool car things in the garage. Halfway through a detailed explanation for why he didn’t find the nails in the tire, he stops talking. No one is listening and he finally realizes it.
‘What?’ he says.
‘Portia has a theory,’ Eddie says.
‘It’s not a theory, it’s a fact.’ She turns her back to Eddie and faces Felix. ‘I’ve seen that truck. It’s been following us ever since Alabama.’
Felix looks at her, then at everyone else. ‘Well, yeah. I figured everyone saw it.’
Portia smiles. Triumphant again.
‘Wait,’ Eddie says to Felix. ‘You’ve seen it?’
‘Yeah. I mean, not every minute of every day, but I’ve seen it. Honestly, I didn’t know it was following us, not at first. I just thought they were headed the same direction.’
‘Zigzagging through three states?’ I say. ‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’
‘I said, at first I didn’t know.’ Felix’s tone is the condescending one, the one I hate. ‘And now the tire,’ he says, with a shrug for emphasis.
Eddie puts up his hand. ‘Whoa. You think these people followed us through three states to put nails in our new tire?’
‘Exactly. Who follows people through three states?’ I say.
‘Psychos?’ Portia says.
We all stare at one another, almost like we’re in a contest, and we don’t break until the mechanic interrupts us.
‘Car’s ready!’ he yells out from the front of his garage.
Portia walks off first, damn near stomping her feet. Eddie and Felix continue to discuss – or argue, or whatever – about the pickup, the tire, the nails, the impossibility of it all.
Krista is the one who grabs my sleeve. The sun makes the gold in her eyes flash like blinking lights.
‘Beth,’ she whispers.
I whisper back, because who wouldn’t? ‘What?’
‘They’re right. That truck has been following us.’
She is so serious, so convinced. ‘How do you know it’s them?’ I say.
‘Last night, in the parking lot. Eddie was asleep and I heard something. When I looked outside, I saw him. The older guy.’
I shake my head, which is filling up with questions. Did she tell Eddie? Did he tell her she was crazy? Is this what they were arguing about? Maybe this is why she called him a liar.
‘What do you mean you saw him?’ I ask. ‘He was just standing around the parking lot?’
‘Not just,’ she says. ‘He was sitting on the hood of our car.’
I DON’T EVEN CARE WHAT DAY IT IS.
What does ‘living authentically’ mean to you? Are you accomplishing it?
This journal is worse than I thought it would be, but I’m still stuck on this trip, so here it goes.
If living authentically means not lying on a daily basis, I’m not doing that. I wouldn’t even try because lying makes it so much easier to get through life. Should I tell Mom and Dad when I’m not where I say I am? Should I have told them the first time I tried alcohol or weed or anything else? Should I tell them about that time I went out with a guy who was way too old for me?
Nope. No one my age lives authentically, and if they say they do they’re lying.
Just today, I’ve told so many lies I can’t count them, starting this morning when I said ‘I’m fine’ to anyone that asked how I was doing. That was a lie.
After eating one piece of toast and nothing else for breakfast, I said I was full. That was a lie. I was starving because I’m always starving but no way am I gaining weight on this trip.
When I said I was excited about seeing the Three Corners, it was a half lie. I don’t care about standing in three states at the same time, but I am sick of Bonnie and Clyde crap. Especially when Grandpa starts going on and on about how much he loved Grandma. It’s all I can do to keep from throwing up all over him. Instead, I just nodded and lied and nodded and lied.
As much as I hated it, that time lying was easier because you’ve got to pick your battles. That’s a Risk thing. You can’t fight everyone all the time, you’ll just lose your whole army.
Now that I think about it, maybe I am living pretty authentically. It’s just the Risk version.