With a final glance down at Ari, I decided I wasn’t going to move her to her own bed that night. She’d already cried herself to sleep once and I wasn’t going to make her relive that by waking her up so I could sleep better. I readied myself for a long, sleepless night of her space heater warmth keeping me awake, but almost as soon as I nuzzled up beside my sister, I was out.
Six am seemed earlier than usual as I drove down the still dark streets to Lennox’s house. She’d been insistent that we get an early start if we were driving the three hours to the zoo, even though I thought leaving at eight would still give us a pretty full zoo adventure. Lennox could be stubborn I was learning, and this was one of those times when she dug her heels in, so I just went with it. Two more hours sleep would have lessened my squinting a little bit, but really didn’t make that much of a difference.
When I pulled up to her classic, red brick two story home, I texted to let her know I’d arrived and turned on the radio to wake me up some while I waited. I used my phone to turn on some top forties pop stuff and found myself zoning out as I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel.
Lennox sauntered out of the house with a lollipop between her lips and for just a beat, I thought she was puffing a cigarette. I won’t lie, as she carefully slid her hood over her bangs with that stick between her lips, even if she had beem smoking, I’d have been torn between giving her a lecture or swooning. There was something very fifties movie star about the vibe she was putting off, and I was picking up whatever she was laying down. As she settled into the car seat, I reminded her to buckle her seatbelt and she rolled her eyes but followed my command with a sarcastic thumbs up.
At about 6:15, we pulled on to Rt. 60 going west and coffee was all that was propelling us forward. The pop had gone from uplifting to headache inducing and all I wanted to do was take a nap curled up in the driver’s seat. With all the fake-it-till-you-make-it vibes I could muster, I glued on a huge smile that didn’t extend to my eyes.
“Let’s play a car game!” I yelled in a tone that was meant to sound enthusiastic but came off unhinged.
I thought Lennox might have been about to doze off because she visibly jumped and clanked her head against the window. “A car game?” she echoed through a wide mouthed yawn, rubbing the side of her skull. “Like what?”
I sorted through my internal filing cabinet to come up with something age appropriate since I was pretty sure “I spy” and “Going on a Picnic” were a little young for a high school road trip. The only thing I could really come up with that could be adapted for a car trip would be Truth or Dare and I wasn’t really sure I wanted to open myself up to all the possibilities that came along with truth telling. Not with Lennox. Either my mouth didn’t have the same inhibitions, or I just wasn't awake enough to stop myself because the suggestion came pouring out before I could hold it in.
Lennox eyeballed me with some skepticism, but then shrugged one shoulder in answer. “I guess we could do that. You up first?”
“Sure,” I nodded in affirmation. “Truth or Dare?”
After a pause, she responded with dare.
Impressive, I thought thinking about all the times I had hopped on truth at neighborhood sleepovers. I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel. I wanted to set the tone so that the game would be fun and silly, but nothing that would cross that line into going-viral-on-YouTube territory.
It came to me. Classic, embarrassing, simple: “I dare you to post a SnapChat story of yourself singing along to ‘You Need to Calm Down,’” I challenged. “With moves.”
For a second, I thought she would refuse. I really should’ve known better. Lennox might come off as cooler-than-thou 90% of the time, but she was no chicken. With full on “Vogue” era Madonna hand gestures, Lennox belted Taylor’s pride anthem in perfect rhythm.
And so it went—Lennox dared me to do the hand gesture to ask a truck driver to honk their horn at a passing car, which I did; I countered with daring her to put lipstick on with her boobs ala The Breakfast Club. During one lull in my ability to come up with dares, I had what I saw as the perfect idea: I’d dare Lennox to drive. We weren’t that far from our destination, the mood was light, everything was chill. It seemed win/win: I would have a dare for her, and she could confront her fears.
But, as soon as I pulled off the road, I had doubts. It had seemed like such an obvious idea when we were driving along, singing Taylor Swift and doing embarrassing car swaying. Harmless, even. Now that I had to find the words to convey my thoughts, they had fled. In fairness, it was probably good that they’d fled because a tiny voice in my head was muttering at me: don’t you dare. Hannah Grace Justice, you mind your own business.
I guess my inner struggle went on too long because Lennox finally turned to me. “What is it?” she asked, and I could tell she was fighting the battle between worry and frustration.
“Keys?” I said and then narrowed my eyes. Keys? Could I even string words together? Seriously, what was wrong with me?
“Keys?” she responded. She pointed at the ignition and I could see worry win the battle, only suddenly, it was worry for my sanity.
Feeling the heat rise from my toes to my hairline, I blushed as I tried to continue in a far less embarrassing way. I chuckled, trying to make the slip seem insignificant when I really wanted to jump off a cliff. Again. “Sorry,” I said with a slight shake of the head. “What I was attempting to say was that I think you should drive. Like, as your dare. Drive.”
As soon as I made the suggestion, worry clouded her eyes. It was like the joy left, like the light just went out. She was stone faced Lennox again, the girl whose mind was always just a bit hidden.
“I don’t drive,” she answered flatly, folding her arms across her chest.
I pulled the keys from the ignition. Even as I was doing it, that same voice said Hannah Grace, knock it off. You are not her mother and you are pushing her away. Again, I didn’t listen when again I probably should have. It was obvious she wasn’t receptive, and it really wasn’t my business if Lennox ever drove or if she became dependent on the Cabell County bus for all her needs forever. She was going to make up her mind. It didn’t matter, though; it was like I was possessed. After all she had done to help move me forward, to help this girl who was essentially a stranger tick off items on her pre-bucket list, I wanted so much to help her . . . even if the help wasn’t exactly wanted. I dangled the keys two inches in front of her face and let them sway like a hypnotist in a bad movie.
“You don’t, but you could,” I responded. In a sing song voice, I just carried on. “You know you want to.”
She snatched the keys from out of my outstretched hand and locked her eyes on mine. The blankness was gone and there was fire in its place. My heart stopped. I was sure I had gone too far, sure I was about to really hear about what I could do with my damn keys. Then I noticed the beads of sweat dancing across her pale forehead and it dawned on me: she wasn’t pissed, she was scared.
“I get what you are trying to do,” she began in a steady voice, “and I actually appreciate it, but not today.”
There was something in the way she said “not today” that felt so sincere, like she meant it when she suggested she would try one day. We were still connected via key and neither of us made a move to change that; her fist stayed locked around the actual keys, while two of my fingers were encircled by the ring. A look passed between us then and it was like I had known Lennox my whole life and we no longer needed words to communicate. She was genuine and she was serious with every word she was uttering. There was something else I saw in her eyes in that moment and I had to fight my impulses to keep from kissing the small, bow shaped pout of her lips. She had made it clear that she wasn’t receptive and even if I felt like she was lying to herself, I had to respect her words.