How many more miles to go? Looking out of the dark window Arthur rubbed his weary eyes as he watched the darkness roll by. The mountains covered in gold and red trees were shrouded in darkness. A country song playing on the radio filled the small space of the car, sporadically interrupted by the static noise. The road wound as the car accelerated passed another lonely vehicle.
"I wish you would be careful." Arthur mumbled not looking away from the window.
"I am." Came a poised reply.
The road twisted and descended, the old sedan's engine quieting its roaring as the gas pedal was released. Arthur remembered the first time Alfred rolled the old car into their high school parking lot. Al's granddaddy finally gave him this promised beat up thing when Al turned seventeen. They spend the rest of the day driving on Texas back roads under the blazing sun with a broken AC.
The noise hummer louder, completely disrupting the song as they drove out of range. "Damn piece of trash." Alfred slammed his hand over the power button turning the radio off.
So it's back to silence, Arthur mused.
The road turned up and the engine roared louder. How many days has it been on the road, with nothing but shady motels and cheap food? Arthur stared at the darkened mountain in front of him as Alfred took them through Pennsylvania to…nowhere...anywhere. Out of the corner of his eye Arthur spots Alfred palming for his coffee cup. He watched the American bring the paper cup to his lips, and Arthur looked away.
"Is it cold?"
Arthur hears Alfred gulp the coffee, imagined his Adam's apple bob up and down with the liquid, and mimics the action with his own spit.
"It's fine." The cup was placed down as Alfred slowly braked for the coming bend.
The mountain finally disappeared, leaving only the endless dark edge of the cliff.
An empty soda can rolled around hitting Arthur's feet. He no longer told Alfred to clean up after himself. That argument was left behind in another life time. The old Arthur would yell and bicker with Alfred till one or the other gives in or they stopped talking for days. That Arthur wouldn't be wearing one of Alfred's ragged jerseys. Would scowl at Alfred's driving habits and a million other insignificant things that made them...them.
Now he was tired. Tired of looking at the same darkness outside the car's window. The wrappers from twenty-four hour burger joints they had to eat at. Of the cigarette smoke that was permanently embedded into the upholstery from Al's granddad and the time in high school they smoked pot in empty mall lots. Tired of the life they didn't choose.
Closing his eyes Arthur was lulled into a half sleep. Images of Alfred's perfect smile after winning a home game for their school football team. Frequent family dinners at their homes. Alfred's always smiling family and Arthur's own rowdy but inviting one consisting of three brothers and a single mother. Goofing around Alfred's dad's ranch. Thinking about their future. Snickering about girls. Sneaking out at night to swim in the river. Drinking Arthur's brother's beer. Fooling around with Alfred's father's guns.
A warm hand grasped Arthur's startling him. "We'll be okay."
Not looking at the other blond Arthur just nodded. The clouds broke open revealing a half moon bringing some light to the dark valley. He tried to picture what it might look like in the daylight.
What their life will look like in the future. Five, ten, thirty years from now? Will they ever stop sleeping in dirty motels and eating at cheap joints? Maybe if they never acknowledged the coy gazes and lingering touches, the quick tumble in the barn or this old sedan. Maybe if Arthur could have convinced himself that these feeling didn't exist. Could have rejected Alfred's feeling, maybe then he could have prevented this reality.
Maybe then Al could have played football in college, married a nice girl, inherit the ranch. Maybe even stay friends with Arthur through their adulthood and into the old age. Maybe they wouldn't have to drive through Pennsylvania. Maybe Arthur could have prevented Al from shooting his brother. Maybe they wouldn't have to live among the shadows.
Squeezing Alfred's hand, feeling the roughness of the palm and fingers that would trace and scratch and rub his body as Arthur moan for him every night sprawled on top of dirty motel sheets as Alfred cried into his hair begging for forgiveness. He'd pull the American closer moan louder; try to find salvation through their love. Maybe the deeper he and Alfred fell the less it will hurt. Maybe then he will stop seeing his dead brother's accusing eyes and Alfred's own terrified ones.
"Yea, we'll be fine."