I let out a breath I'd been unknowingly holding. "Made it." I had made it; in one piece, alive, and fairly well. Perhaps I'd get used to airplanes? ...no. I would not. The p.a. beeped and the captain enthusiastically thanked his passengers for flying with United Aeroway, though I doubted anyone listened. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the door, people were rustling bags and gathering their things. He had barely enough time to hang up the Mic and then the rush began - everyone wanted out. I wanted out too-the indents on the arms of my seat were proof enough, but I decided to be smarter this time. I patiently sat in my seat until the murmuring crowd had pushed and tripped themselves out of the awkwardly shaped doorway. Once clear, I got up casually and grabbed my carry-on from overhead and wheeled it down the narrow aisle. In a timely fashion; immediately, I turned on my cell phone and stared at the small screen powering up-ignoring the flight crews' cheery smiles as much as humanly possible.
I passed through the tarmac and entered the airport, reality and a plethora of advertisements bombarded me. Giant CTos signs about family safety, the smell of coffee, some wkz news feed filled the spaces between inaudible conversations. Fluorescent lights washed out any colour variance and I found it hard to concentrate and stay on task under them. I was in Chicago, this was absolute, but this wasn't a vacation or a family reunion. Maybe you could stretch the truth and call it a family reunion, but it was far from a bbq social. My brother had been sick for quite some time, I guess-I remember him always having a chest cold and a cough, but at some point he had found out it was something else and kept it to himself. The doctor's had thought it was chronic pneumonia and bronchitis when he was a teenager, but then years later it made itself out to be lung cancer-terminal. He was my little brother, and as children we were great friends-we shared everything. But not this. I hadn't spoke to him in four years. I never knew he was on borrowed time until two days ago, but only because he had died. The consensus of my family lingered somewhere between my having known all this time and my brother and I being on bad terms. I wanted to be spiteful and say I didn't care what they thought, but knowing I'd be in a room with all of them, in a strained silence, I found that I felt rather distraught over their lack if trust.
"Ma'am? Ma'am?" the voice was polite, but annoyance could be heard under it's shiny surface.
"Yes?" I looked up, broken from my train of thought. The owner of the voice was a petite blonde who looked like she belonged in the south pinned up on every 14-year-old's wall.
"If you want to board, you'll have to wait in line." She squeaked with southern mannerism. Her eyes widened and she drew her eyes from me over to where I'd presume the line ended, if and when I'd look. So I waited a moment, to ensure when I did look that it was my own idea and not hers, looked back just to see-yep, the end of the line.
"Sorry," I felt the red wash over me "I just got off a plane, I'm little..."
"Hun, your in an airport." She sucked her teeth and it was then I'd realized she was being a bitch.
"Yeah, I'm aware," I took a step out of line and went up an escalator. I'd deal with southern belle Barbie if it meant I could get on that plane and leave. I sighed at the thought; how desperately I wanted to get out of Chicago-the tourist in me was nowhere to be found. It was the constant worry I'd have to face everyone's glare when I got to the wake. Worse yet was that one of those glares would not be my brother's. He may have been younger, but he'd always been taller. I hid behind him whenever things looked like they'd be bad and he'd quietly assure me they'd be fine. He wasn't here to hide behind, and even if he had been, I wouldn't believe him if he told me everything was going to be alright.
Being sure to pay close attention and pocketing my phone, I found my way over to the Hartz car rental line. Rentals were my last choice, but since my family and I were practically estranged, my pride couldn't risk asking for a ride and being turned down. I may have had pity taken upon me by my own mother, but I didn't want be to be trapped. I didn't want to be stuck at a wake full of grieving strangers trying to illicit some emotional response from me. I wanted to...even I didn't know what I wanted.
"Ma'am? Ma'am?" a woman's voice called out. I snapped out of my pity party and paused in horror of this conversation ending up like the last one that began with "ma'am".
I was spared spiraling into exreme deja vu and ended up with an brown boring economy car-it was one of those Toyeti Celetics, "economy sports car" that looked like they may have almost been awesome if not for the fact you knew the reputation of Toyeti and nothing they made was truly sporty...and it was brown. "Dump truck," I said to the car, "I'm going to call you Dump truck, and we are going to be great friends." There was that inevitable pang of loneliness as soon as I realized I'd been speaking to the car. "This-this is what it's come down to." My disdain for driving in cities with this car was going to be my only intelligent conversation and I damn well knew it. I put a hold on that thought-why was I convinced I wasn't going to incur the wrath of the entire Tristatt family, extended family, friends, neighbors, and strangers at this thing? Maybe things would be fine? Maybe I wouldn't have to talk to the car? Maybe? Then again, my step father had instant messaged me that he never liked me anyways...Maybe I'd just avoid talking to him. I grasped the keys firmly in my hand and walked over to the car out in the garage.
By the time I found my way out of the concrete parking garage, it was almost 3PM and the sun was on the decline. Even though I was in a car I could feel the cold autumn air filter in and start to work on chilling my bones. I found it odd as I'd imagined Chicago would be warmer than Boston. But the sun set at the same time and the air was just as unpleasant. I stared back at the digital display- one and a half hours until showtime. How far was this Parker Square district, anyway? I flipped on the radio to the station it had already been on, woke up my phone and entered the address I was supposed to meet my mother and stepfather at. The radio chimed and a "special news update" followed. It was something about hacking-maybe some axe wielding maniac, and gang related stuff. Nothing that was too concerning to me. I wasn't here for the drama of the city, just here to do my thing and get out. I glanced back down at my phone as the map app kicked on-it claimed twenty minutes. Was relieved it wasn't going to be that long of a ride-the wake wasn't until 4:30PM. I shut off the radio, an ad taking the place of the news update about security was annoying and warranted silence. Silence would be a great start.
About 6 minutes into the drive things seemed fine; no-one hit me and I didn't hit them. The district I was in was typical, agitating city stop-and-go traffic, but the architecture of the tall buildings and the "art" in the parks took mind off the constant braking. Someone beeped behind me and I noticed the light had turned green; maybe architecture was taking my mind off traffic a bit too much. I drove through the intersection and hit... another light. I glanced down at my phone, wondering if the app could account for traffic. It couldn't. In fact, the map app hadn't updated my position. WTF? I exited the map app and reopened it, hoping that something would refresh or reload-but nothing. I noticed my cell signal was non-existent. I had to either go straight or go left-and the only other thing I relied on my phone to do aside, from making calls, was not working. The light had turned green and I opted to take a left across a long bridge.
I quickly got the sense I hadn't taken the right turn. Once I drove over the long bridge the houses became more leaning towards the condemned side of the spectrum. My brother wouldn't live here-he had standards. I glanced down at my phone, waiting for it to rescue me from uncertainty. No signal. I looked back up at the street and the neighborhood donned people sitting on their front porches, pedestrians in hoodies with pants practically down to their knees, and a lot of young girls out on every corner. Call it profiling, but I locked my doors and told myself I wouldn't be making any stops-not if I could help it. Though, as if on cue, the light that I was approaching changed-so much for not stopping. I'm a law abiding citizen, so I stopped and I waited for the world to end or an explosion to go off-nothing of the sort happened. The light turned green and I reluctantly let go of the breath I'd been holding. I put my foot on the gas pedal, but before I could press it and the clutch down, all of the locks popped up in one hollow "thunk". I froze-maybe I accidently unlocked it with my elbow? Even I knew it was denial. I turned to look at the buttons on the side of the door and found a tall man in a brown coat looming by my window. I raced to hit the lock button but he pulled the door open before I could reach it.
"Out," was all he said.
I stared blankly, not processing the situation, "What?"
"Out, now." He reached in and grabbed me by the arm and I grabbed my e-brake handle to keep me inside the car.
Damn it Dump truck, apparently you weren't shitty enough to not get yourself stolen. "No." My eyes went wide; I didn't think that one through. He put something in my face and I stared passed it, trying to see him, until I realized what it was-a gun, "shit."
"Get the fuck out." His eyes narrowed and that's all I could tell of his expression as the rest was hidden behind some sort of ski-mask or- He tightened his grip ands pulled my arm harder and pressed the barrel of the gun into my forehead. I wouldn't say I cried, but I definitely could feel tears starting to form over my vision.
"I'm not getting out, I'm not staying here." I cried out with conviction, which was odd because inside I was asking myself what the hell was wrong with me. What was wrong with me was that I had wake I needed to get to, I was l Iost in the projects, my family hated me, I hated my car...no more.
The sound of something slamming and tires screeching echoed out in the distance and the would be car-jacker looked up and sighed angrily. He leaned in, letting go of my arm, and shoved me by my shoulder in one harsh motion so that I ended up on my back in the passenger seat. With the gun still in hand he got in, slammed the door and stomped on the gas.
This wasn't quite what I had in mind when I refused to leave my car, I was more leaning towards him leaving me and my rental alone. He put the gun away and pulled out his phone. He looked up at the road for a second, glanced back down and then turned the wheel so hard that the back tires slid out and the car had turned sharply. Make no mistake, there were other cars on this road and he swirved around them as he regained his speed down the highway. I must have made a noise or it could have been the way I'd been holding onto my door because he glanced over quickly and said "seatbelt?" This guy was going to get me killed. We were quickly approaching the city, again, and all the cars were beginning to blur together. A jerk of the wheel broke me from my thoughts. I broke my starting contest with traffic and he jerked the wheel again-his eyes were down on his phone and with a quick glance back on the road he jerked the wheel to correct the vehicle veering off. This is going to get me killed-I began to think the shady neighborhood was perhaps the better choice.
"Still standing by your decision?" It was the second thing since he'd gotten in the car that sounded sarcastic.
I opened my mouth to say something, it was clear he wasn't going to shoot me-he'd had done it already, and though I was terrified, I wasn't going to be his amusement. Before I got a word out the car dove through 3 landed of traffic to an off ramp. My head slammed into the window and my hand quickly rose up to put pressure on where it throbbed. I grabbed my head and put pressure on where it throbbed, "ah, fuck," l whimpered and pressed my body to the side of the door.
I looked up at him again-his eyes were glancing quickly between the phone to the road, faster than before. My eyes flickered down to his gun, halfway in his pants with the hilt exposed because his coat didn't fall back over it. He was still looking at the road, still driving fast, and still swerving through traffic. I bit my lip and inched my hand to the center console. "Don't even think about it," he warned, his tone still unchanged. Shit, how did he know?
"Can I get out now?" feeling that my life was in more danger in the car than out.
"It's a little late to change your mind," He looked up at the rearview mirror and then an explosion shook underneath the car and sent the back of it up before the tires met the pavement again and bounced. The metal frame of the car groaned for a moment and I turned around in my seat to see a car caught in a pressure burst of steam out if a crater in the road and slammed less gracefully than Dumptruck had.
"What the?" I was starting to get into hysterics now, but I watched the scene as we sped away and two black cars muscled their way around the pit and gained speed. The car-jacker must have seen the cars too because our car picked up speed and he pulled me down into my seat. "Holy shit! Is this a car chase? Did you steal my car and kidnap me because you're being chased?" I watched the cars gain in the side mirrors.
"Kidnap?" He was surprisingly calm despite the situation but he choked on the word, "I tried really hard not to "kidnap" you..." He pulled up the e-brake and the car did a hairpin turn before he pressed on the gas and the car was off again in a new direction. I must have been have upped my panic attack because he put his phone on his knee, reached over me, and pulled my seatbelt over and buckled it-straining to keep his eye line over the dashboard. l started at him, waiting to hear if this was a car chase. He grabbed his phone and looked over at me staring wide-eyed at him. "I'll try and get you out of this in one piece-sound good?"
I didn't answer, it seemed rhetorical, and I felt like my answer would be obvious. I returned my eyes to the road ahead and it was then I noticed we were barreling towards an intersection- our light was red. "Hey?" I questioned, hoping he'd noticed. But he ignored me and gripped his phone. He pressed harder on the gas and I could hear the engine strain to fulfill his demands. "The light." Maybe it wasn't obvious to him. He was clearly a distracted driver. My breathing picked up, the light hadn't changed and not did our direction. We were about ten yards from the intersection when the lights went green. There were still cars in the intersection but we somehow miraculously managed to weave through. I looked back at my side mirror and the sound of metal impacting metal rang out. There was a pile up in the intersection. This guy was going to get me killed.
"So, if this car chase is done..."
"Almost." He turned off the day-time running lights and we turned between two tall brick buildings. The car used for a moment and then the engine shut off.
"What are we doing?" I looked down at his gun again. Were we in an alley because this was the end of the line for me? He put his phone on his knee again and slouched down in his seat. He didn't make eye contact or say anything but his breaths were heavy and slow. "Look, I just want to go." I put my hand on the door handle and he raced to grab my arm and pull it to the centre of the car.
"Just wait. You'll be ok." He looked at the rear view mirror and my eyes drifted up that way as well. A black car crept on the street, hesitantly passing the alley way. It's brakes made a high pitched squeak as it slowed and turned to come down this way. My heart thumped loudly in my ears. This guy was out if his mind and if he was running from these guys, how bad were they? I glanced down at his phone, still resting on his knees. My phone had gotten lost in the shuffle-probably somewhere on the floor. I'd need his to call for help. I looked at him still looking in the mirror and I looked in the mirror, the car had stopped a few yards from ours. The car-jackers gripped had loosened on my arm. It was now or never. I tested my right hand on the handle and in one smooth movement opened the door, pulled my hand from his grasp and grabbed his phone. I slid it between the car and the brick wall and ran to the front of the car. The doors opened from the car behind my own and three men stepped out, guns clearly in hand, and hustled towards my car and me. "Fuck."
"It's not him." One of the guys said.
"Wrong car?" Another questioned.
"Where the fuck is he?" This question was aimed at me.
I was unsure what to do. I got the very distinct feeling was going to be killed one way it the other. I quietly watched as two of the men crept along side the driver's side of my car.
"I asked you a fucking question." He was making his way towards me. It was all he got out before the driver's side door opened and the car-jacker stepped out and swung open a collapsible baton. He bashed the guys face in and charged forward to spin the other guy around. He grabbed the other guy's forehead, tilted his head back, dropped the baton, grabbed the gun and shot him in the back of the head.
I felt my knees buckle. I couldn't believe I decided to take this guys phone. Luckily, the third guy from the car opened fire-never did I think I'd find that lucky, and the car-jacker ducked down out if sight. I took this opportunity to run-and I did, out of the other side of the alley and into a crowd of pedestrians.
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It's been a long time. I think the only difference is that I can't outwardly acknowledge that I put Chan on everyone's name-I started here at 13, I'm 28 now. I published a few creative non-fics, but not a big deal. Not one step closer to being terribly decisive.
There will be typos...I do this on my phone and my attention span is rofl copter madness. So, yeah.