Road to Paradise

Written in 1999 when I was 16.

I wait, crouched like a hunting cat on the window seat. The hands on my watch tick relentlessly by, their green glow illuminating how late he is. Then I see them: headlights rounding the curve, headed this way! I bound to the door. But they do not stop. I mutter a curse and return to wait.

Ah, more lights! This time, the headlights swing onto my driveway.

My feet barely touch the ground as I rocket to the door. Once outside, I force myself to a nonchalant jog. The house's motion light floods the driveway. Wolfy's head pokes out of the idling truck. "Ready?" he asks. I nod and hop up into the passenger side.

Wolfy's truck is a big silver brute, an F-150 with bite. I feel like a kitten in the jaws of a silvery shark, small and more than a little helpless. We back out of the driveway, his big hands maneuvering the truck with tender accuracy. In this shark's maw, my words are devoured before they leave my mouth. So I watch Wolfy, the night colors tingeing his face blue-gray. He catches me watching him and sticks out his tongue. Smiling, I tuck my hair behind my ears for the third time.

I play with the '98 graduation tassel hanging from the rearview until threads of it come off into my palms. Wolfy gives me a small smile, and asks if the radio station's OK. I don't like it, but I say yes anyway.

"What movie do we want to see tonight?" he asks me.

I clasp my hands, popping each knuckle. "Umm, something good and scary. We should ask Ana, too."

"Sounds good."

After an eternity of silence, we are at Ana's house. Wolfy taps the horn. The front door opens, and Ana bustles out. Then she is in the shark, smelling of cigarettes and night humidity.

"Hey Rose, hey Marcelo." Ana is the only person I know who calls Wolfy by his real name. She shakes her hair out, dark and smooth and shining like Wolfy's. But Ana's skin is porcelain, Wolfy's dark caramel. Wolfy, so nicknamed for his lean body and wolfish canine teeth, contrasts sharply with Ana's pale, compact form. And I am in the middle. I fiddle with my brassy brown hair, scrunching in closer to Wolfy so my knees don't bang the radio unit.

But with Ana's presence, the awkwardness is gone. With her, I am a fearless adventurer; Wolfy is a laughing joker. Within the city's confines, it feels like we're crawling. The truck towers over the winding residential avenues, slow-motion power.

"Is tonight the usual Tuesday night deal?" she asks.

Wolfy nods his affirmation.

"What we've done every Tuesday since May," I add. "Head out to Paradise City, catch a movie, hit the Tastee Freeze."

"Sounds like a plan," she says with a flashing grin.

In less than 5 minutes we are through the residential and strip areas of town, out into the cattle and wetlands of Southern Florida. Wolfy's shark eats asphalt, swimming through a vast deep blue ocean of pastures. Freed from the city's grasp, I am no longer swallowed by the silvery shark. I am swimming beside it, curving and speeding through endless dark horizons.

Ana squeals at a familiar song and reaches for the radio dial. Her manicured nails give the volume a swift crank. A song, all howling guitars and pulsing bass, fills my ears. Wolfy grins and guns the truck to match the pace of the music. Faster and faster, guitar riffs and engine roars match beat for faster beat. Our bodies sway and swing to the pounding drums. Our voices rise and fall, singing, almost howling. Still faster, still louder the radio screams. The music reaches a climax, the roaring truck and the screaming music perfectly matched. And with a final bang, it is over.

The second of silence that follows saves our lives. In that second, time stops. Wolfy's hands are glued to the wheel; Ana and I are frozen. A horrid thunk shatters our state and breaks the silence. And we realize what has happened. The tire burst. The shark is now just a truck, jerking erratically across the road.

Wolfy alternately screams and mutters obscenities at the failing wheel. Just missing an oncoming set of headlights, the truck swerves violently. Ana regains reality enough to scream, "Get off the road!"

And then we are standing by the wounded shark, 20 miles from nowhere, under a fingernail moon. Ana pulls out her sleek cell phone. "Since somebody wasn't carrying a spare, we'll just call for a tow truck," she says. But her somewhat shaken smile melts off her face when she turns the phone on. "God, we're in a dead zone for it," she mumbles. "There's nothing."

This sets off a fresh set of curses from Wolfy. He kicks the side of the truck, as if to punish it for failing.

"Now what?" I whisper.

"We start walking," Wolfy says. His eyes are hard, his fists clenched. "Maybe somebody will stop and give us a ride."

This breaks Ana. "God, why did this happen? We'll probably get murdered by some freaks or raped by drunks!" Tears streak her mascara as she fumbles for a cigarette.

Shying away from this teary mess, I try to hide behind Wolfy. But he moves over to envelop her in an embrace. "Don't worry," he murmurs. "I won't let anybody take you. We'll just walk to the closest gas station. You'll see, we'll be fine."

I don't think I have ever felt more alone. I feel burning tears of my own coming, but I blink them back. I can't be like Ana. I will be the strong one. But to see Wolfy promising to protect her, his rough hands in her gleaming hair, it pierces me to the core. As if she senses my jealousy, Ana's freakishly painted face turns my way. Her cold eyes tell me more than words ever could.

Once Ana gathers her composure and shattered pride back, we start walking. I look back at the shark, beached on a grassy shoulder, its steel skin gleaming dully. The night's innate dampness makes my skin disgustingly sticky. I can almost feel the oil on it build up, only to slide off mixed with sweat. Even at night, Florida brings her hot, humid curse upon us.

Each set of headlights passing by illuminates our hopeful faces. Yet every time we are left again to shuffle in the dark. Gradually we stop looking up entirely. Ana and I keep our distance, the new rift between us more than physical. Her cigarette fleetingly marks our passage with a wispy trail.

Wolfy strides in front of both of us, his shoulders hunched. He looks defeated, a boy in a man's role. Without thinking, I speed up my steps to match his. We don't talk, the rhythm of walking is enough. I gaze up at the cloudless sky. Out here, there are no lights save those in the heavens.

"There's Orion," I whisper to Wolfy, pointing to the stars. "And Ursa Major."

"Do you know the stars?" he asks softly.

I nod, even though I really don't.

A cow moos from far away, calling its baby home. Crickets and frogs, chirping and squeaking, complete the highway chorus. Wolfy and I walk with matched steps, our strides taking the asphalt step by step rather than the shark's great surges. Somehow I like this better. And then Ana hollers from behind us. I turn, and there she is flagging down a set of headlights coming our way. I start to walk again, expecting to feel the whoosh of air as the car speeds by. But Wolfy grabs my arm. "Wait."

Squinting in the light, I can barely make out a car, idling on the road. I feel like a doe, blinded by onrushing headlights, frozen to the ground. Wolfy's tightening grip on my arm stirs me into motion. He leads me through the headlights' path, towards the waiting car.

I almost hate to leave our roadside trail, to end this brief night of transformation. But I step into the car's dim interior anyway. The three of us cram into the back seat, me stuck in the middle again. The driver of the car doesn't speak much, and apparently isn't much of a radio fan. The silence of the car is nothing like the silence of the night, and I itch to escape.

With such a wimpy moon, everything is shrouded inside. I try to judge Wolfy's mood by his face, but it's impossible. I don't look at Ana. Mile by mile, our steps are retraced towards home. We pass over the river, darker than the night. I can see the trucks parked at the overflow, cabins alive and warm with beer and smoke. Since I live in the middle of town, Wolfy tells our driver to drop us all there. The fellow kindly obliges, and soon I stand again in the blinding motion light. My dad bangs out the door, all concern lost in his blustering suspicion of Wolfy. My mother pokes her head out, and blats a little "Come on in" to us.

Ana calls her house first, then flees to the bathroom to repair her nearly-gone makeup. Wolfy is too tall for my house. He moves awkwardly over to the phone, elbows and knees dangerously close to my mom's knickknacks.

"Hola Ma, necesito un paseo…" I stand in the doorway to give Wolfy some privacy. My parents are sitting in the TV room, their faces illuminated with its glow.

"I can't believe we let her go out with people like that," my dad says. I growl a little, deep in my throat. And then they are gone, on yet another ride into the night.