Page 94 of Debugging Love

“I can’t drive long distances without company,” he adds.

I point at the digital clock. “We haven’t said a word to each other in thirty minutes.”

“I’m still trying to come up with something to say. And when I figure it out, I want someone to hear me.”

Chance passes a gray compact car the size of a plastic Easter egg. Three people occupy the second row, with two additional people in front, leaving barely enough room to twitch a finger. It could be worse. We could be stuffed in that tiny thing.

“The van has internet,” I say, pointing to the console display. “You could pull up a chatbot and talk to it.”

He purses his resistable lips and grips the steering wheel again. “Danni–”

“Drew gets to wear his headphones. Why does Drew get to wear his headphones?” I recognize Chance’s tone, and I won’t fall victim to it again.

“Because if Drew wasn’t distracted, he’d be busy annoying us,” Chance answers.

“I thought you liked Drew.”

“I do. That’s why it’s better that he’s wearing headphones.”

A sound erupts from Drew’s throat, part yodel, part I’m-constipated-and-I-refuse-to-give up. It goes up and down a musical scale that only exists in Drew’s head and should stay there for all eternity. Based on the lyrics, I think he’s going for Justin Timberlake’s “Cry Me a River,” but it makes me want to cry an ocean because I’m stuck listening to it in this seventy-mile-an-hour metal prison.

I lock eyes with Chance. “I gotta put these in. Sorry.”

Chance doubles his grip on the steering wheel and mouths, pleadingly,Help me.

An hour and a half later…

“I have to urinate and defecate,” Drew says.

He took his headphones off ten minutes ago, and Chance was right. We’re all better off when he’s singing discordant duets with J.T.

“I have to urinate and defecate,” Drew repeats.

“Drew is a poet and he doesn’t know it,” Morgan says groggily.

She’s been blessedly asleep for most of the ride. I tried to hide behind my earbuds, but the Joe Rogan podcast with Synthia got boring. She kept asking him if he needed to lie down and rest.

“I am not a poet,” Drew answers. “I am a biological machine that must unload its waste so that more fuel can be processed.”

“Can you just say you have to go to the bathroom?” I ask.

“That would be imprecise.”

“Yet it would be so much more appreciated,” I say.

“This is not about your emotions. It is about my biological needs.”

“All right. All right.” Chance waves his hand in the air. “I’ll pull off at the next exit.”

Fifteen minutes later…

Traffic on I-20 comes to a dead stop, two lanes of traffic, parked on an incline.

“I need to urinate and defecate!”

“Dude. You have to wait.” Chance throws the car into park.

“Waiting is not an option. An object in perpetual motion must move.”

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