Page 5 of Losing Sleep
How long have you been at your job?I was pretty sure he’d already answered that question and I’d missed it.
Why construction?Sounded too basic and slightly judgmental.
Is your beard as soft as it looks?That was just weird.
So I kept quiet, grateful he seemed content to carry the conversation with an occasional question for me. I responded and returned the questions, but that was the limit of my conversational prowess.
About the time I needed a refill, Grey’s meal arrived, bringing with it the smell of fried food and making me almost regret that I hadn’t purchased second lunch. But I knew if I ordered food now, we’d definitely be late getting to the cabin. I ducked out of the booth, taking an extra moment at the soda machine before returning to our table, counting my breaths to distract myself from the self-consciousness I always felt when talking to people I didn’t know well.
Despite his near constant talking, Grey managed to finish his meal, and we were back on the road in twenty minutes. Unfortunately, I had overestimated my bladder capacity, and the two Pepsis I’d drunk at the restaurant caught up to me just over an hour and a half later. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as I tried to listen to Grey’s monologue about the restaurants we passed. I wasn’t sure why this had become his topic of choice, but I was too busy not knowing what to say to add to the conversation.
I’d never been an adept conversationalist. At least not like my mom. On more than one occasion she’d told me to justask people questions, reminding me that everyone loved to talk about themselves. For that approach to work, I had to think of good questions to ask. One instance in college when I asked a cute boy who was sitting alone if he’d farted was all the evidence I needed that I wasn’t made to be social. Listening and staying quiet was so much easier.
That was one part of why my relationship with Lyle had worked. Like my mom, he enjoyed talking, and I was good at listening. Of course, it could also be part of why it hadn’t worked. Maybe Lyle had gotten tired of having a girlfriend whom he was always talking for and wanted someone who could speak for herself. Emily, with her extroverted personality and big smile, fit that bill better than I ever would.
I pushed the unwanted thought away, trying to ignore the now familiar twinge of inadequacy that haunted me every time I thought about my last relationship. In playing it safe and picking someone who could give me security, I’d been burned in the worst possible way. I really was better off now, but that didn’t fully erase the doubt and regret.
“Personally,” Grey said, his monologue quickly becoming the soundtrack of our trip, “I’m a big fan of fried chicken, but there are few places that do it right. It needs a good crunch without—”
Spotting the Brigham City exit, I broke in. “Do you mind if we stop? That last Pepsi was one too many.” My voice hitched with desperation, and I didn’t care. If I didn’t find a bathroom soon, I’d have a different reason to be self-conscious in front of Grey.
“Sure,” Grey said, the change in plans doing nothing to dampen his enthusiasm. “I should probably get some more gas. Meant to fill up before picking you up, but you know, things happen.”
I still didn’t know what “things” could have happened to make Grey an hour late, but if his lack of preparedness meant I got to pee, I’d take it.
I rocked in my seat, feeling like my bladder would explode as Grey navigated off the freeway. He pulled into a gas station and parked in front of a pump. I dashed from the car, nearly forgetting to slip my shoes back on as I rushed into the convenience store.
“I’m going to grab some snacks once I’m done filling up. You want anything?” Grey called after me.
“I’m good.” I yelled over my shoulder, grateful for the kind offer but also desperate to make it to the bathroom.
I hurried into the restroom, relieved to find an open stall even as a terrible smell greeted me, bits of toilet paper and paper towels scattered on the floor. The restroom wasn’t the cleanest I’d ever used, but I couldn’t afford to be picky at the moment. At least it meant I wouldn’t have to continue dancing in my seat on the drive.
I finished quickly in the bathroom, trying to breathe as little as possible. I stopped in the hall outside the bathroom for a moment, grateful to breathe the stale convenience store air. Now that my bladder was empty, I needed a moment to mentally prepare for the next several hours in the car with Grey’s rambling. He was like an overexcited, friendly puppy, eager to share his every observation and inviting my own comments. Unfortunately, I had little to add to the conversation, and despite my love of loud music, I also appreciated the quiet.
I walked towards the exit and found Grey waiting for me in the convenience store near the cash register, a white shopping bag in hand, his ever-present smile flashing through his beard.
“I know you said you didn’t want anything, but they had a buy-two sale going, and based on your shirt, I thought you could use this.” He held out a Pepsi, and some of my misgivings faded.
I glanced down at my blue “With enough Pepsi I can rule the world” shirt and returned his smile, touched at the thoughtful gesture. “Thank you.”
My mom was the only other person who had ever bought me Pepsi. It had become our thing when I was in high school. Whenever I had a hard day, I’d text her and come home to a bottle of Pepsi waiting for me in the fridge. I’d settle at the counter with the bottle in hand and Mom would sit on the stool next to me, pausing for a moment between work and dates and everything else that always took her attention. Instead, she’d focus on me and whatever I had to say. Every time I felt the familiar burn of carbonation, it took me back to those moments—moments when I’d known everything would be okay because my mom was there.
“Gotta keep my road trip buddy happy,” Grey said, pulling me from my thoughts with a wink as he led the way to the car. “If you’re going to be stuck with me for several hours, you’re going to need the caffeine.”
Laughter tinged his tone, and I felt some of my hesitations about this trip fade further.
As I climbed into the car, I stashed my drink in the cupholder, kicked off my flip flops, and leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes. My early morning was catching up to me, and a nap would help the miles pass faster. A brief span of quiet with only Toto playing in the background hinted that my nap plan might work. Then Grey’s monologue picked back up. I tensed, a knot forming in my shoulders as I listened to his poetic description of a burger joint I knew was not that good, though he made it sound like a culinary masterpiece. I’d give him this—the guy was definitely a glass-half-full kind of person. I was sure under other circumstances I would have found him friendly and nice. Maybe even charming. My lack of sleep and remnants of anxiety about the trip meant I found his quirky conversation less than fascinating.
When he switched to discussing chicken nuggets, I reached my limit.
“You know you don’t have to talk constantly, right?” I mumbled the words under my breath, assuming the music would drown them out. Of course, that wasn’t the case. Leave it to me to say the wrong thing and offend my ride with hours still left in the drive.
Grey stopped talking for a moment and I could hear his fingers tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the song. “You know, I’ve heard rumors that talking constantly isn’t necessary for survival, but I don’t want to risk it.”
Instead of offended, he almost sounded entertained, as if he found my surly response humorous.
“Keeping this up won’t guarantee your survival either,” I said, regretting the words as soon as they spilled out, but unable to take them back. Surely there was a kinder way to tell someone to shut up that didn’t involve threatening murder. It felt like another moment that could be held up as evidence for my lacking social skills. I curled my toes into the floor mat, the coarse texture grounding me as I pretended my cheeks weren’t on fire.
