Page 1 of Hot Mess Express
1
BRIDGER
I guess the worst day of my life starts with being woken up from an amazing dream by Pete’s snoring at 3:03 AM. After talking myself out of smothering him with a pillow—which takes a hell of a lot more effort than you might give me credit for—I stuff my ear buds in and look up a track of soothing ocean waves to drown out Pete’s dragon nostrils, only forthatto get interrupted ten minutes in by an overly enthusiastic ad for Viagra.
I don’t know by what miracle I finally get to sleep, only that it ends with the audacity of Pete jostling me awake and announcing: “Bridge, get your ass up, we’ll miss the free breakfast!”
Then, while I’m choking down rubber pancakes and fake eggs, the pretty hotel attendant with—as Pete describes it—“pert melon titties” won’t stop dropping by our table asking me if I need more syrup or topping off on my orange juice. Pete sneers each time she walks away, mumbling, “Chicks always go straight for you, never to me. Am I that ugly? Something on my face? They’re barking up the wrong tree, anyway.”
It’s true. I’m gay. But something about my intensity seems to draw in the ladies and repel all the guys. My last boyfriend left me for a sweet barista named Boo. No idea if that’s his real nameor a pet one, but the last thing my ex said was that I was “too much”.
He never clarified what I was “too much” of.
Barely ten minutes after leaving the hotel, Pete wants to take over driving, saying that I “drive too slow because years ago you almost made road kill out of a rabbit and still haven’t gotten over it.” He’s not wrong about the road kill thing, but in my defense, I drive at the speed limit—how fast you’re supposed to go. “Rules exist for a reason,” I state, now sitting in the passenger seat as Pete careens down the highway like the trunk is on fire. “Without them, we’re no different than animals.”
“We’re still animals with them,” he says back. “We just wear clothes and pretend to be civilized. Speaking of clothes, you’vegotto take off that jacket. I’m sweating just looking at you in it.”
He’s talking about my brother’s denim jacket I wear that bears a variety of patches over the back and shoulders—a military patch, US flag, even a pride patch he added the day after I came out to him. “I wear it with honor.”
“Yeah, well, it can be folded in the backseat with honor, too. Haven’t you heard of Texas heat? It’ll kill you.”
“I’m not sweating.”
“Stubborn ass.” He eyes me. “Did that chick back at the hotel give you her digits?”
That’s probably the real thing eating at him. “Yep.”
“You’re shitting me. Really? Can I have them?”
“She didn’t give them to you.”
“C’mon, Bridge, throw me a bone. Ineeda bone.”
“The digits are staying in my pants. If she wanted you to have her number, she would’ve given it to you.”
“Oh, she won’t know. Why you gotta be a stickler all the time? Break a rule now and then, jeez.” He eyes my pants like he can see her digits tucked away in my pocket with X-ray vision.
Whatever town we were at is long gone, and soon enough,so’s the highway. All around, the land gives way to grass and dirt and fenced acres containing clusters of animals. The sun blazes high in the sky beating down on the car as we cut through the farmlands.
Closer we get, the less heavy Pete’s foot, until he’s driving no faster than I would’ve. He fidgets in the driver’s seat like a squirrel took shelter in his pants. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s doing a pee dance, but that’s not it. Years spent in the Army by his side, I can tell he’s nervous. He’s circled the same four country roads a dozen times now, doing the world’s biggest, lamest square dance.
I figure I’ve let him waste enough of our time—and gas. “Sure you’re going the right way, buddy?”
“Fuck if I know. Never been to Spruce.”
“Feels like déjà vu every time we make a left, doesn’t it? Isn’t that the same dull-eyed horse by a tree we just passed?” I pull my phone out and thumb open the maps. “Give me the addy again.”
Pete reaches over, snatches the phone right out of my hand, and flings it into the back seat. “No maps, no apps, nothing. That’s how they roll down here. Laidback and easy-peasy everything. Just go with the flow, feel your way there …”
“You’re feeling your way to an empty gas tank. Come on, Pete, why all the stalling? You know which way to go.” He ignores me and flicks the turn signal left. “Doesn’t take a genius to figure four lefts on these square-ass roads is a circle.”
“It’s asquare, not acircle. Now who’s the dumbass?”
“Cars are one of the leading contributors of greenhouse gas emissions. Your anxiety is killing the planet.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Ask the ice caps.”
