Rayne & Delilah's Midnite Matinee(60)

“I’ve never heard of Groat Scroggins or Pam Weenus,” Lawson says.

“Because I made them up. You get the point.”

“The point is that at no point in this trip will we be listening to any music that sounds like someone hollerin’ into a pair of jean shorts,” I say.

“We will not be listening to any music that sounds like someone walking angrily down the street in flip-flops, holding a cigarette between their lips with their hands free, sir,” Delia says.

“We will, at no time, be listening to any music that sounds like a sentient John Deere hat trying to have sex with a duck call, sir,” I say.

“In no way, shape, or form will we be listening to any music that sounds like going barefoot into a Walmart to buy a new pair of panties because a possum made off with your last clean pair, sir.”

Lawson claps his hands over his ears in good-natured exasperation and surrender. “Okay, okay, okay!”

Delia and I cackle.

“Have you noticed that if you switch the first letters of every country singer’s first and last name, you end up with an amazing Star Wars name?” I ask. “Like, Slake Bhelton. Prad Baisley.”

“Barth Grooks.”

“Rhomas Thett.”

“Belsea Kallerini.”

“Are you two sure you aren’t sisters?” Lawson asks.

“No,” we say simultaneously, giggling.

Lawson facepalms. “Lord almighty, what have I signed up for?”

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into, going on a road trip with us,” Delia says. “Hope you like Beyoncé songs.”

“And gas station nachos,” I add.

“And stopping to pee a lot,” Delia says.

We talk as though we’re seasoned road-trippers. In truth, Delia and I went to Memphis once for a concert and Nashville once to go shopping. I’ve driven to Atlanta to visit my aunt. That’s the extent of it.

“That’s all right,” Lawson says. “I won’t regret coming.”

I glance in the rearview mirror and catch his eyes. He gives me a little smile that tells me he isn’t lying about no regrets. I give him one back, and a glowing rush passes through me.



Hour Two

The sun dips completely below the horizon, leaving the sky a lavender gray, and we roll down our windows and let the magnolia-blossom-and-warm-asphalt-scented wind buffet our hair around our faces, making our eyes water and forcing us to yell to hear each other over the road noise and the music we’ve turned up. It’s uncomfortable in the best way.

I’m reverberating with so many different emotions; they echo inside me like sound in a cavern, blurring into each other until I can’t distinguish them. Fear. Hope. Love. Anxiety. Sadness. Anticipation. Some I can’t name. Maybe there’s a great German word for them.

You don’t always know at the time when you’re experiencing one of those random memories you’ll carry all your life. When nothing momentous happened other than driving a little too fast in the direction of Florida, at dusk, with your best friend by your side and, at your back, a guy who’s really good at kissing you. Still, you remember it until the day you die.

But this time I know.





Hour Three

The volume of the music has inched slowly downward as conversation has overtaken it.

“Okay, so would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or fifty duck-sized horses?” Lawson asks, sticking his head between our seats.

“You got that question from the internet,” I say.

“So? It’s still a valid question.”

“I could sense you mining the deepest reaches of your mind for something weird enough for us to be interested in talking about,” Josie says.

“I’m trying to keep up here.”

Josie pulls his head onto her shoulder and nuzzles it. “Awww.”

It’s sweet how hard he tries. I’m fine with people who love uninteresting stuff as long as they go in for interesting stuff too. Plus, he and Josie are good at not making me feel like a third wheel.

“So?” Lawson says.

“Obviously the fifty duck-sized horses,” Josie says.

“Same,” I say.

“Why?” Lawson asks.

“Well, a goose is a goose-sized duck, so—” Josie starts.

“No, it isn’t,” Lawson says. “A goose is a goose, and a duck is a duck.”

“They’re both birds that make honk noises and live in the water. They’re both ducks. Geese are just big ducks.”

“Is this like how basset hounds are grown-up beagles?” Lawson asks.

“No, that’s stupid and weird.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, geese are goose-sized ducks and they’re really mean and scary, so a horse-sized duck would be terrifying.”

“You know what a horse-sized duck is?” I say. “A dinosaur. That’s what. I’m not fighting a dinosaur.”

“Duck-sized horses are basically squirrels,” Josie says.

Lawson shakes his head. “What?! No. Chihuahuas, at least.”

“Whatever. Anyway, I’ll fight fifty Chihuahuas. What do you pick?”

“Horse-sized duck.”