When he stopped at a traffic light, she leaned forward to speak in his ear and not shout over the sound of the idling engine.
“I should tell you,” she said, “that I’m not quite eighteen.”
He turned sharply to look at her. “What does ‘not quite’ mean?”
“A month or so.”
He looked like he was worried, and then he smiled and shrugged.
“You’re worth the risk,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and accelerated.
She laughed and told herself this was good; this was what she wanted, an utter disrespect and lack of concern for rules and authority. They weren’t simply rebels without a cause; they were rebels without names, rebels without families, without countries, even without a planet.
Away from
the mall and the city lights of Piñon Pines, the sky seemed to open to reveal more stars in the moonless night than she had ever seen. She imagined they were flying toward them, thrust into space. They did look like they were getting brighter and larger with every passing moment.
Odd, she thought, how all this time, no one had mentioned how the evening sky above Spindrift was so clear and the constellations so visible in what was known as the high desert. All the time she had been there, no one had suggested a walk in the evening or even simply sitting outside. The only time she experienced the evening was two nights ago, when she, Corliss, and finally Donna had decided to venture off the property, but their attention was focused on the escape and not appreciation of the universe.
In LA, it had been nearly impossible. Streetlights and billboards, spotlights and windows lit in tall buildings washed out the stars. Most of the time, people were looking at one another, at cars, or at television or smartphone screens anyway; they rarely cranked their heads back, maybe because there wasn’t much to see, or maybe they, all of them, including her, were afraid to confront how small people were and how distant everything else was from them.
In the darker areas and on side roads, the air felt a lot cooler. She leaned forward to lay her head against him, tightening her grip around his waist. She saw herself as an Anggitay, a mythological creature with the upper body of a female human and a horse from the waist down, but instead of a horse, there was the motorcycle. Anggitays were said to be drawn to precious gemstones. She imagined that out there somewhere, a great diamond awaited her. She could see it reflecting the light of the stars in the darkness. Touch it, and become something magical yourself. She couldn’t recall the last time she had permitted her imagination such freedom.
When she had tightened her grip around him, his body had tightened, but in a good way. She could feel his inner strength; she felt protected, safe. At one point, he brought his right hand back a little just to touch her leg. It was as if he wanted to convince himself she was really still there.
“Oh, I’m here,” she whispered, not expecting he could hear her. “I’m really here.”
He made a turn and began to slow down. Up ahead, she saw a motel. It wasn’t very impressive, a U-shaped structure with a cream stucco facing, the office in the center, and what looked like a dozen cars parked in front of rooms. It was truly an inexpensive stopover. There were no facilities, no pool, nothing to resemble anything that had as its purpose being more than a rest stop, a hiccup located just off one of the main highways connecting cities and states. Leo was probably its longest-term resident.
He pulled up in front of the next-to-last room on the right and shut off the engine.
“Home, sweet home,” he said.
She slipped off and watched him stabilize his motorcycle.
“There’s a small refrigerator and a microwave inside. I have a few things.”
She nodded and looked at the other rooms that had lit windows. One had a panel truck outside. She imagined this was mostly a stopover for salesmen.
“Know anyone?” she asked as he started for his door.
He paused and looked at the motel. “No. People who stop at places like this aren’t really interested in making friends. ‘Where are you from?’ and ‘Where are you headed?’ are typical greetings, but no one listens to anyone’s answer unless it turns out to be that they’re headed for the same destination. That might make for some small talk, but these people . . . they’re like ghosts to me, and I’m sure I am to them. We’re all shadows passing in the night.”
He turned and unlocked his room door.
She contemplated it and then looked back down the dark road they had followed to get here. Somewhere beyond it, Corliss and Donna might be realizing she was gone and discussing what they should do about it. She felt sorry for them. The cost of friendship could be enough to bankrupt someone emotionally.
“Second thoughts?” he asked when she didn’t immediately follow him.
“Eighth or ninth would be closer to the truth.”
He waited. She started into the room, and he stepped back, turned on the light, and closed the door behind them. She laughed when she looked around.
“What’s funny?”
“Despite what this place is,” she said, “your room has more character than mine, and I’m in a multimillion-dollar institution.”
“Luxury beyond expectations,” he said.