Possessive Best Friend

“Oh, that was the rich guy with the bread family, right?”

“Bread kings of LA, I think he used to say.”

“That’s a terrible example. He was the smallest guy in the world.”

“True, but still.”

I lean back just as the truck hits a bump. I rock in my seat and have to steady myself. He laughs at me. “We’re not even there yet.”

“Wait, what? It gets worse?”

“You mean, it gets more fun?”

“This is terrible.”

“Trust me, you’ll love it.” He turns off the path and the dirt road becomes no more than some tracks in mud as we weave our way through a wooded area. There aren’t any houses or buildings, and I have no clue where we are.

“I’m just saying, you didn’t have it all that bad,” I say.

“You’re totally right, I didn’t. But I was different. So I had to work twice as hard to try and keep up.”

“But you ended up beating everyone.”

He grinned. “That was just a bonus, honestly.”

“Here’s the thing, though. I kept up with some of those rich assholes, and they’re all like me now. Either sitting around at home with their parents doing nothing, or living off their money doing nothing. At least you have something going for you.”

He slows the truck down to a stop and looks at me. “True,” he admits. “Even though I’m working for my father’s company.”

“It’ll be all yours sooner or later.”

“Yeah. Better make it worth something now.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay, are you ready for this?”

“No,” I admit. “I’m really, really not.”

“Good.” He grins. “Seatbelt on?”

“Of course. Why—”

I don’t finish my sentence. He hits the gas hard and the truck jumps forward. I let out a yelp as it slams into some bumps. We rock and roll, and he turns up the music, some jangling country rock tune. We hit mud and he revs the engine, kicking it up all over the place. For a second, I think the truck is stuck, but he manages to rock it free and we jump forward again, hitting more mud, a huge puddle of it.

We drive around a short track like that, hitting mud, skidding around. At first it’s terrifying, but soon I learn to love it, and I’m laughing along with him as we hit another huge mud puddle.

After a couple laps, he stops the truck and jumps out, wiping the windshield off. “You wanna try?” he asks.

“Oh, god, no,” I say.

“Ah, come on, you’ll like it.” He cocks his head. “Are you afraid?”

“Dick,” I say, and slide over into the driver’s seat.

He runs around and hops in the passenger side. We buckle our seatbelts and I ease the truck forward.

“Need more speed,” he says. “Hit it hard.”

I hit the gas some more, the truck jumping forward. We hit a mud puddle and I laugh, the mud flying everywhere. I spin the tires and rocket through, hitting another section of the path. I take a couple of laps around the course until the windshield is so thick with mud that we can’t see a thing.

I pull the truck over and we sit back in our seats laughing. He grins at me and shakes his head. “Not bad for your first time,” he says.

“Why, thank you. I know you didn’t realize, but I am very country.”

“Oh, yes, country club, you mean.”

“Good one.” I smile and sigh. “So now what?”

“Now, we sit in the bed and drink beer.”

“But… it’s covered in mud.”

“Yep.” He laughs. “I’ve got towels, don’t worry.”

He hops out, wipes down the windshield, and walks around back. He wipes down the bed and throws down clean towels for us to sit on. He helps me up and we sit there on the bed with our legs dangling down. He hands me a beer and we crack them open.

“Here’s to old friends,” he says.

“Here, here,” I say. We toast and I take a few sips. He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

“Man, it’s nice out here,” he says.

“Yeah? Where are we, anyway?”

“Right on the edge of town. I think your family owns this land, actually.”

“Oh, well, perfect. I give us permission to be here.”

“Thanks.” He grins at me. “Little late for that though.”

“Do people come out here a lot?” I look around. The course looks like it’s been clearly marked and groomed in the past, almost like someone takes care of it.

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “Couple brothers in town love this spot. They come out at least once or twice a week, drive around, and clean it up. Otherwise there’d be huge, deep tire tracks all over the place.”

“Huh. I didn’t know driving a truck in the mud was a thing people did.”

“They do around here these days,” he says. “Not much else.”

“Really? That can’t be true.”

“You’ve been in town,” he says with a shrug. “You’ve seen it. Most of the stores are closed, most of the bars and restaurants are gone. The warehouses are all empty and lots of people are out of jobs. Life isn’t all that great in Loftville.”