'You May Rely On It' [WIP]

Myxuki stood near the front of the RV park, phone in hand. On her way over she had searched ‘How to call a taxi’ and now had to obtain a specific phone number to call since the bus wouldn’t arrive for a while. Honestly, she should have called in advance but had gotten caught up in the spontaneity of her journey. And… that was sort of the point. Derek certainly didn’t plan ahead but managed just fine. Then again, he knew his way around the area, and she did not…

Suffice to say, some nervousness has crept into her, a seed of doubt that for now, she buried under a strong sense of stubborn determination to see this through.

A rumble could be heard and she could feel the wind and heat coming off of the large semi that had pulled up beside her. The Truck was black and looked worse for wear with rust spots and parts where the sun had faded the paint on it but the mean bulldog on the front was maybe the only thing besides the tires in good shape. The front windshield had a crack running across the passenger side. The driver was an older man in his mid to late thirties. He was white standing and looked to be rather tall with some muscle on him. He had black scruffy unkempt short facial hair that matched his black slicked back greasy hair. He wore a green camo trucker cap with the Confederate flag on it with Rebel Soul in red in front of it. He also wore a green shirt with the sleeves turned off showing off his tattoo-covered arms at one point the shirt looked to have had a hunted logo that had faded due to wash and age. The man looked down at her his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses “Hey miss, need a ride into town?” he asked, his voice gruff and baritone.

She looked up from her phone, and then looked further up at the large semi that now sat beside her. That was a good question, one she pondered for a little too long. In her emulation of Derek’s spontaneity, riding with him would be optimal. Within common sense and her aversion towards Cardio’s ‘curse,’ riding with him was a foolish, if not dangerous, idea. She soon realized that this pause was problematic, especially to a human who fill such gaps with words such as ‘umm,’ or ‘uh.’ Even eatharyians often had their patience tested by her. “One moment please…”

Foolishly, she opened the magic eight ball app. Was she really about to put her safety, her decision, her desperate ‘adventure,’ and above all her agency into the hands of randomly generated fate?

She tapped the screen: ‘As I see it, Yes.’

She looked up at the man, “Yes- Yes, sir, I would appreciate a ride.” Was that polite enough? Ordinarily, she had no pressure to be polite, and so, it often alluded her, even when she actively tried.

The Man nodded “Alright hop into the passenger seat doors unlock watch your step” the inside of truck had wear and tear like the outside the inside was black with black leather seats that had started to fade with scuffs on the dash the cup holders were held with one holding a white styrofoam cup in it and the gear shifter had an eight ball cover on it. A green pine tree hung from the mirror. There was also a small doorway that leads into the back were a tiny bed was built next to it and in the wall was a tiny cabinet and mini fridge. The man grabbed a small beat-up green and white bag that said ‘red man chewing tobacco’ on it with a native American picture. After putting some in his mouth he sealed the back and tossed it on the dash and after she had shut the door he started up the truck and headed down the dirt road to town.

The step up to the seat presented something of a challenge, but after one failed attempt to hop up, she managed it. Myxuki buckled her seatbelt and gave the cabin a look around. It took her a moment to remind herself to utter a quiet, “...Thank you.” The eight ball cover caught her eye. A believer in fate might call it out as a sign, but for her, it was a meaningless, though amusing, coincidence.

He nodded grabbing the cup spitting into it before putting it back “No problem miss so anywhere, in particular, you want me to drop you off at in town?” he said his talk slightly hindered but not much a piece of lip stuck out now probably what he had put in his mouth earlier. Now in the cab, she could see he also was wearing a pair of worn out blue jeans with a large gold belt buckle with a bull skull on it and a pair of beat up worn down brown cowboy boots.

“I’m heading to [The Tired Artist]. For some coffee.” Truthfully, it was the only cafe that she was familiar with. “I… have a question.” She might as well get this out of the way. And, it may segue into a conversation? Likely short-lived, but it was surely better than conversational silence for the driver.

He shifted as he nodded looking over at her for a second “Sure ask away little lady.” He shifted again the truck shifting and rumbling at it changed gears quickly.

Curiosity easily overrode any embarrassment for asking the question, “It will surely sound silly to you; what did you spit into the cup?”

He looked over at before reaching forward to grab the small bag from earlier as he spoke “it’s the juice from my chewing tobacco” he said moving to hand her to pack so she can look at it.

The scanned the package with an unusual amount of interest, turning it over expecting more information but finding one another logo. She did recognize ‘tobacco.’ from the front, and based on the warning at the bottom stating that’ this product is not a safe alternative to cigarettes’ it has a similar purpose, and therefore, similar risks. She placed the pouch back on the dashboard, where it had been.

He grabbed his cup spit some more before saying “It’s not safe to swallow the juices from the leaves so you spit it out,” placing the cup back in the cup holder.

She nodded in order to acknowledge him but had no follow-up. It only occurred to her that she should at least attempt to converse normally a little while afterward, but by then he asked a question in turn.

He turned onto an actual road the one that would lead basically straight to Cardio afterward he spoke: “So what’s your name, little lady.”

"Myxuki. What’s yours?” She asked in response.

He took a second focusing on the gear shifting on the truck before answering “Name’s Moore.”

She nodded slowly, “It’s… nice to meet you.” Such a hollow response of a hollow phrase, but what more did she have to say? Questions were her only reliable simple conversational tool, and it would quickly be exhausted. ‘Where are you going?’ ‘Tell me something about yourself?’ ‘Do you like your job?’ little trivial bits of information, but they ultimately are no better than ‘Isn’t the weather nice?’ ‘What’s up?’ ‘How are you?’

‘What is your view on religion?’ ‘What do you think of the current political state?’ ‘What is your dream in life?’ those are so daunting for small talk with a stranger, and despite her best efforts an inescapable cultural divide also stood in her way.

Such a major roadblock, and so early in her ‘adventure.’ How effortlessly the likes of Derek and Lylith make conversation… How content they are to chat about nothing of substance...

The man nodded as they entered the outskirts of town, “Thanks, you ain’t to bad yourself, little lady,” he said chuckling a little.

She couldn’t help but wonder if Moore’s response was genuine, or just his own attempt at being polite and continuing the conversation. The latter seemed less likely, but it would be impossible to know.

Moore drove her to the cafe and dropped her off tipping his hat he said goodbye and wished her a good day.