Eric awoke from a nap in the back seat of Nick’s new Chevy Impala and listened to Nick and Bernie bickering. They were only halfway on their journey to Austin, and the miles had taken a heavy toll. He found he was not refreshed by his nap and greatly regretted putting together this road trip, most especially including motor-mouth Bernie in the mix.
“Could we have quiet for a while?” Nick asked.
“What did I tell you?” Bernie said after maybe a minute of silence. “Denver in 300 miles.”
Eric waited for Nick to explode, but a tense silence followed. Then Eric replayed what he’d heard. He sat up and looked out the windows at a flat landscape devoid of landmarks. “Where are we?”
“Well, sleeping beauty returns from the dead,” Bernie crowed. “We’re through Hays, Kansas, right on schedule.”
Eric couldn’t believe his ears. “How’d we get off of I-35?”
“We didn’t. We’re still on it.”
“Hays is not on I-35.” Eric struggled to contain his anger.
“What, you’ve got a map in your head?” Bernie twisted around and looked at Eric with the same smug expression that he remembered and hated from thirty years ago.
“I do, you asshole. What’s so fucking hard about staying on the same road?”
“We are on the same road, and fuck you!”
“I-35 goes north and south, and I-70 goes east and west. Different directions, two roads.”
“We haven’t changed roads! Denver is on the way to Austin.”
“Yeah, if you live in Seattle. Find somewhere to turn around, Nick.”
“What the fuck is going on?”
“I bet you a thousand bucks we’re on the right road,” Bernie said.
“You’re on!” Eric stuck out his hand. “Let’s shake on it.”
“Here comes an exit. Do I take it?”
“No!” Bernie barked. To Eric he said, “If you’re so sure, how about a ten thousand dollar bet?”
“All right!” Eric pushed his hand closer to Bernie.
He looked at the hand with disdain. “You don’t have ten thousand to pay me.”
“Oh, yes, I do.”
Bernie put his hands in his armpits, but his face retained its supreme confidence.
“We missed that exit,” Nick said.
Bernie looked again at the proffered hand. “Now, look here…” Doubt crossed his face for the first time. He was still wearing a Milwaukee Brewers baseball cap and used it to cover his eyes. Eric imagined the frenetic calculations going on inside his thick skull.
“Let’s shake, first, on the ten thousand,” Eric said, anxious to pin Bernie down.
“You’re seriously betting ten thousand dollars that Denver is not on I-70?”
“No! I’m betting that we’ll never get to Austin on this road.”
“That’s not our bet,” Bernie said calmly. “The bet is that Denver is on I-70.”
“We’re going to Austin. Who the fuck cares about Denver?”
“Denver is on the way to Austin.”
“Then bet on it.”
“Who’s got the map?” Nick asked with surprising calmness.
“I do. That’s why I’m sure I’m right.” Bernie turned back around and fished the road atlas from under his seat. He placed it on his lap and looked at the road ahead. Eric settled back against the back seat, shaking his head.
“Look at the map,” Nick snarled. Bernie stared straight ahead. A sign for a rest area appeared. Nick turned off the car’s cruise control, and the car started to slow down.
“We’re on the right road.” The car continued to slow. “Goddammit, Eric! We were going along just fine until you woke up. Keep going Nick, or we’ll never get there.”
Nick slowed further and pulled into the rest area. He pulled into the first space he encountered. “Let me see that atlas.” Bernie put his hands back in his armpits. “Asshole!”
“We’re on the right road!”
“Shut the fuck up, Bernie.” Nick uttered this quietly, but his face betrayed the extreme effort he was exerting to keep from grabbing Bernie by the throat. “If you utter one more syllable I will rip your tongue out of your mouth.”
“Why aren’t we moving?”
“Do you not hear? Does your tongue not connect to your ears?”
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you.”
Nick delivered a backhand chop to Bernie’s ample gut. He buckled, and the seat belt pulled his body right. The Brewers cap was finally dislodged, and the side of his head hit the side window. He did this without uttering anything more that an ooff and moaned softly once he’d stopped bouncing around.
Nick retrieved the atlas and flipped through the pages to locate the relevant map. Eric thought to offer his assistance but decided against it. He knew it was best to let Nick sort out his rage. They’d been co-workers for the past ten years at Best Brewery, but their association stretched back to the Phi Gamma Fraternity at Wisconsin Falls University. Nick was a stable family man, a grandpa, his wild side semi-successfully subdued, but under this type of provocation?
“Where are we going again?” Nick asked.
“Texas,” said Eric. “We’re in Kansas now.”
Bernie was a frat brother, too. Phi Gam was a jock fraternity; Eric was on the basketball team, and Nick was a wrestler. Bernie was a fan only, although he passed himself off as a member of the football team whenever he could. He had the build of a lineman but was uncoordinated and lacked the necessary drive. He regarded himself an expert on every sport, though, and was very free with advice.
The idea for the trip had sprouted magically and gone so wrong. An old girlfriend, now living in Austin, had invited Eric to come down for the SXSW festival, promising a good time. He’d eagerly accepted, but after a few more phone calls it was clear that he would be part of a circle of old friends; she wasn’t offering a return to her bed. He’d complained to Nick, who said he’d always wanted to attend the famous music festival. He became even more avid when he heard the Eagles would be headlining the festival. They’d reminisced about epic road trips in their college years, and Nick got his wife’s blessing for a men-only weekend. Nick and Eric started making preparations, then Eric ran into Bernie in the downtown mall. He mentioned that he and Nick were going to the music festival and blurted out an invitation to join them. It was rote friendliness. He never thought Bernie would accept.
Abandoning the search for the relevant state map Nick studied the map of the Interstate system at the front of the atlas. “You’re a fucking idiot, Bernie.” He tucked the atlas into the space between his seat and the console and opened the door. “I need to piss.”
“I do, too,” Bernie said. “Drive up closer to the bathrooms.”
“Nope. Walk. Do you good.”
Eric left the back seat and joined Nick beside the car. They waited a moment and then turned towards the bathrooms. They heard the other car door open. Nick stopped, pointed the keys at the car and locked the doors when Bernie slammed shut his door.
He lumbered their way. “You guys are starting to piss me off.”
“About time you knew the feeling,” Eric said.
“It’s half a mile to the restrooms. Why walk that far?”
“You could use the exercise,” Nick said.
Bernie ignored this. “Are you going to apologize?”
“Are you going to shut the fuck up?”
“You punched me, you asshole.”
“My question remains unanswered.” Nick stopped walking, faced Bernie, and assumed a fighter’s stance.
“What’s wrong with you?” Bernie back-pedaled several steps.
“A nod will suffice. Otherwise, I will beat you until shit runs out your eyes.” Bernie opened his mouth to speak. Nick advanced a step. Bernie nodded once, then quickly several times. Nick remained poised to strike for a moment before straightening and slapping Eric, too hard, on the shoulder blade. “Harder than it used to be.”
“What is?” asked Eric, flexing his shoulder.
“Road trips. Back’s killing me.”
“It’s good to stretch the legs.”
They resumed their walk to the bathroom with Bernie trailing. He glared at their backs and silently swore revenge, something elaborate that would keep his mind engaged for the remainder of the trip. It was clear that his fraternity banter was unwelcome. Why had he been invited if not to amuse everyone over the many miles? Like he needed to be cooped up with these two losers for four days. Fisticuffs were far out of line. Nick had been a brawler in college, but sucker-punching a brother this many years on?
Bernie’s gut still ached after he relieved himself, and his head was throbbing. There was stiffness in his neck, too. He probably needed to see his chiropractor for an adjustment. They were walking faster than he was and periodically stopped to stretch their backs and legs. What were they up to? He wondered if they intended to ditch him in this rest area and quickened his pace to close the gap between them.
Nick unlocked the car. Eric opened a rear door, bent over and reappeared a moment later. Nick hit the button to relock the car’s doors, and they started walking towards a couple of picnic tables in a shaded, grassy area. After a moment’s uncertainty Bernie walked towards them, then realized they were going to smoke pot. Idiots! Now he’d have to insist on driving. He returned to and leaned against the car.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Nick asked as Eric took a leather pouch from his pocket and sat at the picnic table.
“I’m going out of my mind in that back seat. But, you don’t have to smoke, if you’re worried about driving.”
“Might help the situation at this point.”
“You think Bernie really gets car sick in the back seat?”
“I ain’t intending to find out.”
“I could drive, you know, give you a break.”
“Nobody drives my new car but me.”
“Nothing for me to do but get stoned, then.” Eric packed a pinch into the pipe, sparked the lighter, inhaled deeply and held it as long as he could. “Want some?” He offered the pipe.
Nick took a moment to reconnoitre the surroundings. He saw Bernie staring at them from the car and wondered why the alarm wasn’t triggered by his mass on the fender. Better get that checked out.
Nick returned to the task and soon was enjoying his high. Welcome, but he’d not be able to keep driving much longer. For many miles he’d been aware of fatigue. He hadn’t slept well last night due to excitement about travel and remembering the riotous trips they’d taken in college. This trip was much to the contrary. He was stiff everywhere. His jaw ached, too, and he attributed that to the clenching which he’d started within the first hour. He really was too old to be putting up with a shithead like Bernie.
“Why’d you invite him?”
“I never thought he’d accept.”
“You feel sorry for him or something?”
“It was a mistake! Okay?”
Nick took a moment to consider escape possibilities. Prospects didn’t look good. “We’ll never make the Eagles show tonight, and that’s the only act I really wanted to see.”
“Yeah, I know. Damn. I was hoping we’d have as much fun as when we drove all night to see them in Atlanta.”
“Great time. How many went with us? Ten?”
“At least. The party van was full. You let other people drive your van.”
“It’s a brand new car!” Nick regretted his tone immediately. When Eric didn’t react, he asked, “Think Bernie’s bullshitting about selling his business for millions?”
“I remember reading something in the business section.”
“Make him pay for a motel room if he’s so rich.”
“I know one thing. I ain’t sharing a room with him or you.”
“Three rooms sounds like overkill.”
“You snore, Nick. Always have. Bunk with him. Serve him right.”
“I think he’d pull something in the middle of the night. You know, get even for the punch. He pulled some real dickhead shit at Phi Gam.”
“I remember.”
As the minutes ticked away, Bernie became more aware of the heat radiating off the pavement. He was hatless and afraid of sunburn on the top of his head. He was awfully thin up there. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to arrange it to the best advantage.
Maybe he should join them. He hadn’t been stoned for at least thirty years and was nearly undone when Eric suggested that they smoke pot in the car. He couldn’t believe people their age got high. Fortunately, Nick forbade that, worried about damage to the upholstery of his new car.
Bernie had hoped to get reacquainted with them. He needed more outside interests. Since he’d sold his business, he’d had little to do other than watch games on TV or attend them in person, whenever he could convince somebody to go with him.
Maybe the doors weren’t locked. Bernie hadn’t checked, but he remembered that Nick had pointed the keys at the car one last time before walking away. He walked the few paces to the passenger door and pulled the handle. The car’s alarm started yelping. There, that should prompt some action.
“Time to go.” Nick stepped away from the picnic table.
Eric checked to make sure he had everything in the pouch and hurried to catch up with Nick. “Why don’t you turn off the alarm?”
“I hope it’s pissing him off.”
“It’s attracting attention.”
Nick fished his keys from his pocket and unlocked the car. Bernie opened the door and retrieved his hat. He watched them approach. He could feel heat from the car’s interior against his back. It was going to be unbearable in there. The heat, the punch, the unbroken landscape and the tension rising in his stomach from the imminent confrontation over who would drive: puking in the car could follow. Good. Partial payback for that punch.
Bernie hurried to the driver’s side and opened the door. “I’m driving.”
“I drive.” Nick maintained a beeline for the driver’s side. “And the same rules apply. No talking.”
Bernie folded his arms across his chest and stood blocking the driver’s seat. “You’re stoned. In no condition to drive.”
“I decide who drives my car.”
They stood just out of arms’ reach of each other, though Bernie, taller, might have landed an off-balance blow. Neither seemed in any hurry to escalate the situation. Eric wondered how long they’d stand in the hot sun. Under normal circumstances Nick mellowed out nicely after smoking pot, but these weren’t normal circumstances.
Eric remembered a similar scene in the fraternity’s parking lot, a kegger after the football team had defeated the conference rival. Words were exchanged, poses adopted. He didn’t remember exactly what happened next, but in the end both had broken bones, Nick’s wrist and Bernie’s nose. “Hey, remember that time I took you two to the emergency room with broken bones? When we won the conference in football?”
“I remember,” Bernie said. “Took you forever to get to there. I had to have a transfusion I lost so much blood.”
“Never did get all the stains out of the upholstery. You were in the back seat that day.”
“That’s the last time I was in a back seat.”
Nick chuckled. “Vaguely. But I do remember missing the start of the wrestling calendar because I was still in a cast. Never did really recover, and my senior year, too. Shoulda tasted more glory than I did.” He gave his keys to Bernie. “Okay, you drive. No talking though. That rule still holds.”
Nick climbed into the rear seat, and Eric took shotgun. Bernie started the car and took his time to adjust the seat. They had all the car doors open, and the air conditioner started to blow cooled air into the interior. Bernie undid the seat belt, turned his body, bent over and vomited onto the pavement.
“Ah, Jesus.” Nick closed his door.
Eric said, “I thought you had to be moving to get car sick.”
Bernie straightened up and situated himself again in the driver’s seat. “There. That’s out of the way. Where’s that bottle of water?”
Nick handed the water bottle to Bernie. “Feels hot.”
“It’ll work. Just rinsing.” He swished water around his mouth and spit it into the parking lot.
“Sorry about the gut-punch.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Get us pointed in the right direction and stop at a motel. I’ve been in this car too long.”
“Yeah. I’ll pay for the rooms, since I got us lost. And my vote would be to head back to Milwaukee tomorrow.”
Eric made it unanimous.