830 A Far Drive


    The elevator ride back down to the snow, cold, and harshness of the outdoors was both short and evesting. Amanda was a perpetual music box of sniffles and snorts, long and often enough that she pretty much became a part of the ambiance.


    Whirring, creaking, dinging, and then somewhere between the three or even preceding them all, Amanda took it away, ying the sickly, infectious song of her people.


    We stepped out into the lobby, and shambling a little more, spilled out into the outside world away from the safety and refuge of warming heaters, wooly nkets, and ginger tea. The breeze seemed breezier than I remembered, the cold a little colder; as if Mother Nature had sensed a particrly stubborn individual and was attempting to dissuade her from a single step more.


    It’s only too bad Amanda wasn’t too fluent inmon sense. Ask anyone else in her current condition to take a walk around the block, and they’ll tell you the world is a cruel and unloving ce before retreating back into their forever shell. I’d know. I’d be one of them.


    Not Amanda, though. No, the girl came dressed for an all-out war with the human condition.


    Tactical snow boots, wool-ted pants, a fleeced white coat so heavy on theyers that even the Michelin Man’s sweating. She even had a little sling bag she was carrying around for some reason. And really, even with the sharpest eyes, she was practically unrecognizable save for the slightest gleam of hazel peeking through the gap between her pleated red scarf and beanie hat.


    With a fluttering streak of bright blond, I watched her figure enter the frigid vista of scarlet skies and peppering whites, frostedmp posts acting like blurred beacons guiding her every step… which apparently was theplete opposite way of where I thought we were going.


    “Um, the sidewalk’s this way,” I pointed out, literally pointing in my direction after noticing her footprints trailing in the path of the parking lot. “Where are you going?”


    “I know,” She said so confidently that I almost believed there was actually a super secret shortcut I didn’t know about. “But you didn’t park your bike on the sidewalk, did you? That’s bad, you know. You can get towed for that.”


    .....


    I felt my arm drop back down like a b of ice. “You said you just wanted to stroll around.”


    “In the literal backyard of my apartment?” Amanda said, rolling her head instead since I couldn’t see her roll her eyes. “I must have gone around the block at least a thousand times already since I moved here. I might as well pace around my room in that case. No, c’mon, let’s go take our stroll somewhere else, alright?”


    At this point, I shouldn’t even be surprised anymore. When it came to anything that had to do with her in some way shape or form, there was always a fine print I’ll only find out at the veryst second.


    “Come on…” she pleaded,ing over and tugging me forward herself. “You did also promise me a ride on your bike.”


    “No, I did not.”


    “I texted you.”


    “I didn’t promise.”


    “You responded!”


    “I did not promise.”


    “Well, it was sort of a given anyway… right?” she batted her eyes, her only means of offense against me dded in her armor. “But I mean… hey… if you really don’t feel like keeping your promises, then I guess…”


    I sighed, and with it, dissipated thest remaining sliver of my naivete.


    “Where are we going?”


    Amanda’s gaze lit up, glimmering a smile that was undoubtedly showing. Y’know, I’m pretty sure emotional maniption was like a vition of human rights. I’m almost certain about that.


    This woman’s a criminal a hundred times over by this point.


    “Just keep to the left,” she instructed. The master puppeteer working my strings. “I’ll let you know when to stop.”


    “Keep to the – ?” I whirled around at her. “What kind of directions are those?”


    “The surprising kind,” she replied, her muffled voice sounding as mischievous as ever. “Keep left, and don’t stop ’till I say so., alright?”


    And so, just exactly as she had wished and willed for, Amanda got her long-awaited joyride – whisking through thete evening traffic of misty beam lights and moisty monoxide gasses.


    As ordered, I drove us westbound, further and further, taking turns on whims and lingering on long stretches all the same. It was a long while before we eventually wound up on a set of roads that neither she nor I could consider familiar, but even then, I still didn’t hear a word from her.


    I was starting to suspect she just wanted to enjoy a never ending ride… from what I could surmise angling my rearview mirror. Not even Ash was as eager as she was feeling the wind in her hair, relishing the winding scenery, clinging to me close as close can be, and resting contently.


    “We’re here,” she suddenly spoke up, lifting her head and taking a surveying, approving nce. “Taa-daa, surprise!”


    “Here?” I asked, looking back at the distant gleam of the city through the rearview. “You sure?”


    “Sure I’m sure.”


    “Ever been here before?”


    “Mmm, more or less, yes. But definitely never with you,” She rested again on me, sniveling in a breath. “That makes it pretty much perfect.”


    Amanda started coughing again, a longsting fit this time; gripping even tighter around the waist, and when it ended and she started speaking again, she sounded wearier and gruffer.


    “Find us a ce to park so we can finally stretch our legs,” she said. “That is unless you’d rather cruise than walk now. I won’t beining either way.”


    “Gas prices say otherwise,” I muttered. “Not like we’ll be walking long anyway, right?”


    Before she could answer, Amanda burst into another bout of coughing. This time, however, I couldn’t help but doubt the authenticity of those bizarre throat noisesing out of her.


    Wherever Amanda had us venturing in seemed quite detached from the mor and bustle of city life; a quaint, quiet little ce with nary a neon billboard or sparkling skyscraper in sight.


    “Park there,” she spoke up again, leaning over and pointing it out for me. “The sidewalk, you’re fine there.”


    “Won’t I get towed for that?”


    “Not here,” she said. “Trust me.”


    I decided to take her word for it, and promptly swerved us over to the vacant patch in the sidewalk. Amanda hopped down after me, jelly legs wobbling a little, and spiking up my concern which she immediately caught in my eye.


    “Just fine, I’m fine,” she said, hopping steadily up and down in a show of assurance. “All your tea, porridge, and mothering are finally kicking in. I’m actually feeling a lot better than before.”


    “Why is it that they all always say that?” I wondered aloud. “And why is it that it’s always never the case, huh? Have you noticed that?”


    “Okay, look, if I start feeling queasy, you have my expressed permission to drag me straight back home – even if I kick and scream all the way through, alright? Show no mercy. Now,e on…” Amanda took me by the hand, leading ahead but lingering close enough by my side. “...let us find out just where my stubbornness gets me to, hm?”


    She chuckled at herself.


    “Hopefully not a hospital bed.”


    There was barely anybody around to be seen across the first stretch of road we overcame, with only the stray revving of vehicles here and there passing us by to asionally break the stagnation.


    “So this ce,” I said, as she rounded us over a corner to another deste stretch. “Perfect. How exactly?”


    Genuinely, I was curious to know. Because when I hear the word ‘walk’ and ‘Amanda’ anywhere within the same sentence with a ringing sentiment of ‘perfect’, I start picturing spectacr spectacles, bombastic bombardments of bewildering bewilderment that involves bike chases, swooping helicopters, and probably a shoot out or two somewhere in between.


    But from what I was seeing the more I stared around, passing small shops, and rusted shutters, this entire area really, truly seemed to be just a sleepy, mellow little town of no particr particrities whatsoever.


    “It just is,” she replied, lingering her gaze at dusted windows of an antique shop. “Why, you don’t agree?”


    “I don’t know yet what I’m agreeing to.”


    “So suspicious,” she shook her head at me, a small cough briefly swelling her scarf. “You don’t trust me to pick our locales?”


    “Then why this particr locale out of everything else?”


    “Because it’s perfect.”


    I nced over at her, and Amanda was still simply soaking in the sights, her eyes twinkling with the red of the skies, then she shifted her gaze toward me and that’s when they started twinkling with something a bit more nefarious – once again, always only at thest second a fine print to reveal.


    “Perfect, sure, alright,” I said, throwing us all the way back to the original question. “What’s the catch?”


    Masked by a long, almost caressing breeze of the wind, carrying her voice so light and tender, I finally heard my answer. And everything started sounding exactly as she had meant it.


    Just perfect.


    “This is the ce where I grew up,” she said.