Alternatively: uncensored final draft here.
Dark night precipitated a blanket of white, sheet-like moisture. Water could be squeezed out of air.
B stamped his feet with his hands deep in his pockets, his nose red from the cold. His face was pale to the point of tinting blue.
A said, "I think the first order of business should be getting you proper clothes." Walking over, he handed B one of two steaming cups of coffee.
"This weather could kill. No wind, no rain, no snow, suddenly no leaves on the trees either, and the river frozen over. Air's suffocating."
"Where is the car?" A asked, quietly considering whether to offer B his own clothes. But as soon as the thought formed, even he felt he should laugh at himself.
"Not far up ahead. Past this block there's a used car lot."
Not many people were in the streets, and even pigeons seemed reluctant to coo at this time on a winter's morning. A bought hotdogs from a stand, taking comfort from the brief heat.
They walked shoulder to shoulder, B digging his face in. A kept his hands in his coat pockets, his eyes squinting ahead. The first rays of daylight seeped between buildings onto the street like obscure fresh hope.
"There it is," B ran ahead.
A subconsciously smiled at his back, picking up speed as well.
Like all used car lots, this one, too, was packed with mixed brands of all types. The boss was likely still sleeping in; only a blanket-bundled teenage boy crouched in a corner chair.
"Which one?" A asked, eyeing the approaching boy.
"Looking for a car, mister?" The boy's attitude was lukewarm.
"Right here," B pointed to a white '67 Chevy Impala.
"How much?" A asked.
"Eight grand, limited edition modified, ready to go," was the boy's apathetic answer.
"Do you take checks?"
"I'll have to check up with Boss for that." The boy hobbled toward the white shack in the far back.
A nodded. B was leaning against the car, waving him over. A stepped closer and leaned down for inspection.
"Isn't it a beauty?"
"It's not exactly cheap."
"Oh come on. Just imagine us, driving all the way to Denver."
A straightened and settled next to B, sighing, "Like two desperate bandits."
"Don't give me that. Just look at it like I'm borrowing from you. I can earn it back all in one night if I'm lucky." His eyes shone as he looked at A, as if abruptly having regained sobriety, or as if a pet heard its owner's return from the rattling of a door handle. "But I do enjoy your metaphor." His laugh was guiltless; dismantling A always amused him like nothing else could.
The boss was a beefy man, wobbling toward them in a leather overcoat pulled over pajamas. His face was frozen red, and he was not thrilled to be pulled up this early. "So you finally gonna buy. But you do this to me again at this hour next time and I ain't selling." He barked at B, full of air, and eyeballed A. "Looks like you found a moneybag."
"Oh yeah. I found a private bank," B grinned as he signed the contract.
"Congratulations, you may now travel across the world in this baby." He handed the keys to A, casting a long and meaningful look that made the latter uncomfortable. A escaped by dodging into the driver's seat.
B hopped in the passenger side, let out a long sigh, and drummed the glove compartment in satisfaction. He ardently turned to A: "I don't think you're as bad anymore."
A twitched a lip. "Settle down."
"To Denver!"
-
B awoke with his teeth chattering. Peeping out the window showed they were on some interstate.
"How long have I slept?" He straightened, noticing A's coat covering him like a blanket.
"Mh," A checked his watch. "It's almost three now, so probably eight hours."
"Wanna switch?"
"No, I'm good."
"Don't tell me the heater's broken," B ran his hand over a vent. "Fuck."
Winter, Tropic of Capricorn, short days, long nights.
B put up his feet against the windshield, pressing his forehead against the misted passenger window as he gazed out.
A threw a map at him. "Check where we are. I'm not familiar with these parts."
"Looks like rain." B pulled out a blunt, took a drag, and offered it to A's lip. The latter twisted his head away and B laughed, dragging a finger across A's neck as he retracted. "You should, just so you don't fall asleep and kill us both."
"A, look outside. You really should take a good fucking look outside. You never would seriously look, it's like you're fucking scared. Scared shitless that if you ever do look closely enough, you'll see or realize something that'll kill you. But some things you should still see whether you live or die.
"When I walked out the door yesterday, a leaf landed squarely on my head. My favorite black pepper sauce sold out, so I bought cigs at the supermarket instead. They had a lottery thing going on and I hit the jack for three grand. I put the claim ticket in my pants pocket, stocked up on more cigs and weed, and then ran into my ex. Said he wanted to fuck. There was a dead dog frozen outside my building, it looked so peaceful. When I unlocked the door, for some reason I thought of you.
"Of course he later took my pants, my money, and my cigs, though he didn't touch the weed. But I'm not bereft, because, as I told him, I'm leaving, I'm going away, in my Impala, with that person standing at the door.
"It is raining now, never mind all that sunshine this morning. You tell me whether that's a good omen or bad.
"New York, Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Kansas, I-90, straight on. AC/DC, Bon Jovi, Survivor, Warrant, Kansas, all the way west. Thunderstorm, lightning, hail, heaven, hell.
"I'm gonna tune in, A. Holler when we're in Denver."
A turned on the headlights as evening sky drained through the windshield. Gray road met gray sky at vision's edge; dry grass blew.
White Impala along I-90, little brother in tow. He would take them home to a dead father, to bury him home.
Everything tasted surreal, as none of this belonged in his regular life. But strangely, all of this reignited in him an agitation he hadn't felt in too long. Like a youth first opening the door to adventure.
-
A pulled up to a motel and shook B awake. The effect of marijuana had long since expired, and he was in a sluggish daze.
"Out," he had to explain, "We're staying here tonight."
B got in the shower. A stepped out alone, feeling the night breeze. No stars tonight.
He paused at the door, watching a neon sign blinking away like a Christmas light. The longer he lived, the more he felt his past outweighed his future. The smallest thing could act as a trigger for remembrance, for good or for bad. Most of the time, as if hitting pause on a tape recorder, he could put an end to this ceaseless rewinding with a click of a button; nostalgia, after all, tended to kill motivation. But that wasn't what unnerved A.
For him, memory placed color before image, image before sound, sound before circumstance, and the longer he lived, the less he remembered of what actually had happened. All that remained were ceaseless colors and jagged emotions.
So when he watched that neon light blinking red now, for some reason, all he could think of was the color white. Why white? He tried to remember. He couldn't nail down what was so affectionately familiar about this. Sometimes it felt like he had lived his life many times over, each segment an old movie or an actor whose name he could not remember.
"Sir, do you need something?" The motel manager came, noticing he had been lingering for quite long.
A focused. "Do you sell cigarettes?"
"This way," he nodded, showing him to the front desk.
"I'll take five packs. Also, do you happen to have any thicker jackets that I could buy? Doesn't have to be new. We were just ill-prepared for this weather."
The manager eyed his fine topcoat, considered for a bit and muttered, "I do, but..."
"I can offer two hundred dollars, if you're willing."
"One sec." He hurriedly retrieved an old army jacket from the staff closet.
A examined the fabric, frowning at the smell of heavy dust. But he paid anyway and left with the jacket under his arm. When he passed the parking lot, he retrieved sandwiches that he had bought earlier at a gas station and tossed in the extra cigarettes.
When he returned to their room, B was leaning against the headrest on the bed, watching reruns of a football game. He had the volume turned way up, as if the room was full of people with beer and popcorn cheering all over his face.
A hung up his coat and tossed him the food and cigarettes, which B caught. "You're so sweet. You were gone for so long I thought you must've gone looking for special service." He gave a heartless laugh.
A ignored him and stripped into the shower. When he returned, B was smoking on his back, motionless as if in deep thought. His left hand supported the ashtray over his abdomen, his right hand held the cigarette fixed. The television blasted presidential campaign ads, and the roomful of football fans seemed to now engage in political debate.
A picked up the remote and turned down the volume. B said, "You can switch it off."
The sudden silence that befell made the room seem intolerably cramped. A leaned against the bed, the map in his hands making rustling sounds. B coughed, shaking soot off his smoke.
"We're in Ohio now. Should be able to get there by noon the day after tomorrow, if everything goes smoothly."
"How did he die?"
A did not expect that he would ask.
"I hear he was in the backyard one day with his bottle, simply fainted, and never got up again. The doctors said it could have been a stroke, or could have been his heart. At his age it could have been anything."
B nodded.
A turned to study him. He still seemed deep in thought, his profile sharply silhouetted by streetlight through the window, his expression cryptic. The spark at the end of his cigarette shimmered. He blew a long trail of smoke.
"I always took him for dead. And now that he finally is dead, I keep thinking he's still alive." B stared at the dark TV screen, curling up one leg.
"Yeah."
"Have you gone back since, A?"
"A few times, never for too long. Gave him some money to buy alcohol, since that really was his one hobby."
"What did he look like? I mean, had he changed?"
"Not too different, just older."
"Huh. In my mind, he's either the way I remember when I left - ripped, heavy-fisted, drunken-red in the face - or completely different from anything I can associate with him, an old wrinkled heap I'd never recognize."
"He really was old, but you could still see a shadow of what he was. An irritable youth fatally trapped in an aging body. Alcohol must have destroyed his brain after all these years; he kept confusing me for you the last few times. 'B, have you seen A?' Later still, I finally realized he thought we were the same person. This son was called B when younger, but grew up to be called A."
B laughed lightly. "I don't like lying here with you, chatting up the past as if we're the most intimately close siblings in the world."
"Siblings deep in feud are allowed to chat up the past, too."
B laughed once more, rolled over, and burrowed into the sheets.
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
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