They had been paired by an app called Road Trip, which billed itself as “a non-romantic matching service to take (both of) you from Point A to Point B.” Jeffrey had highlighted the clean condition of his car and his willingness to do most of the driving. Miriam’s profile fretted over “two unwieldy suitcases” but still rated herself “great company.” When she got in his car, she shook his hand and told him that she had lied about her age, obviously. She was fifty-six, sun-damaged in the skin around her eyes. She said she had so much reading for work but the books she had with her hardly suited a registered nurse: one on black magic, a biography of Mary Baker Eddy, Five Sacred Cows to Slay Before Breakfast. She claimed that she had more than one personality but fewer than two. She called basic things “inside information,” like when he told her the time or temperature. When he stopped for food and asked what she wanted, she closed her eyes and sighed. “I can’t say,” she said. “I mean, I could say but then I wouldn’t want it. I believe in the bold repudiation of anything prescriptive.” Her shoes came off during the next segment of the drive. The chicken chipotle melt delighted her. Jeffrey, who was twenty-six, made it from Damascus to Greencastle in a state of amusement, and to Shippensburg in one of denial, but by Duncansville he was in love.
©2020 Ben Greenman/Stupid Ideas
No comments:
Post a Comment