Branson 5: A Short Story

From somewhere in the back seat of the Beamer came the muffled sounds of laughter, somehow carried on the wind, complements of the slightly lowered passenger side window. I turned around to see what was going on, but was instead blocked from the view by a large multi-colored blanket with several lumps underneath it. I honestly didn’t want to know, so I turned back around. The radio was playing “Dude Looks Like a Lady,” and I began to hum along as we passed a sign that said, “Branson 20.” I looked at the clock on the dashboard and blinked when I saw that it read 3:20. It seemed so much later than that, I thought, as I looked across at Nadia, who was driving while only using her left hand. I wanted to tell her how much that scared me (that and the fact that she was driving nine miles over the speed limit), but I didn’t want to seem like a little girl, afraid of her own shadow.

I was startled from my thoughts by more backseat noise. I knew what was going on by this point, but I wasn’t about to interrupt. I remembered similar trips when I would be in the backseat, under that multi-colored blanket, and, ironically, I wasn’t jealous at all. What were their names again? Anyway, I knew when we got to Branson that I would be a free man. It was my little secret. I looked down at myself, at the black stretchy shirt I used to wear to yoga class, and the tight jeans that were a little too tight, but I would never admit to it, so I sucked it in my relatively flat stomach every time I put them on. When we got to Branson I was going to have to get some new jeans, or maybe even some yoga pants to go with my top. Nadia was smoking those menthol cigarettes I hated so much, the stench of them ironic on her sweet lips. I should know.

The mile markers flew past seemingly as quick as dominoes crashing to the floor, one by one, blurring in my periphery as I stared straight ahead. “Branson 10” came into view on the left, followed by “Ozark 37.” I thought I remembered something about the Ozarks being a mountain chain, but a place too. Maybe I would visit it someday, once I rid myself of my tallow baggage. I heard the blanket shift in the back seat, and a curly, brunette head emerged from beneath it. It was my sister, Jeannie, who was five years younger than me, but acted like she was ten years younger. Her laugh was the muffled one I had heard earlier that I tried to ignore. She was dressed identically to me, except her jeans fit just fine, and her butt looked better in them than mine did. Not that I was keeping score or anything, but she was one of the major reasons Branson would be my last stop.

“Branson 5” appeared just off of the right-side shoulder of the road, and I felt us slowing down. Mere steps past the sign, Nadia pulled off of the highway without signalling. A young guy in a red Corvette blew past and flipped us the bird at the same time.

“Get out,” Nadia told me in her Russian accent, so it sounded like “Getch ouk.” I looked over at her, mildly surprised, a smile ready on my lips, but the line of her mouth spoke volumes. She wasn’t kidding.

“What?” was the only thing I could say in response, as the blanket shifted and Jeannie came all the way out, intent on listening to our conversation. The others stayed under the blanket, still oblivious to the world. The clock on the dashboard read 3:36, and I had a premonition the time would be important. That’s when Nadia leaned over me and opened my door with one skinny arm, while the other still held her cigarette.

“I’m done with you,” she replied, having already made her point.

“Why?” I managed to get out, sticking with my one syllable answers, that were also questions.

But I already knew why. It was because of so many things that had added up over the years. And Jeannie knew too, because she turned away from me. The sun was really low in the sky, I realized, lower than it had any business to be in Missouri that time of year. That’s when I knew that Nadia was right. It had been over between us for a very long time, but I had put the final nail in the coffin when I made the decision to undermine what we stood for. The blanket finally stopped moving in the back seat.

And I should have been happy, I thought, because I had planned a similar scenario, but I wasn’t pleased. It was probably because I was supposed to end it. I was supposed to be the one to walk away, not to be forced out. Nadia looked at me, but not at me at the same time. I put one leg out of the car, then looked back for the final time. Jeannie was crying softly with the blanket on her lap at that point. I blinked back tears of my own, and stepped all the way out of the car onto the shoulder of the road, just a few steps past the road sign, leaving the door wide open behind me.

I heard the car door slam, and immediately looked at the clock. Through the window I could see it read 3:40, and I knew it would take me forever to reach Branson, to reach my future. Nadia, firmly in the driver’s seat again after slamming the door, had mascara running down her face, a black river of pain. The car shifted back in gear, and then it was gone, a cloud of dust blowing back in my face. Fitting, really, I thought, as I began to walk the final five miles.

Sam