“We missed the exit.”
“We did not miss the exit.”
“Meriwether, look, it says right here, take the exit at the Redwood Junction.”
“And I’m telling you, we still have another twenty miles to go, so just chill, okay?”
Will scowls and holds the map up in front of his face so he doesn’t have to look over at his stubborn mule of a best friend. It’s hard to be stuck in a beat up old Jeep with someone for seven hours straight without wanting to outright murder them at least once. It’s even harder when that someone has the absolute worst taste in music and refuses to play the license plate game with you. The only positive thing about having Meriwether with him for this move across the country for college is that they both save more money on gas than they would have if they were travelling alone.
At this point, though, Will would almost be willing to pay the extra cash just so he doesn’t have to listen to “Hotline Bling” for the fifteenth time today.
“Change the station and so help me God, I am stopping on the side of the road, kicking you out and heading out west by myself,” Meriwether says idly half an hour later as Will reaches for the dial. His tone is cordial, almost pleasant, as he changes lanes and signals to exit, but he isn’t bluffing.
“Do that, and I’m taking all of your deerskin coats with me,” Will replies, gesturing to the pile of dry-cleaning in the backseat. “Then you’ll be forced to show up on the first day of classes wearing those god-awful pleather jackets your mom bought you for your birthday.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“There goes your carefully constructed ‘manly hunter’ image.”
“Shut up.” He’s good and annoyed now, and Will mentally pats himself on the back for a job well done. They’re passing through a small town by the side of the freeway, the usual fast food and truck stop signs beaming at them through the glow of the distant setting. Bathroom or coffee break, he assumes, or maybe Meriwether’s taking pity on them both and letting them both stop for dinner. It’s been a while since lunch.
They pull into the parking lot of a diner, confirming his suspicions. It’s a nice enough place called The Bird Woman, its sign complete with an image of some sort of Native American symbol. Unfortunately, Will can’t quite identify it, since his and Meriwether’s high school lost its funding for culture and art programs three years ago. He’s going to assume it’s some sort of bird woman, though. Just as a guess.
The inside looks and smells like most diners do. Worn red leather seats, bright shiny tabletops, coffee brewing and something frying on the stove in the back. Everything is probably going to end up tasting like chicken, but it’s better than nothing.
They’ve barely sat down at one of the tables when a waitress appears, her long dark hair tied back in a neat braid and a pair of menus in her hand. She’s pretty, and Will and Meriwether exchange glances across the table, a silent argument waging in the air between them.
There’s several moments of silence. Meriwether wins. Will slumps back in his seat, disappointed, as his best friend plasters on his brightest smile and grins up at the waitress.
“Well, hello,” he says in the syrupy-sweet voice that had girls back in high school swooning and falling at his feet. “Do you come here often?”
The waitress, strangely, does not swoon and fall at his feet, instead choosing to pop her gum loudly and reply, “I work here.”
Will hides his snicker behind his menu, avoiding Meriwether’s furious gaze to study a picture of French fries and various milkshakes. His friend, however, has never been quite so easily deterred, and quickly tries again.
“Right you are,” he says. “See, I was just wondering, since my friend and I are new to this area, if we could rely on your wisdom as to where to go from here and on what we should choose to sup on, my dear…” He squints at her name tag, frowning slightly. “Say-ca-go-wa? Sa-co-gay-wa?”
“It’s Sacagawea,” Sacagawea corrects him, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly in amusement. “And what was the question?”
“We’re lost and hungry,” Will tells her. “What’s good to eat and how do we get to the West Coast from here?”
“We are not lost, OK, we’re just taking a more scenic route than planned.”
“Lost. You refused to follow the map and took the wrong exit and we are lost.”
“Not all who wander are lost, Will.”
“OK, Frodo, then tell me, how do you plan on getting to Mordor when you don’t know the way?”
“Oh my God, you are such a geek why do I hang out with you.”
“You were the one who quoted Lord of the Rings first, don’t blame me!”
Sacagawea, who has been watching this entire exchange with mild tolerance, chooses to cut in at this moment. “Look, this is extremely interesting,” she says in a tone that indicates she is not interested in the slightest. “But my shift is ending in fifteen minutes, and I gotta get home to my kid, so if you guys could order soon, that’d be excellent.”
This shuts them up pretty quickly, and both men dutifully study their menus and order. Once Sacagawea has it written down on her little notepad, she takes their menus and levels her gaze at the two of them, giving them a once over.
“OK, what you’re gonna wanna do is get back on the freeway for about half an hour, and when you come up to the Redwood Junction, hop on the exit there, and it should take you guys all the way to San Francisco.”
Will tries and fails to keep a smug grin off his face when he glances across the table. Meriwether has a very sour look in his eyes, and can’t keep the bitter tone out of his voice when he asks, “What makes you think we’re heading towards San Francisco?”
Sacagawea pauses, once again taking in the sight of the two men, bundled up in fur coats to protect them from the cold night air and seemingly able to have entire conversations through mere eye contact.
“No reason,” she says, and saunters away.
They sit in silence for a little while, before Meriwether breaks it to ask, “Do you think she’s into me?”
Will may have the dumbest best friend in the entire world, and this has quite possibly been the worst road trip in the history of this country.
“You are the dumbest best friend in the entire world and this has quite possibly been the worst road trip in the history of this country.”
Meriwether, though, just flashes him a grin and replies, “Yeah, but man, think of the stories we’re gonna be able to tell when we get there!” He holds out his hands as though framing a movie theater marquee. “‘Meriwether Lewis and William Clark’s Amazing Expedition’. How cool does that sound?”
“Why does your name go first?”
“Because I’m the leader, obviously.”
“Bullsh –”
They’re still arguing by the time their food arrives, and are still arguing when they finally head back to the car and get back on the freeway. They’ll probably be arguing all the way to San Francisco, mostly because they’re not supposed to be going to San Francisco and will probably end up there because Meriwether is a terrible navigator.
But for now, Will just rests his boots up on the dashboard, watches the bright lights of the interstate fly by his window, the heater on high and that stupid “Hotline Bling” song playing for the sixteenth time today. And he thinks to himself, well, it could be worse.
Meriwether could be a country fan.
