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The car's name was Esme. For the most part, she was a good car. Sometimes she could get a little stubborn. Every once in while she might give Roald a bit of guff about a certain stretch of road. On the whole, though, she and Roald treated each other right.
Until the trip to South Padre, of course. There were four people in Esme at the time. Roald, of course, who was driving her as he tends to do. Beside him was Amber, a dark haired curvaceous vixen. Sitting behind Roald was James, Amber's brother and one of Roald's best friends for the past five to six years. Who really keeps count of these things anymore, anyway? Beside James in the backseat was an Anonymous Female who, for one reason or another has wished to remain as such, which I happen to think is rather rude, but that is neither here nor there.
Esme had made most of the trip in good spirits. Starting on the first key turn, no transmission hiccups, that sort of thing. It wasn't until the friends were halfway between Kingsville, TX and Raymondville, TX that she seemed to get a bit jealous of the flirting between Roald and Amber. In what can only be described as one of the best impressions of a tragic artist, Esme died rather suddenly in her prime, not unlike Douglas Adams or John Ritter.
Esme rolled to a stop in what was almost exactly the midpoint between the aforementioned Texas towns, not that any of the passengers knew that. It's not the sort of thing mid-20s vacationers usually think about, unless it's on some sort of test which in this instance, it wasn't.
Roald tried to get the engine to turn over several times, with no success. Esme very stubbornly refused to start her engine. The unanimous decision was, as these things often are in times of crisis, to get out of the car and ignore the problem for a while with a stiff drink and a few joints.
Anonymous Female--who, for the sake of my poor fingers, shall henceforth be referred to as AF--did the rolling. Her nimble, feminine fingers pinched small amounts of the stickiest MJ imaginable onto several papers and rolled the cigaweeds like someone who'd earned a PhD in the subject. While this was occuring, Roald mixed up several Cuba Libres with ingredients for the cooler in the trunk. James and Amber bickered, not really helping either of the hard workers in their efforts.
James pointed out a lovely shade tree several feet away, suggesting it as a wonderful place to sit and break a few laws. Roald and James pushed Esme onto the shoulder and everyone assembled underneath the Tree of Unlawful Knowledge. That was the Tree called itself. It had a pretty lonely existence recently, so it was happy to have company. It was even more pleased when it realized what it's visitors intended to do beneath its limbs.
After the sinful vices had been passed to all participants, everyone drank and lit up and expounded on the mysteries of the universe. This mostly included annoyance at Esme and hopes that the bars in South Padre would still be open when and if they got the car going again. After a drinks and a few puffs, however, the mood turned more mellow. Moods do that under the right influence. Or under the influence of marijuana.
This writer would like to tell you that AF and James were sauve and sophisticated as flirted with each under the Tree, but alas, that wouldn't be the truth. The exchange amounted mostly to sexual innuendo and kissy-faces. After about ten minutes of watching this, Roald told them to bugger off and get it over and down with, which they proceeded to do behind several bushes not far away.
The two kissy-faced fiends having left Roald and Amber alone, the two discussed their situation. "Do you think it'll start again after it's had time to rest?" asked Amber. In his mellow haze, Roald failed to completely understand the question.
"Wait, what? What 'it'? What are you talking about?" Roald mumbled. Amber threw a clump of dirt at him, saying, "The car, Dingus McBlazed. The car!" Roald lay down across the grass in the open air, relishing the body-weight of his smoking endeavors. "Of course she'll start. She's just pissed off 'cause you wouldn't stop dancing and I wouldn't stop looking," he replied.
Amber made a face, but Roald was on the ground and didn't notice. "What what what? It's a car! It couldn't possibly know such things, Roldy," said Amber. Roldy, that's what people usually called him. Roald huffed. "Don't say that, she'll hear you," he said, "and if she does hear you she'll wait even longer before she lets us get underway again. In fact, it might be a good idea if you apologized to her. She's a sensitive and jealous girl."
"I am NOT apologizing to a car. That's just stupid," Amber spewed. "Oh, just do it," said Roald. So she walked over to the car and started talking to it in a tone that Roald couldn't hear from his world beneath the Tree. He found it slightly strange that Amber would suddenly go talk to the car after such a simple push, but being slightly buzzed from the Cuba Libre and incredibly more high than that from the joints, he didn't give it much thought.
If he had he might have realized that people usually did what he told them to do. That train of thought would've opened several new possibilities for him. He would've realized he had a small amount of psychic power over people, able to convince them into action with a suggestion that is rarely overtly forceful or eloquent. But he was under the influence and didn't think about it. So none of that actually happened.
About the time Roald was not thinking about his psychic ability, James and AF mosied back towards the Tree of Unlawful Knowledge, all giggly and rumpled. "What happened to Amber," asked AF. Roald realized he had an arm. In his current state, it was easier to use that than to speak, so he raised it and gestured vaguely towards the general area of the car. AF ambled that way, leaving James and Roald under the Tree to have Guy Talk, which, in all honesty is a lot like Girl Talk only...manlier.
Roald decided it was time to sit up, which he did in a lumbering sort of way. He rubbed his eyes and noticed for the first time that James was sitting next to him. "So, did you have fun then," asked Roald, smirking. James shrugged, "Yeah, a bit." James was a bit of a manwhore, really. His term, not mine. If anything, I would just call him overly enthusiastic about women.
Just as James was about to ask the unimaginative question of when they might be able to get back on the road, Amber began making several joyous hoots and hollers. Moving to investigate the sudden outburst, Roald and James discover Esme running, Amber behind the wheel and AF in the passenger's seat.
"What did you do? What did you say to Esme," asked Roald, dumbfounded. Amber winked. "That's between me and her," she said, "now get in the friggin' car." Roald climbed in behind his voluptuous muse, not that he'd ever tell that to James. James sat behind AF and fastened his seatbelt. "Let's do this, then," said Roald as Amber peeled out.
They left behind the Tree of Unlawful Knowledge. The Tree was slightly saddened by this. It rarely had visitors and had enjoyed the company of people who recognized it for it was. It was just getting a very good sulk going when a stray dog galloped by and cocked its leg over the Tree's roots, showing the Tree that things could always get worse. It sighed in the way that trees do and waved goodbye to its recent visitors, hoping to one day see them again.

Copyright 2007 Sean D. Astle
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