Sunday Drivers

Driving down the highway Sidney looked over to Ana to see if she was hanging in there.

“Ya’ll right?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. A million things were racing through her mind. The principle thought was jail. She didn’t want to go back. Sidney, on the other hand, never thought more than a few moments into the future. He was very animalistic in that way.

A strong chemical smell made its way into Ana’s nostrils. Her head was hurting and her stomach was already upset from the day old truck stop coffee she downed for breakfast with five sugar packets. A wave of nausea washed over her. Her hands were shaking.

“Can you roll down the window?” She practically whispered; her jaw trembling.

“Huh?” was her response.

She let it go. She felt that if she opened her mouth again, it would be more than words coming out. The windows had to be kept shut despite the extreme desert heat so the illegal chemical smell would not make its way to the olfactory system of a lawman.

Sidney lit a cigarette and that was enough to put Ana over the edge. It was almost immediate, the first waif of smoke made its way up her nose and bile started to rise from her stomach then made its way through her throat out her mouth and ended up on the sun dried and cracked pleather dashboard.

“Fuck” Sidney grunted.

Ana could not even manage a response. As a tear ran down the side of her face, she silently thought to herself, Sunday car rides with Granpa were so much better.

Note from the author: If you wish to see the story continued, please say so in the comments section and the author will kindly oblige.